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  And Baird knew in his heart that there was.

  Julian cleared his throat, an annoying habit that usually indicated he was going to be particularly lawyer-like. “If it is a door - and I’m not in the least bit sure that it is, mind you - there is some question as to whether there might be historic artifacts within. As your legal counsel, I would strongly suggest we summon authorities of antiquities to be present - “

  “Forget it, Julian,” Baird interjected crisply. “We crossed every t and dotted every i acquiring this place. I’ve had it up to the eyeballs with paperwork.”

  Julian inhaled sharply, but Baird tossed his friend a wry grin. “Come on, what can it hurt to look? You know me better than to worry about the fate of anything we find here.”

  “You are painfully scrupulous, much to my ongoing disappointment,” Julian acknowledged with a rueful smile.

  “So, how can we open this? Any ideas?”

  But Julian was not prepared to abandon his argument so easily. “Baird, we could get someone down from PR, you know, and manage this opening as an event…”

  “No!” Baird was surprised by his own vehemence. “Forget PR!”

  “We never forget PR.”

  “This time we will.” Unable to explain his need to do this alone, Baird turned back to survey the door. “Look, the sooner we get this open, the sooner you can have your brandy.”

  It was troubling to feel so strongly about something he knew nothing about, especially when he made it his business to feel as little as possible in the course of life. Feelings got a man into trouble. They were unpredictable, unreliable.

  They made a man hope for things that could never be.

  But still Baird couldn’t even consider walking away from this door before it was opened. This was the root of his fascination with Dunhelm. Baird knew it. He couldn’t turn away and leave the job half done.

  He had to solve this puzzle now.

  When Baird said nothing more, Julian did not hesitate to warm to his theme. “Baird, this is about more than brandy! You can’t simply barge in and do whatever you want here. We’re in a foreign country, after all, and it won’t pay to step on any toes.”

  “It won’t hurt to look, if we can even get the door open,” Baird corrected with growing impatience. “And if there isn’t anything there, summoning anyone would have been wasting their time, as well as our own.”

  “We shouldn’t do it.”

  Baird’s lips set in a tight line. “Look, Julian, I don’t have to tell you that we’re way behind on this restoration, mostly thanks to bureaucrats. And I am not going to spend another six months in government offices getting the right to open a door on an estate when the title to that estate is in my pocket and the bill for the property taxes lands on my desk, especially when there’s probably nothing in it!”

  “Well!” Julian’s nostrils flared. “I don’t know what you pay me for, if you aren’t going to listen to what I have to say!” The lawyer smacked the wall to punctuate his frustration.

  Julian swore, Baird turned to argue, then a low rumble stole away anything either man might have said. They pivoted to find the carved stone sliding slowly to the left, revealing a dark space.

  Baird glanced back to find Julian nursing the back of his hand, his eyes round. “What did you do?”

  “I hit that thing.” Julian pointed to a gargoyle grimacing on the wall beside him. It was the only decorative detail in the small space at the foot of the stairs and Baird only now noticed the oddity of that.

  Baird shone the flashlight on the gargoyle. He touched its outstretched tongue and discovered that it was actually a lever. When he carefully depressed it, the door slid closed with a grating of stone on stone. Baird repeated the move and the door opened once more.

  “Well, we have to look now,” Baird said with a smile that he hoped hid his burgeoning anticipation.

  Julian took a tentative step forward, as though fighting his own legal instincts, and peered over Baird’s shoulder into the shadows. “I can’t believe that you were right,” he breathed. “It is a door.”

  “I told you to trust me.” Baird ducked through the portal and flicked his flashlight around the revealed chamber.

  A woman, garbed precisely as the one on the door itself, was sleeping on a slab on the opposite side of the room.

  Baird stopped so fast that Julian bumped right into his back. The glow from the flashlight bounced off the walls and seemed to illuminate the entire chamber.

  But Baird had eyes only for the woman.

  Her long golden hair spilled over her shoulders and the stone, a garment that had once been richly embroidered clung tenuously to her curves. Baird’s mouth went dry and he nearly dropped the light.

  “How in the hell did she get in here?” Julian muttered, but Baird wasn’t interested in anything his friend had to say.

  Because the jolt of recognition Baird had felt upon seeing Dunhelm was nothing compared to this.

  He found himself halting beside the stone slab without any recollection of deciding to cross the chamber. Baird stared down at the woman, astonished at the turmoil of emotion let loose within him.

  How did he know her?

  Her heart-shaped face was delightfully feminine, her ruby lips sweet and full. She was small and delicately built, her hands slender and gracious.

  And Baird wanted to kiss her more than anything in the world.

  Which had to be the weirdest damn thought he’d had in quite a while, perhaps ever.

  Baird couldn’t explain his conviction, illogical as it was. It came out of nowhere, but seemed uncontestable. Baird found himself bending closer to her as though a will greater than his own drove him on.

  He couldn’t stop.

  “Baird!” Julian exclaimed in horror behind him. “What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?”

  But Baird was deaf to his friend’s protest. A sweet perfume rose from the woman’s skin, a beguiling mix of flowers mingled with her own scent that swept every objection from his mind.

  He had to taste her. Baird knew when his lips were a finger’s breadth from hers that he should stop, that he should step away, that this was crazy.

  But he couldn’t. It was as though there was nothing else he could do in this place at this moment. The woman seemed to sense his intent, for her head turned slightly towards Baird and her lips parted in mute invitation.

  His gut clenched at the sight. And Baird bent to brush his lips chastely across hers. The welcoming heat of her lips burned against his mouth, their breath mingled, and time stood still for a tantalizing moment.

  Then the woman’s eyes flew open, their blue-gray shade echoing the colors of the sea just beyond the walls. She caught her breath in alarm and sat up hastily as Baird took a guilty step back. Her hands clutched the shards of her dress to her breasts, but not before Baird glimpsed their creamy perfection.

  Then she glared at him with undisguised hostility.

  And Baird didn’t need Julian to tell him that he had just made a big mistake.

  *

  Chapter Two

  What was this?

  Two strangers bursting into her chambers. And her robe in tatters about her! Aurelia would have words for the seamstress about this garment, that was for certain!

  The tall one who led the way was oddly dressed, his heavy blue chausses showing the lean strength of his legs to shocking advantage. He was dark of hair and broad of shoulder, square of jaw and proud of profile. He was a handsome man, a warrior by his stance, his stern expression, and the determined line of his lips.

  But the bright gleam of his eyes unsettled Aurelia so much that she had to look away. Something lurking in those green depths gave her the sense that this man could read one’s very thoughts.

  Had he had the audacity to kiss her? Aurelia hated that she could not be certain. Her mind was filled with stardust and she could not manage to collect her thoughts.

  But he had been dangerously close when she awakened. And her l
ips were warm in a most odd way.

  The second man was dressed strangely, too, a bright length of silk knotted around his neck and the finest leather shoes Aurelia had ever seen upon his feet. His cloak was fabulously detailed, though the familiarity of the plaid lining was oddly reassuring. The top of his head was bald, his fair hair left in a thick ring from temple to temple.

  Had she not heard that the priests from Rome shaved their pates in such unusual fashion?

  Aurelia tried to sit up straight and hold the shards of cloth over her nakedness with a measure of decorum. She would need all the grace drilled into her to meet the measured gaze of the tall one once more.

  But what were foreigners doing in her father’s home, so free with their ways that they could burst into her chambers? Her mind felt as fogged as the bay on an autumn morning, but Aurelia fought to collect her wits.

  And this place smelled like a cellar! With a start, she realized that she was not in her chambers at all.

  “Who are you?” she demanded regally. “What gives you the right to invade my privacy unannounced? And where is my father?”

  The men exchanged a glance, though their features did not show any sign of comprehension. Where had they come from that they did not understand the Pictish tongue?

  Aurelia repeated her questions in the Gaelic of the Scots and that of the Irish, then in the Briton of the south, finally in the Norse tongue of her father. All to no avail. Even the Latin of the cursed priests earned no response.

  “What the hell is she saying?” the man with the bald pate asked.

  The tall man shrugged, his perceptive gaze unwavering from Aurelia’s own. “I have no idea. Maybe she’s cold.”

  A twinkle danced within Aurelia’s mind and she felt the power of the first gift granted at her naming surge to life. For years, she had trained and honed this ability, and now the dividends were her own. She silently thanked the great priestess who had paid her homage with this gift.

  For Aurelia had been granted, as a babe, the gift of tongues.

  It was fitting for the daughter of a great sorceress to be endowed with such a magical gift and useful, as well. Aurelia habitually translated messages from afar at her father’s court, for she had only to hear a language to not only have an understanding of it, but to be able to converse in it.

  That did not mean she understood all of the words within that language, particularly when parallel words did not exist within her own mother tongue. The second man’s next speech made that tellingly clear.

  He scratched his forehead. “She must be a vagrant - just look at her clothes! - who somehow has gotten into this place to sleep. We can’t afford to have this kind of PR liability connected with the resort before we even open.” He rolled his eyes and shuddered. “I can’t believe you touched her without having any idea where she’s been! What were you thinking?”

  The tall man’s expression turned grim, but he did not respond. Even Aurelia could see that he did not intend to defend his actions.

  He was obviously the leader, this priest his advisor. Her father had often said not to trust a man who put too much faith in the soothsaying of priests of any faith and she admired that this one questioned his counsel.

  But precisely how had he touched her? Aurelia licked her lips nervously and found a taste upon them that was not her own.

  What manner of man kissed a sleeping stranger?

  The priest sighed. “Look, let’s take her into town and…”

  “And what?” the tall man demanded impatiently. “Toss her out in the street? How is that good PR?”

  He waved off whatever the priest would have said, his green gaze fixing on Aurelia once more. “Have we met?” he asked in a far more gentle tone than he had used with his priest.

  “No.”

  Something flickered in the depths of those eyes, as though he did not quite believe her. “Are you lost? Do you live near here?”

  “I live here!” Aurelia almost laughed at the foolishness of his question, but a shadow crossed the warrior’s eyes.

  Why was he troubled by that claim? It was perfectly true. Aurelia frowned, sensing there was something critical she should remember, but the memory shimmered elusively just beyond her grasp.

  The priest sighed, a sure sign that his course of action was getting short shrift to his mind. “Look, Baird, I don’t know what’s going on here, but sentimentality has no place…”

  Bard! Aurelia straightened with a shock she could not hide.

  This was Bard, son of Erc!

  Aurelia had never met the cursed dog, but certainly had not imagined he would be so handsome. There was an air about him that tempted one to trust him, a characteristic all the more foul given what Aurelia knew of his deceitfulness.

  Memories tumbled into her mind like a river unleashed from a dam. Bard’s ships had arrived at Dunhelm this very morning! And Aurelia had killed the first of Bard’s own men.

  And now Bard, son of Erc, stood boldly before her, his progress unobstructed. Her father would never have allowed this.

  If Hekod had had a choice.

  A trickle of dread slithered down Aurelia’s spine. She thought frantically, but she could not remember anything beyond pricking her thumb.

  And being surrounded by a dizzying shimmer. Clearly, she had fainted from the shock of her wound and the battle had raged on without her.

  Suddenly, Aurelia recognized the room. They were in the bowels of the old ritual well, though that made little sense. How did she get from the ramparts to the well while battle for her home raged?

  She must have been taken prisoner.

  Aurelia’s mouth went dry. Bard had singled her out, no doubt to pay for her early assault upon his forces.

  Bard suddenly cast aside his unusual green cloak. He shrugged out of his heavy cream-colored knit tunic and Aurelia inched backward in sudden understanding the price she would pay.

  He would rape her!

  “You must be cold,” he said smoothly. Ha! Aurelia would never give him the chance to warm her flesh with his own!

  Bard stepped closer, his emerald gaze fixed upon her as though he would lull her into complacency. Aurelia stared back at him with feigned innocence and secretly felt for the blade she always carried.

  The sheath hanging from her belt was empty. The treacherous dog had seen her disarmed, while she lay in a stupor!

  But Aurelia was not without defenses. Bard took another step and Aurelia coiled herself tightly, waiting for the moment he came near enough for her kick to be disabling.

  But Bard halted two steps away. He held out his garment at arm’s length and Aurelia’s breath caught in her throat.

  Had he guessed her intent?

  “Take it.” Bard gave his sweater a little shake when Aurelia did not move. “You’ll catch cold otherwise.”

  Aurelia did not want to take any garment that had graced Bard’s sorry hide. All the same, she did not want to sit virtually nude before that perceptive gaze.

  It left her at a disadvantage, to say the least.

  Certain that there must be a trick, Aurelia snatched hastily at the tunic. She moved quickly, but not quickly enough to avoid the heat of Bard’s fingers brushing against her own. The contact sent a shiver running along her flesh, and surprise made her stare into his eyes for a dangerously long moment.

  He arched an ebony brow, as though surprised by her reticence to touch him. Aurelia’s heart stopped, before it lurched forward again.

  Oh, he had a charm, that much was certain, but Aurelia knew the darkness that filled his heart! She hauled the knit tunic hastily over her head and closed her eyes against the seductively masculine scent that rose from the garment.

  She felt suddenly much, much warmer, though she fought hard against her instinctive attraction to this man. Aurelia had no doubt Bard cultivated this calm manner, perhaps practicing the seductive low pitch of his voice, as it would serve his ends well. All the better to disarm those he would destroy.

  Had he
r own brother not been seduced by Bard’s deceitful talk?

  “I thank you,” Aurelia managed to say with some decorum. The tunic covered her hips and would likely fall halfway to her knees when she stood.

  Her suspicion must have shown, but Bard’s gaze did not waver. Aurelia folded her arms across her chest and glared at her captor, determined to know the truth. “What have you done with my father?”

  The men seemed surprised by this question and exchanged a glance before Bard’s dark brows drew together in a frown.

  “Who?”

  “My father, King Hekod the Fifth, King of Dunhelm and Lord of Fyordskar across the sea.”

  Bard’s lips tugged in an unwilling smile that transformed his features. An unexpected twinkle gleamed in his eyes, like sunlight dancing on the sea. Bard was no longer the stern warrior, but an indulgent lover.

  Lover? What had summoned such a foolish thought? Clearly he smiled because he was pleased to have her parentage confirmed.

  “King Hekod?”

  “The Fifth,” Aurelia corrected haughtily. “I would see him now, if you please, and ensure his welfare.”

  Bard’s smile faded. “I don’t know your father,” he said gently. “Much less know where he is. In fact, there was no one here when we came to Dunhelm.”

  That Bard should lie to her so baldly stunned Aurelia to silence. No one here? What of the warriors she had joined on the walls this very morning?

  Her heart clenched in fear. What had Bard done to her father?

  Aurelia pushed to her feet and determinedly folded her arms across her chest. “He must be here!” she insisted.

  Bard’s lips quirked as though he wanted to reassure her. “Well, there can’t be that many Hekod’s in the vicinity. And he can’t be far. Maybe we could find him together.”

  Aurelia was astonished by the suggestion. Either Hekod had already died a gruesome death, or he was imprisoned and awaiting a sorry demise. How could Bard pretend Hekod did not even exist?