The Presence

  Thayer made a choking sound. “Well, yes, but…” He lifted his hands. “Sadly, these things happen often enough. People don’t stop living because of it. We’ve had much worse situations, every country has. I never saw it as something that really concerned our efforts here.”

  Bruce shook his head, looking downward for a minute.

  Gina said, “Bruce, people in the village don’t seem to be concerned…for their own safety, I mean.”

  “No, I guess they don’t,” he murmured.

  Ryan cleared his throat. “Terrible things have happened in almost every major city, and naturally, they can happen in the countryside, as well. Please…we’d never let ourselves be victimized.” He winced, realizing that they had been victimized. “Gina and Toni are too smart to set themselves up for a dangerous situation. We’re always together.”

  “The women have disappeared from the big cities,” Thayer reminded quietly.

  Bruce looked hard at Thayer. “So they have.”

  “Please! We’re adults, and we’re less naive than before,” Toni added. “We’ll be careful. Please, give us a chance?”

  They were all staring at the man. Again he shrugged. “Let me say a tentative yes, we can give it a go. For the next few weeks, at least. There are problems that will arise. Aye, there’s the fact that your ‘guests’ are usually from far away, and I don’t know how the local population is going to take to this. The story Toni invented is too damned close to truth. There are those who think that I have an ancestor out there, running around in the forest, possibly capable of doing ill will. There are the other, very real problems—the situation at present. But we’ll see. First thing Monday, we will go to the courthouse. I’ll prove my ownership, and we’ll get Jonathan going on finding out just who is behind the scam that took you people in.”

  “We would gratefully appreciate it!” Gina said.

  He shrugged. “I do admit, you’ve done a lot for the place.”

  “Thank you,” Thayer said, looking at him curiously. “I don’t mean to be rude, but…but when we got here, the place didn’t look very…lived in,” he murmured.

  Bruce looked at Thayer. “You are from Glasgow, right?”

  “Aye, that I am.”

  “As the crow flies, not so far,” Bruce said.

  “Not so far, yet Glasgow is a world unto itself. Edinburgh, too, as a matter of fact. It may be a wee country, Laird MacNiall, but we both know that it’s still very regional.”

  Bruce nodded. “Regional, aye. I’m just surprised that you didn’t know that there was a real Bruce MacNiall.”

  Thayer grinned ruefully. “Maybe I owe you an apology, then. But, I’m sorry to admit, I’ve never been to more than half my country. I made it to the Orkney Islands last year for the first time, though I’ve never been to the Isle of Skye.”

  “I see,” Bruce murmured.

  “Hey, I’ve never been to California,” Kevin said.

  “And I’ve never been to—Utah,” David offered.

  “Who can cover a whole country?” Ryan asked cheerfully.

  “Ah,” Bruce murmured. “It’s just that news regarding the killings certainly reached the major newspapers. Murder may be something that happens everywhere, but in Scotland, such crimes do bear note.”

  Thayer appeared a bit tense, as if he’d been accused of lying.

  “I knew about the murders. Everyone has seen something about them in the paper,” Thayer said, looking confused.

  “But you didn’t notice any specific references?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Thayer said.

  “References to the area?” Toni asked.

  Bruce ignored her. “Thayer?”

  “I swear, if there was mention regarding this place in the newspapers or on the telly, I didn’t see it,” Thayer said. “I live and work in Glasgow, and as you must know, with our size and certain factors, we do have our own crime rate.”

  “I’m aware of the city. I’ve actually been there,” Bruce said.

  Toni was oddly uncomfortable, feeling, as Thayer apparently did, that he was somehow under attack. “In the old U.S.A., most farm boys have been to the big city. Doesn’t mean all the city folk have made it out to the farm,” she said lightly.

  Bruce’s eyes shot to hers. “I see. So we’re yokels out here, are we, Toni?”

  “It’s small, that’s all I’m saying,” she told him with exasperation.

  “Perhaps we should talk about this in the morning,” Gina said softly. “Tempers seem to be rising a bit.”

  “My temper isn’t rising,” Toni said, staring at Bruce. “It’s just that Thayer is my cousin, and I understand completely how he might not have heard of the great and almighty Bruce MacNiall.”

  “Toni!” David warned.

  “No, really! Bruce, please, listen to me. I’m grateful that you’re being magnanimous. But if we’re going to make this work, you need to trust us.”

  After a moment Bruce turned to Thayer. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Fraser. I’m just curious, that’s all. Naturally,” he said, addressing Gina, “we will have to have some kind of contract written up, but we can work that out at another time.” He set his sandwich on a plate and turned to leave. They watched him in silence. At the kitchen door, he turned back. “One last thing. Stay out of the forest. That’s a must.” He stared at Toni. For a moment, it seemed that he was speaking only to her.

  She felt almost as if they were touching. Her heart hammered, her breathing quickened. Kinetic energy seared between them, and she wanted to reach out and shake the man.

  After he left, they remained in stunned silence for a minute, and Toni felt something deflate in her.

  “I don’t know about this,” she said. “Every time I start to think he might be decent, he turns back into an ass.”

  “Toni, it’s just you!” David said.

  “He was on to Thayer!” Toni said.

  “Hey, kinswoman,” Thayer said lightly, “it’s all right. This is Scotland. I can see where he was coming from. Aye, he got m’dander up! But it’s all right. There was no revolution here, you know. There’s still royalty, nobility, peerage, the whole bit. They tend to think they should be known, though, as you’ve seen, old piles of stone like this one tend to be all about. The bloke probably can’t quite admit that this isn’t exactly Stirling or Edinburgh castle!” Thayer shrugged. “We’re at the base of the Highlands, you know. The Lowlanders and the Highlanders have always been a bit off. I’m fine with it all. Hey, I am a Scotsman. I should have seen to it that I knew more about the place, eh?” He walked to Toni, smiling ruefully, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “My fierce little American! I’m all right on my own, honestly.”

  She nodded, liking him very much then.

  Thayer’s small dimples showed and his green eyes were light. With his fingers he shoved back a lock of sandy hair and said again, “Toni, I’m all right, honestly.”

  “Well, there you have it!” David announced. “It’s late.”

  “Yes, if the lot of you will just get out of the kitchen, David and I will whip it all clean in a matter of minutes,” Kevin said. “We can make more sense of things in the morning.”

  “No, we’ll stay and help,” Toni murmured.

  “No, you will not!” David protested. “You’ll make it take longer.”

  “You’ll start breaking dishes,” Ryan said.

  “I will not!” Toni protested.

  David came by her side, hugging her. “Toni, you’re in bitch mode,” he said softly.

  “I am not!” she protested vehemently. Then she looked around, they were all staring at her. “I am not,” she said stubbornly, but far more softly.

  “It’s him,” Thayer said.

  “You’re right, it’s him,” she agreed, thinking that, naturally, Thayer was on her side. Then she realized that he hadn’t meant the words quite the way that she had taken them, because the others were suddenly grinning.

  “You no
ted it, too?” Ryan said to Thayer.

  “The sparks that are always flying?” Kevin suggested.

  “Chemistry in the air,” David said.

  “Oh, no!” Toni protested.

  “I’d do him in a flash,” Kevin said, “if I weren’t taken.”

  “And if he weren’t reeking heterosexuality,” David said pragmatically.

  “Trust me—” Toni began.

  “Oh, Toni! Quit being so blind!” Gina advised. “Every time the two of you talk, I’m waiting for one of you to lunge at the other and grapple on the floor!”

  “I give up,” Toni said, very aggravated and tense.

  “You are free, white and female,” David reminded her.

  “Hey, might be good for her,” Ryan commented. “Look how calm and sweet Gina always is! And she can thank me for that!”

  “Okay, I’ve had it—I’m out of here!” Toni said.

  To her complete irritation, they all laughed as she de parted.

  Upstairs, she showered and was just crawling in for the night when she heard a tapping on her connecting door. She thought about calling out, but didn’t. Instead, she rose, walked across the room and opened the door.

  Bruce was there, in his bathrobe, his hair slick and black, slate eyes enigmatic. “If you’re not all right, just call out,” he told her quietly.

  “If I’m not all right?” she murmured.

  “If dreams plague you. Nightmares,” he said.

  She met his eyes. There was concern in them, and she was amazed at the sudden sense of knowing him that leaped into her heart. Wanting him, she thought.

  He touched her face, his thumb moving gently over her cheek, rounding down around her chin. “You know,” he mused softly, “it is just a matter of time.”

  “Excuse me?” Her words were breathless. She should have just moved away to begin with. His touch was somehow extremely intimate. She felt as if her flesh was crying out to be touched by him. All of it. The length of him beckoned—his hands, the size of him, cast of his features, texture of his skin, even the slate of his eyes.

  “A matter of time,” he repeated.

  “Until…?” she managed with a smile.

  “Well, until you jump me, of course.”

  “Until I jump you?” she demanded, some sense of in dignity coming to the fore. “Laird MacNiall, I’m afraid that you do have a rather inflated opinion of yourself!”

  He was still amused. He leaned closer to her and said softly, “I won’t be stopping you, you know, lass.”

  Then he turned and quietly closed the door between them.

  Toni kicked it.

  “Call if you need me,” he said.

  She made a point of locking the door.

  But later that night, the dream came again. She was sound asleep, or so she thought. Then she opened her eyes, and he was there. At the foot of her bed. In full war regalia, with his sword at his side. Dripping blood.

  And she began to scream.

  The first scream cut through Bruce’s subconscious like a razor. He bolted up, seeking the danger for a millisecond, then he burst from his bed and hurtled through the bath.

  She had the door locked.

  He hesitated for a moment, listening. Then, once again, he heard her scream. Swearing, he hurried back in his room and dug in the cuff-link drawer of the wardrobe for the skeleton key. Seconds later, he had the door open.

  She was sitting up in bed, staring, her blond hair streaming out over the lilac print of her flannel gown. Her eyes were open, dead-set on something in front of her, something that he couldn’t see but which was so very real to her.

  Another scream ripped from her.

  There was something achingly vulnerable, young and fragile about her at that moment. The fine construction of her features seemed more delicate, the wheaten beauty of her hair more sheer. She looked for all the world like an otherworld Ophelia.

  And, like the mad Ophelia, if he didn’t move, she would not be reprieved.

  He started for the bed, then halted, because suddenly she was moving, no longer simply staring and screaming, but shrinking back. As if something—someone—were after her.

  He flew across the room, calling her name.

  “Toni, Toni!”

  Falling upon the bed, he caught her by the shoulders. She was stiff and cold, as if she were nearly dead herself. She didn’t acknowledge him, but neither did she look through him. She looked around him.

  “Toni!” He gave her a shake, drawing her to him, determined to transfer some of his own warmth into her form. “Toni, wake up, it’s a dream, a nightmare.” He stroked her head, his fingers cradling the shape of her skull. “Toni!”

  At last, he felt her resistance. She pulled away from him, her eyes wide and confused in the night. She said his name, but with a strange hesitance and uncertainty.

  “Bruce?”

  “Aye, it’s me.”

  She still looked so wide-eyed, not so much terrified as…confused.

  “In the flesh,” he added, trying to speak lightly. He was very nearly in little but the flesh, and was glad he’d gone to sleep in boxers.

  “Bruce?”

  One of her hands fell against his chest. The fingers were still chilled, but the brush against him seemed to evoke a flash of fire. He caught that hand, held it between his own, rubbed it, tried to warm it.

  “Aye, kid, you’re having something of a poor time getting sleep in here, eh?” he asked her.

  She flushed, then looked at him sheepishly again. “It’s rather ironic, really. I make up a fellow, only to find out that he existed, and now he keeps appearing at the foot of my bed, with his sword dripping blood.” She hesitated. “Do you think he’s trying to warn me to get the hell out of your castle?”

  They faced one another on the bed then, not touching, but very close. He couldn’t help the small smile that came to his lips. “Nae,” he said softly, purposely allowing the Scots burr into his voice. “Nae, fer ’tis said that Bruce were a man what loved a damselle, and wouldna hae it that one should suffer at his door.”

  He was glad of his speech, for she smiled, as well, and it seemed that the terror and confusion had at last lost their grip upon her. “How did Lady MacNiall feel about that? If she was running around with some local fellow, it might have been out of revenge for all the lasses he kept giving, er, sanctuary? At his castle?”

  “They were different days,” he told her lightly.

  “Oh?”

  “Well, there were a few instances in Scottish history that certainly wouldn’t be the least politically correct these days. Take Robert the Bruce. His poor wife was captured by the English and held prisoner for years, just for being his wife. He loved her dearly—honestly, he did—but there were a number of children born in those days that bore the king’s protection. So…while she was locked up for being his wife, he was still prey to manly temptation.”

  “So Bruce MacNiall cheated like crazy, then killed his poor wife?” Toni said, wrinkling her nose.

  “You made that part up. No one knows what happened to his wife,” Bruce reminded her.

  “I made the whole thing up!” she reminded him with a soft groan.

  He pulled her against him again, stroking her hair. “It’s a castle, you invented a bloody warrior, he happens to have existed.”

  She leaned against him, apparently content to be there. Her hair was a velvet tease against the nakedness of his chest, the scent of her a strange and riveting intoxication in the night. She could speak with such de termination, quell with a look, move with grace and dignity…by day. But at night, she was like a brush of pure silk, sweet smelling, lustrous, supple and…vulnerable. Tonight she was vulnerable.

  “It’s more than that,” she whispered.

  “What more could it be?” he asked gently.

  She shook her head. He threaded his fingers into her hair, gently tugging back, anxious to see her eyes. Huge, bluer than the midnight sea, they met his. Little triggers of electrici
ty seemed to tease both his muscles and his flesh. Something akin to pure agony clamped down upon his groin. He gritted his teeth, determined not to let her see the rise of pure carnal instinct and natural humanity.

  “I…You don’t understand. I’m afraid. Never mind…” she murmured.

  “What is it? You can tell me, honestly,” he assured her.

  “Ah…so that you could mock an American further?”

  “Americans are lovely people,” he told her, smiling.

  “Most, anyway, right?”

  “Toni, if there’s something wrong, you can tell me. I swear, I will not bring it beyond the walls of this room,” he vowed levelly.

  She shivered suddenly, then moved, as if pretending that she had not done so. She set her hands upon his shoulders. “You know, you’re rather a lovely man your self—but only in the dead of night.”

  “Ach, I’m really lovely as hell by day, as well. You’re just not noticing,” he informed her.

  Another shiver, almost imperceptible, ran down her spine. She moved closer, resting her head against his shoulder and throat. “I have noticed,” she informed him. Then she looked up. “You know that question you asked earlier?” she whispered.

  Ah, and that whisper brushed his cheek, and soft and light as it was, it beckoned to an even greater desire inside, one that shrieked and cried out, in bone and sinew and blood.

  “About jumping me?” he inquired.

  “Yes, I would be referring to that one.”

  The flannel of her nightgown suddenly seemed to hug her breasts with pure temptation, concealing, too clearly giving away structure, firmness, rise….

  Her voice was meant to be casual, almost haphazard, but it was tremulous.

  He caught hold of her chin.

  “I won’t sleep with you because you’re frightened,” he told her.

  “I wouldn’t dream of sleeping with any man for that reason!” she told him.

  “It’s all right. I won’t sleep with you, but I won’t leave you,” he told her, stretching out on the bed, drawing her against his shoulder. “If my ancestor comes anywhere near, you can always try arguing him to death. You’ve come quite close with me, you know.”

  She thumped on his chest with a finger.

  “I am not that bad. And I am not a bitch.”