supposedly deserted, but they also had the same names as in the legend.
Lucan cursed inwardly. It was unlike him to be so careless. With Fallon always inebriated and Quinn unable to control his rage, it had been left up to Lucan to take care of everything. He had never failed them.
Until now.
He motioned to the chair near the fire. “Come. Warm yourself.”
When she didn’t move, he backed away from the stairs to give her room. “You have nothing to fear from us.”
“Then who removed my clothes?”
Lucan glanced away, but not before he saw Fallon raise a brow. “You were soaked through. I dinna wish for you to catch a chill.”
She shuddered at his words, and again he motioned to the fire. Thunder boomed around them, shaking the very ground. It propelled her down the stairs and in front of the roaring fire, though.
With her back to the flames, she regarded the brothers. She kept herself stiff, like a cornered animal waiting for an attack. “Am I to be kept here?”
Fallon rolled his eyes and reached for the wine as he once more took his seat at the table, murmuring something that sounded like “wenches.”
Lucan shook his head. “I would have returned you to the village, but with the storm I thought it better to get you out of the weather.”
“Then I can leave now?”
It took everything Lucan had not to shout nay. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and gave a quick jerk of his head. “If you wish to brave the weather.”
“Your accent is . . . different.” Her head was cocked to the side, her braid falling over her shoulder to tease the bottom of her breast.
He forgot to breathe as his rod swelled. He could imagine palming her breasts, pinching her nipples until they were hard little nubs. Then he would wrap his lips around them, suckling them until she cried out his name.
“. . . isn’t that right, Lucan?”
He jerked and turned to find Fallon staring at him. His mind had been so preoccupied with thoughts of the girl he hadn’t heard a word his brother had said.
Fallon blew out a breath. “Food.”
“Aye. Food.” Lucan stalked off to the kitchens before he made a bigger idiot of himself.
Who knew a wisp of a girl with chestnut hair and mahogany eyes could turn his blood to boiling and his body hard with just a look?
CHAPTER THREE
Cara’s mind reeled.
She remembered staring at the ruins, entranced with them. Almost as if they had called to her, beckoned her. Then she had taken off her necklace because it had burned her.
The wind had snatched it from her hand, but she had managed to grab it. She remembered feeling the soft ground shift beneath her, then give way before she could move to safety.
Then she’d stopped. When she had looked up it was to find . . . Lucan. He had held her by one arm, struggling to keep her from falling while his sea green eyes begged her to hold on. She had slipped from his grasp; of that she was certain.
The horror of falling, knowing she would hit the rocks below and die, still made her heart pound in her chest. But she didn’t remember anything after seeing his eyes grow large as her hand slipped out of his.
Could his brother, Fallon was his name, have been below to catch her as he claimed? It was the only explanation, but a part of her continued to be wary.
The men were keeping something from her. It was an odd feeling of certainty, the same type of feeling she’d had over the past few weeks as if someone watched her.
There was a roar that was immediately drowned out by thunder, but there was no mistaking the sound. She jumped and scooted closer to the fire.
The image of the other man who had become angry at seeing her in the gown flashed in her mind. Had it been a trick of the candles, or had his teeth elongated?
She glanced at the door, wondering if she could make it. They had told her she wasn’t a prisoner, but she wasn’t sure how much to believe.
“We won’t stop you.”
She looked to find Fallon with his elbows on the table and a bottle of wine in his grip. His hair was the color of freshly tilled earth, dark and thick. He was handsome enough with his strong jaw and wide, firm lips, but it was his dark green eyes that bespoke pain silent and profound.
He gestured to the door, his gaze not moving from the bottle. “Leave.”
“I’m not safe here, then?”
He chuckled and lifted the bottle to his lips. He drank deeply and shrugged. “Lucan won’t let anything happen to you. He’s the best of us. I don’t know what’s worse, though, the storm or staying here.”
Despite the fact that Fallon was inebriated, she saw the truth of his words in his eyes when he glanced at her. Fear snaked down her spine. Her necklace, which she’d found in her hand, vibrated beneath her gown between her breasts. It had never done that before, but it made her distinctly aware of her surroundings.
Who were these men? Was it mere coincidence they had two of the same names as the brothers of the MacLeod legend? Was the third named Quinn?
Did she really want to know?
Angus had told her monsters resided in the castle. It could be the old man had known far more than he had been willing to say.
Cara squeezed her toes together. Her feet were like ice on the bare stones, but she hadn’t been able to find her shoes or stockings when she raced from the chamber. The storm was fierce, but she should be able to make it back to the village.
She inwardly cringed at the fear that always took hold of her when night fell. She took a step to the door, the light from the fire and the candelabras making her hesitate. When Fallon did nothing but look at her, she took another step. Her hand was upon the latch to open the door when Lucan walked into the hall, a platter of food in his hand.
His gaze locked with hers as he froze. She licked her lips and realized her chances of getting free were slim. And it was the longing and loneliness she saw in his green eyes that gave her pause.
Lucan was tall and broad shouldered, a wall of solid muscle and rippling with sex appeal. He was gorgeous and dangerously powerful. His tunic did nothing to hide his muscular chest, which tapered to a narrow waist, then to long legs that bulged with muscles encased in brown breeches. His ebony locks fell past his shoulders in waves, and he wore a single small braid on either side of his temples like the warriors of old.
At the collar of his dark green tunic she saw the thick gold torc around his neck. He didn’t wear a kilt or any tartan that would tell which clan they belonged to, which was odd. Any Highlander, and these men were most certainly Highlanders, always wore his tartan.
Her heart skipped a beat when she let herself really look into Lucan’s face. He had dark brows that slashed over eyes thickly fringed with black lashes. His nose was slightly bent from a break, but it paled in comparison to his mouth. Lips full and wide parted, then tilted down in a frown. A tremor shivered through her as she wondered what it would feel like kissing those lips.
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she grimaced. She was to be a nun. A nun shouldn’t have those kinds of thoughts, even if they were her deepest desires.
