Her head canted. “What is it that ye are doing here, then? Is thisyercastle?”
“No, but I–”
“Och, that must be yer keep, then,” she said, jabbing her finger at the stone tower.
He gritted his teeth. “That isna me–”
“For sure it must be yer ocean?” With a haughty tilt of her chin, she indicated the bluish-gray water beyond the edge of the cliffs that stretched as far as the eye could see. “Canna say as I’ve ever met someone who owned the sea before, but the wise say there’s a first time for everything.”
“Enough,” he growled. “Ye’ve made yer point.”
A small, satisfied smile flitted across her mouth. She ran a hand through her hair, twining the salt-sprayed ebony locks through her fingers. “Aye, I have, and it seems fair thatIask the questions, Callum Campbell, as of the two of us, surely ’tis I that have a right tae be here.”
“And who are ye?” he asked, wearing a scowl along with his bruise.
“Dinna ye guess already?”
“Clearly not, or I wouldna be asking the question.”
Her smile sharpened. “I’m the Black Bride.”
Chapter Three
The poor weelass, Callum thought as a stirring of pity cut through his aggravation. If the woman’s strange clothing and mannerisms hadn’t already revealed that she was a tad daft, then surely her claim that she was the Black Bride would have.
He hadn’t known there was an asylum this far from the village, or that a patient had escaped, but that was a far more probable explanation than the one she’d just presented him with.
Did she really expect him to believe that she was the Black Bride of legend? The ghastly ghoul with hair spun of spider webs and talons where her fingernail ought to be and a mouth smeared with the blood of her most recent victim.
Except she didn’t look like that at all.
She was…she wasbeautiful.
A word that most men used lightly, but not Callum.
Beauty, and love, and forever–such words had strength, but only if they were saved for when they were truly needed. Tossing them about with all the care of a handful of seed at the park was to dilute their power. And while he’d been fortunate to spend time with many a pretty lass, both in the bedchamber and out of it, not a single one compared to the woman standing in front of him.
Her hair was so black as to almost be violet, and stirred in the breeze like silk in the wind. She was small and petite, all long limbs and graceful curves, with delicate features made of porcelain and a full pink mouth–the sort that begged for a strong Scot’s kiss. Her eyes were almond-shaped and green as the grass rolling beneath their feet, with thick ebony lashes that fanned across the top of her arching cheekbones when she lowered her gaze. If ever there was a lass to be described as beautiful, then surely it was this one.
Too bad she was as mad as a bonny hatter.
“The Black Bride, ye say,” he said politely. “That’s, ah…interesting. Is someone here with ye?” He glanced past her to the cliffs and then turned behind him to look at the towering keep. Aside from himself and the woman, Blackmoore was empty. He looked back to find her staring straight at him, an odd, almost searching expression upon her lovely countenance. Then she blinked, and her face went blank.
“Ye dinna believe me,” she said.
“That ye’re the Black Bride?” He resisted the urge to snort. “No, I dinna believe ye.”
“Why not?”
“Because I dinna believe in fables.”
“Fables.” For some reason, that word caused the edges of her eyes to crinkle in amusement. “Fables are what ye tell yer child tae lull them off tae sleep. Fables are about wee fairies, and will-o’-the-wisps, and selkies. Ye’re right, Callum Campbell. This is no fable.”
“Then what is it?” he asked.
Her smile faded. Her shoulders tensed. “A nightmare. It’s a nightmare of the worst kind ye could ever imagine, and ye have just walked right into it.”
He didn’t understand,Mara thought bleakly, and how could he? When she barely understood it herself, even after all these years. Decades. Centuries? She was tempted to ask Callum the date, but then that would make it all real.
