The Craving (Rogues of Scotland #1) (2 page)

They would blame her suicide on him, all because he refused to take her as his wife.

“Ronan,” Stefan called urgently as he stood amid a group of gypsies.

There would be no walking away. If Ronan wanted to leave with his life, he and his friends were going to have to fight their way through the group of gypsies who stood with various weapons.

Before he could pull out his sword, Ilinca let loose a shriek and pointed her gnarled finger at him. Ronan was frozen, unable to move or even speak.

Words tumbled from Ilinca’s mouth, her wrinkled face a mask of grief and fury. He may not comprehend the words, but he knew they could be nothing good. Especially since she was somehow holding him immobile.

Morcant, however, wasn’t in such a bind. He rushed to Ilinca with his sword raised, but in a heartbeat, the old woman had him frozen in his tracks as well. 

A bellow of anger rose up in Ronan, but he couldn’t let it loose. He was only able to shift his eyes. He tried desperately to silently tell Stefan and Daman to run, but he should’ve known his friends wouldn’t leave.

The ever-present rage exploded in Stefan and he let out a battle cry worthy of his clan as he leapt over the fire toward Ilinca. But once more, the old gypsy used her magic to halt him.

Her gaze shifted, and Ronan found his own on Daman. Daman glanced at the ground and inhaled deeply. Then, with purposeful strides, crossed some unseen barrier into the camp.

Instantly, Ronan’s head exploded with pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, but there was no blocking it out. It seemed to go on for eternity.

As quickly as it came, it was gone. When he opened his eyes, there was nothing but blackness. There was no sound, no movement.

“This is for my Ana,” Ilinca’s disembodied voice in her thick Romanian accent suddenly declared around him. “You killed her as surely as if you held the blade yourself. For that I curse you, Ronan Galt. Forever will you be locked in here until such time as you earn your freedom.”

Ronan turned one way and then the other. He ran until he couldn’t run any more, and then went another direction and ran for miles. And still it was always the same.

Blackness.

Where were Daman, Morcant, and Stefan? How was he supposed to earn his freedom? He hated the stillness, hated the silence. But more than anything, he hated being alone.

CHAPTER ONE

Ravensclyde Castle

Northern Scotland 1609

“Nay!” Meg Alpin screamed as two wolfhounds bounded around her. They knocked her off her feet to land in a tangle of skirts, though they did nothing to cushion her fall.  “You great big oafs!”

No amount of scolding could rein in the dogs now that they were inside the room. The white sheets draped over the furniture were only something for them to pull off and play tug-of-war with.

Meg shook her head and climbed to her feet as she dusted herself off. She then put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. As if she didn’t already have enough on her hands. As mad as she wanted to be at the wolfhounds, she couldn’t quite manage it.

She understood what it was to be left behind. The dogs had been all but forgotten until she arrived three months earlier. She had lavished them with affection and attention. In return, they had become the animals they should have been – loyal, protective, clever. And with their antics, they were obviously making up for lost time.

“Enough!” she called and clapped her hands together.

The two wolfhounds immediately dropped the sheet they had been tugging between them and loped over to her. She gave them a rub on their heads and pointed out the door.

“Go chase some rabbits.”

With their tongues lolling out of their mouths, the wolfhounds took off at a dead run, skittering around a corner before disappearing – loudly – down the stairs. There was a distant shriek, letting Meg know the dogs had scared one of the maids again.

She was smiling even as she shook her head. The wolfhounds might think she was their savior, but the dogs had helped her as well. Most nights she had one on each side of her in the bed. Somehow, they always knew when she would give in to her tears. They would leave their spots before the fire and jump up on the bed to lay with her, as if protecting her from the memories that wouldn’t let go.

Meg squared her shoulders and took a look around the large room, her eyes flitting over each covered piece. Her great-aunt had offered her refuge at Ravensclyde. In doing so, Aunt Tilly had given her leave to rearrange the castle as Meg saw fit.

After nearly a month of sitting and staring off into nothing with a book in her lap, reliving the last half year of her life, she finally realized that if she didn’t do something she would waste away to nothing.

Since she needed to occupy her days – and her mind - going through the old furniture that was stored in the top floor of the tower seemed a great place to start.

Meg pulled the first sheet off what turned out to be a large wardrobe and promptly began coughing from all the dust. She waved away the particles she could see in the sunlight that filtered through the windows.

She turned her head before pulling the sheet off the second item, a side table. One by one, Meg exposed the long-forgotten furniture, her smile growing by the minute.

For a brief space of time, she was able to think of Ravensclyde as hers. All the worries, all the heartache of the past year could be pushed away – and hopefully forgotten. Even if it wasn’t, Ravensclyde was giving Meg the time she needed to right her crumbling world.

She took the noon meal in the tower room so she could continue looking over her findings. Some were crumbling into dust, and others were too chipped or faded to put out. Already Meg knew where she would put the wardrobe, three side tables, a landscape painting, two tapestries, and a bench.

There was a settee with three matching chairs she was considering having recovered to put in the parlor to brighten up the room.

With the last bite in her mouth, Meg dusted off her hands and stood to wander around the pieces. She had hoped to find more – and Aunt Tilly had led her to believe there was much more – but she would make do with the few items she had found.

She would have repairs started on the others immediately. There was history in all of the pieces, and she wanted to see all of it every day.

Meg walked around a buffet table that needed to be sanded down and repainted. She took a step back to get a better view of the side, and ran into the wall.

And heard the click of a door latch.

She immediately turned to see that a door had come open. A door she had been too busy looking at furniture to notice.

Meg pushed open the door and leaned her head inside. A slow smile spread over her face when she saw another room, twice the size of the one she was just in, and filled with more covered furniture.

Immediately she began to move from piece to piece uncovering them. It wasn’t until she neared the far left corner that she spotted a tall covered piece set aside, as if separated from the rest.

Curious, Meg walked toward it. With each step, a prickling stole over her skin that was a peculiar and exciting mixture of foreboding and anticipation.

When she lifted her hand to grasp the sheet, she found it shaking. 

Suddenly, the tower was too quiet, the room too still. She forced a laugh, hoping the sound of her own voice would help calm her.

It didn’t.

“How silly I’m being,” she said aloud and swallowed. “I wanted to be here by myself.”

Meg took a deep breath once she realized how foolish she was being. And with a yank, pulled down the sheet.

To find a huge mirror.

It might look like a mirror, but it couldn’t be because it didn’t reflect her or her surroundings. There was nothing but darkness in the glass. It gaped around her, seeming to suck all the light from the room.

Meg shivered and hastily threw the sheet back over the mirror before she ran out of the tower as if flames were licking at her heels.

~ ~ ~

Ronan opened his eyes. For just a moment he could have sworn he saw light. When only the blackness met his gaze, he realized he must have been dreaming of sunshine.

Again.

How much time had passed? There was no way to tell, and he probably didn’t want to know. It seemed lifetimes ago that he had stood with his friends in a gypsy camp eager to ease the ache of his cock between Ana’s beautiful thighs.

Twice before he had been let out of the mirror. The first time he had been so shocked he hadn’t realized what was going on. The woman had been startled by his sudden appearance and ran screaming from the room.

Ronan had taken his chance and climbed out the window, scaled the wall of the castle, and started running across the countryside.

He got away. Or so he thought. Two days later, he woke up back in that room with the female staring down at him angrily. Next to her was an old woman who had the dark eyes of a gypsy.

Ronan had reached out his hand, in the middle of begging them to let him stay, when the mirror sucked him back in.

The second time, he was more prepared. As soon as he was thrown out of the mirror, he gave the young lass a charming smile.

She was a rather plain female, but the seduction that had always come easy to him failed, as she hastily sent him back. That’s how he discovered it was a mirror he was in. And that the mirror belonged to the Alpin family.

Both times he had been in Scotland, but a quick glance at the women’s clothes told him that a considerable space of time had passed in both incidences.

Ronan let out a loud sigh and closed his eyes again. He wondered where his friends were, what they were doing, and how they had lived their lives.

Were they dead? Had they found wives? Did they have children?

Had they tried to find him?

He knew the answer to his last question. Of course they had. Morcant, Daman, and Stefan were his brothers. Not once had any of them not been there for the others.

Ronan wished he could let them know he was all right. Maybe they could figure out how to free him. Magic might have put him here, but the old gypsy had told him there was a way to earn his freedom. 

He didn’t realize until it was too late how he had taken everything for granted. The sunlight, the taste of food, staring at the moon, swimming the cold waters of the loch, making love to a pretty lass, the excitement of battle, or just sharing a dram of whisky with his friends.

The darkness he was bound to had brought to light one thing – he should have handled Ana better.

So many times he had gone over that night in his head and said something different, done something different. His abhorrence to wanting a wife was not Ana’s fault. She might have blindsided him with her question of marriage, but he shouldn’t have been so callous.

It never entered his mind that she would kill herself. She was young and beautiful, holding an allure only a gypsy could.

She claimed to love him, and once he had said no to marriage, she took her life. All his dealings with love had proven it wasn’t worth pursuing.

Another lesson learned, and one he’d known before Ana. His mother and sister had taught him all too well.

Ronan rubbed a hand down his face. At least in the cursed mirror he didn’t have to worry about shaving, eating, or growing old. It was like all of that had been muted.

The one thing that wasn’t muted? His need.

It was agonizing, excruciating to be in such a constant state of arousal with nothing to relieve him. He had tried many times, unsuccessfully, to ease himself. Always he was left wanting, needy.

He didn’t know what was worse – the loneliness, or the ever-present craving to ease his heated flesh.

If he ever got the chance to get outside the mirror again, he would do everything in his power to remain and get free of the damn mirror once and for all.

Ronan stilled. Was that...could it be...

He opened his eyes and gasped when he saw the light shining through the mirror. He sat up and stood, the light beckoning him.  Ronan was powerless to ignore it, not that he would.

His one thought, one goal was to get out of the mirror once and for all. The old gypsy had gotten her wish. He had atoned for what happened to Ana. Now it was time to live his life.

When Ronan reached the light, he tried to step through the mirror, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know what had to happen to pull him out. All he knew was that it wasn’t happening now.

He was getting a peek at the light and a room he didn’t recognize. There was no one in sight, no Alpin woman who had summoned him.

At least that’s what he assumed took place. Then again, he knew next to nothing about what was going on with the mirror or how it was connected to him.

Ronan put his hand against the invisible barrier that kept him in his dark prison. The light touched his skin, the heat of it sinking into his pores and racing along his hand to his arm and then over his body.

How he longed to bask in the sun, to stand beneath the moon, to feel the rain upon his skin.

A soft, very feminine sigh broke him from his thoughts. Ronan’s breath caught in his lungs. He silently prayed and begged to any deity who would listen to let him out of the mirror.

He searched for the woman to no avail. He couldn’t see her, but she was near. Whatever was covering the mirror had slid part-ways off. 

“I can’t,” said a female voice laced with a Scottish brogue.  “I can’t look in that mirror again.”

The barrier holding Ronan evaporated, sending him face-first against the wooden boards of a floor. His arms caught himself before his face could hit. He stood, scrambling away from the mirror and looking around.

He immediately went to the window.  Ronan took in a deep breath and closed his eyes as the sunlight hit his face.

Free at last.  

And he was going to make damn sure he stayed that way.