Haunted Warrior (8 page)

Even then she’d been aware of something.

Yet upon entering the Laughing Gull moments ago, she’d almost believed she’d imagined her initial reaction to the fishing village.

Now…

She tensed with a sense of keen awareness, her nerve endings alert to everything around her.
Breathe deep. Relax. This is your night off to unwind and enjoy. A well-­deserved break. Inhale fully; exhale slow…​
She spoke the words in her mind, using the soft orange glow of the fire’s peat bricks to focus on until she felt balanced again.

“Your Hibernator, miss.” Janet, the serving woman, arrived with her pint of strong ale. Her expression said she didn’t approve of women drinking stout.

“Thank you.” Kendra took a deliberate sip, sure the
woman also didn’t care for young American females visiting pubs on their own.

“Anything else?” The woman looked at her, her lips tightening even more when Kendra took a second swallow of the dark ale.

“A glass of water, please.” Kendra regretted asking, but impressing the dour Scotswoman wasn’t worth suffering a headache later. “I prefer still, if you have it—­no fizzy water.”

Fizzy water made her stomach ache.

Janet’s sourness made it difficult to reclaim the mood of cheery warmth that had greeted her on entering the inn. The woman’s disapproval hung in the air, even after she’d marched back to the bar.

Blot her from your mind.
Kendra glanced again at the peat fire, wishing it wasn’t half hidden by the legs of the nearby tables and chairs.

Even so, the soft glimmer of the peat was soothing. And the earthy-­sweet smoke added just enough haze to the air to enhance the pub’s old-­fashioned, lamp-­lit ambience.

Whatever had brought her here and the outcome of her stay, the Laughing Gull and the out-­of-­the-­way village outside the inn’s thick-­set windows was a special place, caught in a time long past.

Almost inaccessible and sequestered, Pennard was just the kind of haven that should always remain serene and tranquil, a place apart from the rest of the world. Unaffected by the traffic-­filled brashness of loud, teeming cities and suburbs, as existed elsewhere.

Kendra’s heart clenched when a small man with a weather-­beaten face caught her eye and gallantly tipped his cap to her as he hopped off his bar stool and headed for the door. Watching him as he stepped out into the cold, dark mist and disappeared into the whirling gray mass as easily as suited brokers strode down the streets
of Manhattan drove home just how appealing she found little Pennard with its mini harbor, colorful fishing boats, and blue-­painted benches.

She tightened her fingers on the pint glass, her gaze going again to the peat fire. Images of crowded sidewalks, exhaust fumes, and billboard-­lined highways flashed across her mind, quickly followed by strip malls, huge supermarkets with even larger parking lots, and an endless stream of fast-­food restaurants.

“Damn…” She circled the pint glass on the polished wood of the small table.

From the bar, she heard the soft music of Scottish voices. And through the window, she caught the wash of the sea against the harbor’s breakwater. But other sounds claimed her mind’s ear, reminding her of a place she knew well, a distant place where days often began with the rumble of garbage trucks, and leaf-­blower serenades always seemed to kick in just when a person most needed silence.

She understood why Pennard’s locals weren’t happy about being forced from such a quiet and unobtrusive place.

She, too, loved quiet.

And for the first time ever, she felt an unpleasant pang at the thought of leaving an assignment and returning to her own world.

But if she did her work well here, she might be able to help ensure that Pennard held on to a good measure of its perennial charm. And that the disembodied residents, at least, would find peace again.

Hoping so, she took a tiny sip of Hibernator, her tension easing.

“I admire a brave woman.” A deep Scottish voice caused her to almost choke on the ale.

Looking up, she met the appreciative gaze of one the locals. He stood directly before her, managing to appear
worldly-­wise despite his casual fisherman’s garb of jeans, work boots, and a bulky Aran sweater. Tall, broad shouldered, and blessed with a shock of gleaming black hair and clear blue eyes, he was also devilishly handsome.

But in a smooth way that made her scoot back against the window bench, instinctively putting distance between them.

“Brave?” It was all she could think to say.

She did turn her head slightly, not liking how his cologne invaded her space. Heavy with musk and citrus, it spoiled the hint of peat smoke and fish and chips she’d been enjoying.

“Courageous you are, aye.” He stepped even closer, his smile deepening. “It’s clear you’re not liking your pint of Hibernator.”

“I love it.” Kendra took an overlarge gulp, hoping the lie wouldn’t circle back and make her gag.

The dark ale
was
too much for her.

But she’d rather choke it down than admit it.

“I’m Gavin Ramsay. My house, Spindrift, is the one up on the bluff, beyond the east end of the village.” He thrust out a hand, leaving her little choice but to take it unless she wished to appear rude.

She remembered the name, how Graeme MacGrath’s jaw had tightened as he’d spoken of Ramsay.

Now here was the man, smiling down at her, his hand extended.

And every local at the bar—­including Iain Garry and pinch-­faced Janet—­were turned their way, craning necks to watch them.

“Kendra Chase.” She accepted the handshake, not surprised to find that though strong and warm, his hands weren’t at all calloused. They were smooth as a banker’s and nothing like one might expect of a man so ruggedly dashing and dressed in fisherman’s garb.

“I’m American, here on holiday.” She withdrew her hand, leaving it at that. He didn’t need to know she hailed from Bucks County, Pennsylvania.

He looked at her very intently. “Och, I ken you’re from the States. No other country produces such glamorous blondes. We don’t see many sleek, long-­legged beauties hereabouts.” He lowered himself into the chair opposite her, stretching his long legs to the fire. “That you’re here…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, his gaze flicking to her pint of strong ale. “I’ve ordered a fine welcome dram for you.” His voice turned intimate. “A wonderful single malt from Royal Brackla, one of the few distilleries privileged to carry the word
royal
in its name.”

His
r
s rolled beautifully, his burr rich and smooth—­as if practiced to perfection.

Kendra suspected it was.

She also understood why Graeme didn’t care for the man.

She didn’t, either.

“I don’t drink whisky.” She glanced at her watch and started to get to her feet. If she didn’t leave now, she’d also tell him she couldn’t abide Romeos, Scottish or otherwise. “It’s late and—­”

“You’d miss something very fine.” He smiled, apparently certain his charm would dissuade her. “Scottish whisky is water of life.
Uisge beatha
, in the Gaelic. You can’t visit Scotland without—­ Ah, here’s Janet with the drams.”

He glanced up at the tight-­lipped woman, his smile not wavering as she set down the two small glasses. The whisky neat, save one ice cube in each dram.

“Aye, a ray o’ sunshine, you are, Janet.” He watched her march off, waiting until she disappeared into the kitchen before he turned back to Kendra. “You see why you’re a breath of fresh air.”

Kendra glanced at the closed kitchen door. “I saw a woman who must’ve gotten up on the wrong side of the bed this morning—­nothing more.”

She didn’t add that she suspected Janet did so every day.

Or that she couldn’t stand smooth talkers. Dressed as she was in her sturdy walking boots and warm and comfortable pants and pullover, she knew well that she looked anything but glamorous.

She didn’t even like glamour.

And she wouldn’t be a sleek beauty if she was wearing a string bikini.

She might be tall and her legs therefore long. But there all resemblance to such females ended. And the truth was, she didn’t mind her extra few pounds. She also appreciated shoes and clothes that were comfortable.

No one would catch her in heeled, strappy sandals. And she wouldn’t don a filmy wisp of a cling-­to-­every-­curve dress even if she could.

She did sit up as straight as possible and pushed the little dram glass away from her. “My dinner should be here soon.” She kept her tone cordial, pride making flight impossible.

So she tipped her head toward the bar, hoping her unwanted table guest would take the hint. “I don’t want to keep you from your friends.”

To her dismay, he sat back, getting comfortable in his chair. “I like a challenge.” His blue eyes met hers, his smile roguish.

“And you”—­he glanced to a nearby table where an older couple were eating fish and chips—­“would’ve done better to order Iain’s lamb shank.” When he turned back to her, he looked her over, letting his gaze skim her breasts. “The flesh is tender and succulent—­”

“Kendra, lass!” Graeme MacGrath’s deep voice filled
the room, the outside door banging shut as he approached the table with long, purposeful strides. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I hope you haven’t been troubled.”

“Graeme…” Kendra blinked, never more glad to see anyone in her life. He was almost at her side, his dog trotting right beside him.

Anyone who saw the look on his face had to think he was madly in love with her.

And that if he could tear his gaze off her long enough to do so, he’d knock Ramsay flat for daring to have glanced her way. Sitting at her table, speaking to her, and buying her a dram might well prove fatal.

That was the air he had about him.

Kendra’s heart raced, her pulse leaping to see his dark eyes blazing with such intensity.

Apparently noticing, Gavin Ramsay stood. “I didn’t know you knew our seal man.” He spoke to Kendra, but his gaze was on Graeme, his blue eyes hard now. His smiles and innuendoes vanished.

“She’s here to visit me.” Graeme didn’t even glance at Ramsay.

Instead, he shouldered past him and looked down at Kendra, his mouth set in a tight, determined line. His eyes narrowed into the expression a man might wear before jumping into an abyss.

“Come here, you.” He circled an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him in a swift, bone-­crushing hug that took her breath.

Pressed against him, Kendra felt delicious heat sweep her even before he lowered his head to nuzzle the sensitive spot beneath her ear. His hair, still ponytailed, swung forward to brush her neck, unleashing swirls of pleasurable tingles throughout her. “Graeme—­”

“Shhh…” He nipped her neck, his beard stubble grazing her skin. His scent flooded her senses, melting
her with its sexy blend of woodsmoke and the sea. The wool of his sweater caressed her cheek, the rough weave cold from the night’s chill. “I’m sorry, lass…”

The words, spoken against her ear, dashed the sensual spell he’d cast over her. Genuine regret sounded in his voice, letting her know his sudden and fierce embrace wasn’t something he’d wanted.

Kendra stiffened, and caught Gavin Ramsay flash a scathing look at Graeme. “This isn’t over, seal man,” she thought she heard Ramsay snarl beneath his breath just before he strode for the door.

She wasn’t sure because in that same moment, Graeme tightened his arms around her and claimed her mouth with his, kissing her long and hard. It was a savage kiss, bold, brazen, and so heated that Kendra’s heart began to hammer loud enough to block out everything except the thunder of her own pulse in her ears.

Everything else vanished. The world spun away, leaving only silence filled with the roar of her blood. And—­she couldn’t believe it, considering where they were—­a slow, insistent burn deep inside her, liquid flame sluicing intimate places, melting and arousing her.

Kendra closed her eyes, surrendering to the embrace.

She brought her hands up between them, gripping the rough wool of his sweater. She could feel his heart thumping beneath her fingers, the warm, solid strength of his chest. She doubted any man had ever held her so tightly, kissed her with such fierce possession.

When he took her face in his hands, thrusting his fingers into her hair as he deepened the kiss, she didn’t care who saw them.

Nothing else mattered.

Until someone—­a woman—­cleared her throat right behind them.

Kendra froze in embarrassment. Her eyes snapped
open, her mortification complete at finding stout, sour-­faced Janet looking right at her. The older woman’s lips were set in a thin, tight line and her eyes were cold, twin shards of judgment.

If she could, Kendra would’ve sunk into the floor.

She was so not into displays of public affection.

Yet…

She couldn’t have resisted Graeme’s kiss if her life depended on it. Already he fascinated her. And even though it wasn’t an excuse, he had taken her fully by surprise. What red-­blooded woman could keep her head when a sexy Scotsman with a knock-­your-­socks-­off burr grabbed her, pulled her into his arms, and gave her the kiss of the century?

She certainly couldn’t.

Stay unaffected, that was.

So she did the best she could and summoned a smile, flashing it in the general direction of the goggle-­eyed locals at the bar.

She didn’t look again at Janet.

Graeme was still holding her crushed against him and showed no sign of letting her go. It was just a shame that her overly sharp intuition warned her that his kiss and his embrace had nothing to do with a fierce and sudden affection for her. His reasons were elsewhere.

And that stung more than it should.

She could easily fall for Graeme MacGrath.

Worse than that, she suspected she already had.

Kendra felt her nerves fraying, torn one by one under the steady gazes of every patron in the Laughing Gull Inn. An unpleasant hush spread through the room, an awkward silence broken only by the swell of the sea slapping against the harbor’s breakwater outside. Although perhaps that sound—­muffled, rhythmic pounding—­was the roar of her blood. She could feel the hard beat of her pulse, the heat staining her face. Her cheeks were surely crimson.