“Bloodthirsty, aren’t you?” He couldn’t help smiling as he looked about the lowest level of the caves. A neat dozen inlets formed perfectly sized docking areas for dories, and there were even spots that looked big enough for a small lugger. Of course, they also looked large enough for a Viking drakkar to dock at, leaving anyone fleeing the ancient invaders sadly at their mercy, should they have been discovered. “A smuggler’s paradise, indeed. This is where you brought me then for a romantic interlude?”
“Who says I brought you down here for such a purpose?” she asked innocently. Ian just raised a brow until her angelic look fell into a smile. “There seems to be nowhere else where we might be without interruption.”
“My bedchamber?” he suggested. “Yours?”
Becoming color flooded her face. “Is that the sort of interlude you’ve been anticipating, my lord?”
“Is it not what you’ve been thinking of since last night?” he responded in disbelief. “Come here, Hero,” he commanded, holding out his hand. She slid hers trustingly into it, and he pulled her into his arms. Lowering his head, he skimmed his lips across her cheek before whispering huskily in her ear, “I’ve wanted nothing more this day than to hold you in my arms, without interruption from the servants, Jennings, Daphne, or even, God bless him, your father. I want to be alone with you.”
“And so we are,” she murmured throatily, running her hands up his arms and over his shoulders.
“I can’t do all the things I’d like to down here,” he admitted regretfully. “Shall we take this time to make a list of Cuilean’s many hiding places and plan for a midnight rendezvous?”
“Mm.” She stretched against him. “That sounds lovely.”
Ian nuzzled her neck, his lips and tongue playing against her salty flesh. “You mentioned a pagoda, I think?” His lips tugged at her earlobe. “Or should it be the hunting lodge?”
“Yes, choose.” She slid her fingers encouragingly into his hair and tilted her head to the side to allow him easier access. He took advantage, running his lips down her neck and nipping lightly, drawing gasps of delight from deep within her.
“I don’t know the way to either one.”
He felt her smile. “I’m sure Jennings could tell you how to get there.”
“That would rather defeat the purpose, don’t you think?” His hands moved from her hips to cup her breasts, and Hero’s eyes widened in surprise before she pressed against him.
“Somewhere you know then,” she continued breathlessly, taking the initiative to imitate him by exploring him with her mouth. She ran her teeth along the tendon of his neck, glorying in his low moan. “The brew house?”
“How about the icehouse?”
“Brrr, too cold!” she told him before she parted her lips and drew his flesh between them, sucking lightly and licking the sting away.
With a growl his fingers dove into her carefully styled coiffure, pulling her head back. His eyes were dark with desire. “I’ll keep you warm,” he promised fiercely, then proceeded to show her how.
A loud clang rang through the caves, the sound of metal meeting metal, and Ian pulled away, shaking his head with disgust. “Incredible,” he said without the awe the word had held earlier. He ran his hands through his hair with palpable frustration. “What could it possibly be now?”
“Ghosts?” Hero asked, giggling when he shot her a dubious look. “No, truly, Cuilean is said to be haunted by several ghosts.”
Ian snorted and turned away, looking for the source of the ominous knell. She followed along, slipping her hand into his, and he looked down at her tenderly. “Tell me more, my little historian.”
“I think you mock me.”
I think I love you, he thought, barely biting back the words. “No, I am intrigued. Please continue.”
Wrinkling her nose, she said, “I was just going to say that Robert Burns wrote about the tales of haunting at Cuilean in his poem ‘Halloween.’”
“Is that so? Do you know it?”
“‘Upon that night, when fairies light on Cassilis Downans dance,’” she began, affecting a light Scottish burr, “‘or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, on sprightly coursers prance; or for Colean the route is ta'en, beneath the moon's pal—’”
Her recital came to an abrupt end, and he turned from watching her to see what she saw.
The thick iron door they’d left open moments before was closed.
Ian reached for the handle and Hero said, “It’s locked.”
“How do you know?” He tried the door anyway but her words were true. Fruitlessly, he tugged a second time.
“It locks automatically when it closes…for a smuggler’s speedy retreat when pursued by the authorities,” she explained, wrapping her arms around herself.
