The Warlord Forever Read online

  Kenna hugged Evan and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for getting rid of him.”

  She liked having Evan around with all that was going on. She couldn’t have made it through her uncle’s funeral and the ensuing aftermath without him.

  Evan chucked his finger under her chin. “I got your back, kid. Now find out what the hell is in that thing.” He swiped up his empty glass from the desk and strolled out of the study with a bottle of scotch in his other hand.

  She knew he was as sick of all this as she was. He wanted it put to rest, but she couldn’t let it go yet. Not until she found the truth.

  She stared across the room, at the heavy stone tomb resting on the Persian rug. It had taken six men to bring it into the house. She shivered, despite the blazing fire beside her. It was getting eerie staying in the house with the corpse of a dead Scottish warlord.

  If that’s even what was in the tomb.

  Kenna got settled behind her uncle’s desk and went back to his journal. She was almost to the end of his engrossing tale, and she wanted to find out how it ended.

  ****

  Ian stirred, restless in his confined slumber. He had been trapped like this for centuries, having been so desperate to leave the world. Now he was desperate to rejoin it.

  The ignoble Fey had tricked him once again.

  Illora had laid him to rest as she’d promised, but while his body was still, his mind remained awake. Active. Thinking. Aware that life was continuing on at a fast pace to the most amazing future. A future he never could have imagined.

  He’d witnessed the history of the world unfolding from the lonely confines of his tomb. He heard and felt life continuing on around him. Scotland had fallen to the English without him there to fight for his homeland’s freedom. He would have been great in that battle. Would have brought the whole country of England to its knees. But he couldn’t think about that now. His past could not be changed.

  Life continued on, into an age called the Renaissance; a period of intellectual transformation in everything from literature and art to science and religion. The Globalization of the World. Then the Age of Enlightenment, which liberated the human mind, leading directly to the Industrial Revolution; an explosion of machinery and technology, from steam powered ships and railroads to engines and electricity. The world had become a busy, bustling place. Diseases had been cured and mortals were living longer.

  None would live as long as he.

  That no longer mattered to him. Getting out of his self-imposed prison was the most important thing. He wanted to stretch his legs in this new world. Feeling it wasn’t enough. He wanted to see it. To touch it. To once again taste life.

  And he wanted to meet the woman of the house his tomb rested in. He wanted MacKenna Douglas to be the one who would finally wake him from this unending curse and set him free. Just like in the dream.

  ****

  It was the dream again.

  The same one she’d had every night since the tomb of Ian the Great had arrived in the house.

  A wild, fearsome warrior came to her on a black horse. He wore no shirt over his strong, muscled chest and his long blonde hair flowed down his back. He jumped down from the horse, wearing only a kilt and a sword at his waist. His rough, rugged face was more handsome than any man she’d seen. His green eyes glowed with lust as he took her into his arms and kissed her.

  Kenna melted into his arms, savoring his passionate kiss; a kiss as wild as the man. When he backed away from her and mounted his horse, she reached for him, not wanting him to leave her. He pulled her into his lap and the horse carried them across a green field, towards a stone castle.

  Then she was alone in a darkened room. Kenna knew the cold stone beneath her hands was not real. The Gaelic writing of the inscription did not make sense to her. She knew she wasn’t downstairs in her uncle’s study, standing beside the ancient tomb, because this was a dream.

  So why did she feel wide awake suddenly? Every night, the warrior encased in his stone coffer called to her in dreams. Beckoned her to him. To release him.

  She never knew how to do it, but tonight was different. She’d finished reading her uncle’s journal. He’d truly believed the secret to immortality was buried with the warlord, and reciting the spell engraved on the tomb would open it.

  Kenna watched herself standing beside the tomb; a dream within a dream. A cool breeze blew through the study, swirling her white satin nightgown around her ankles and tossing the curls of her long strawberry blonde hair over her shoulders.

  That felt real.

  The breeze settled, and she thought she heard the faint sound of a whisper. A breath of life from within the tomb. She grew frightened, wanted to back away. What if it really did carry a curse? Would she die like her uncle? Had he been afraid in his last moments? Had he felt pain? What had happened to him?

  He’d discovered how to open the tomb, yet he hadn’t, so he couldn’t have died from a curse. It was a ridiculous notion made up by reporters hungry for a story. So what or who had killed him? Or had it simply been an accident? And what would happen to her if she followed the instructions in his journal and read the inscription to open the tomb?

  What would be worse? Finding out what was inside, or leaving it closed forever and not knowing? The image of the giant man in a kilt surfaced again in her mind. He stood atop a crag of rocks, the wind blowing through the waves of his long blonde hair, his deep green eyes staring so intensely at her. He was the one who wanted her to do this. To read the inscription.

  Light from the hallway spilled into the dark study and she could see the words on the tomb, so delicately engraved into the rough stone. She hadn’t had time to decipher them, but somehow she knew what they said. And then she found she was reading them aloud.

  “An ancient warrior lies herein,

  Banished by the curse of an evil sin.

  Ian the Great, you are called to rise,

  To look upon the world, to open your eyes.

  Let these words spoken in number,

  Awaken you to life and end your slumber.

  Time goes on, in and around you,

  Come back to the living, and start anew.”

  Holy shit.

  Kenna just stared down at the tomb, amazed she had read the words in the ancient tongue and understood them. She supposed one could do anything they wanted in a dream. Is that really what the words said? Had she opened the tomb? Unleashed the curse?

  No.

  She hadn’t. Because nothing happened. She waited another moment, but still nothing happened. This was the worst dream she’d ever had. She was disappointed because somewhere, deep down inside, she’d wanted something to happen. For once, something exciting and different, like for the tomb to explode with light and release an irresistible warlord. The man from her dreams.

  Since that wasn’t happening, she decided to go back to sleep and give up the childish notion that an immortal Scottish warlord could be awakened from a few simple words. Things like that didn’t happen in real life.

  ****

  Not all was right in the house. She could feel it. Could hear it, actually. There was a person downstairs. It wasn’t Evan. Kenna checked on him in his room, and he was passed out drunk in bed, fully dressed, and sleeping on top of the blankets with his shoes on.

  She crept to the edge of the stairwell as the grandfather's clock announced the top of the hour with the familiar chimes of Westminster, then bellowed out three steady bongs. Who would be in the kitchen at three in the morning?

  She found her feet carrying her soundlessly down the carpeted stairs. She should probably have a weapon in hand, or wake Evan, but the security alarm hadn’t gone off. Had someone cut the power to the house? The lights were on in the hallway.

  There was that noise again. A rustling sound. Like someone was looking for something. Her first thought was that someone was after her uncle’s find. It could be a lunatic or a fanatic who managed to get into the house. Or David Wilkes. But how woul
d they get past the security system?

  Kenna stepped into the dark study. Immediately her heart started racing. The lid to the tomb was open, lying on the rug next to the stone coffin. Disbelief made her rush over to the tomb, then acknowledgment got her adrenaline pumping.

  The tomb was empty.

  She brought her hands to her face as she gazed down into the vacant space. She shook her head, heard herself mumbling, “This can’t be happening.”

  Nothing but an empty box.

  A crash of breaking glass echoed through the house. Kenna rushed back to the doorway of the study and peered down the hallway towards the kitchen, her long hair falling over her shoulder. A faint light glowed in the distance. Like the light from the refrigerator.

  What the hell?

  She didn’t know what to do. Run into the kitchen, or hide? Her feet carried her swiftly down the hallway, headed straight for the kitchen, making up her mind for her. She should be afraid, but she knew what she’d find there. Who she’d find there. Maybe she was still dreaming.

  She froze when her bare feet landed on the cool tiles. Remains of food and containers were strewn all about the floor. A milk carton was spilled on its side, the white liquid making a puddle around it. The refrigerator was wide open, providing the only light in the room.

  Standing there was a man. A giant man; huge, muscular, with long, wild blonde hair. He wore a loose, white linen shirt and a checkered kilt of green and navy around his waist. His back was to her as he rummaged through the contents of the fridge, smelling things, and then eating them or tossing them over his hulking shoulder.

  There went the tofu burgers.

  She didn’t blame him on that one. The housekeeper, Rosa, had stocked the fridge and pantry before taking a vacation. She had been trying to get the family to eat healthier, but tofu wasn’t going to do the trick.

  The man found a Tupperware with the lasagna. He appeared to like that. He devoured the leftovers, tossed the empty plastic container, and then took a long swallow from a bottle of beer resting on one of the shelves. As he went back to pillaging the fridge, Kenna blinked to rid herself of the apparition. It couldn’t be the man from her dreams. Was she hallucinating?

  “I ken you’re watching me, lassie.” His deep voice filled the room. “Are you through, or will you bide a wee?” He slanted a glance over his shoulder, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I pure like the food here, and wouldna mind sharing.”

  Kenna blinked again, gaping open-mouthed at this large, kilted man in her kitchen. He couldn’t be real. She had to be dreaming. Yes, that’s it. She was still dreaming, so she took the time to admire him as he turned to face her.

  His features were hard and angular, like he’d been chiseled from stone. A really big Scottish one. Broad shoulders and strong arms. Large hands. Strong legs dusted with light hair. A sword strapped around his lean waist.

  When he realized she noticed the weapon, his strong brow quirked with curiosity. The small lilt of a smile curling up the corners of his mouth softened him slightly, putting her at ease. Like he’d never dream of hurting her.

  He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

  “My, but you’re a bonnie thing.” He came towards her, growing larger, towering over her.

  Kenna swallowed nervously. This didn’t feel like a dream anymore. This man was very real. She could feel the heat radiating off him. Could smell his scent, like the forest and the sea.

  “I dinna mean to make a hash o’ things, but I was bloody starvin’ and you have loads o’ scran.”

  Was she supposed to be understanding any of what he was saying? He reached his hand out for her, but she backed away. “You’re a dream.” She shook her head in disbelief. “What are you doing in my kitchen?”

  ****

  Ian was not prepared to be so taken with MacKenna Douglas. Her soft, beautiful voice had comforted him while he’d been trapped in darkness, his tomb residing in her home. He could still hear her speaking the words that had freed him. Just as he’d led her to in her dreams.

  The rest of her was even more beguiling. The loose white silk she wore revealed round shoulders and clung to the shape of her full breasts and the curve of her hips. Her reddish gold hair tumbled to her waist in loose curls. Hazel green eyes surrounded by long lashes stared up at him in shock.

  “I’m no’ a dream, lass.”

  And neither was this woman. He’d walked in her dreams, imagining her beauty, tasting her lips, taking her to his home where he made love to her. In reality, she was more beautiful than he’d dreamed her to be. Just the sweet scent of her roused him.

  He’d planned on searching the house for her after he satisfied his hunger. He had another craving that needed tending. He wanted to make his dreams of this woman come true.

  “But you can’t be here,” she replied. “You just can’t. It’s impossible.”

  “I thought you kenned what you were doing when you read the spell to release me.” He’d listened to her mumbling to herself as she read her uncle’s notes, wanting to believe his legend was true. Wasn’t his standing here before her proof enough?

  “I didn’t think it would actually work.”

  His eyes drifted again to her breasts, the hard points of her nipples peaking against the fabric of her gown. How easy it would be to snag his fingers under those thin straps and rip them free. If she’d woken him because she wanted immortality, she’d have to pay for it. Over and over.

  She folded her arms over her chest and made a sound of contempt as he continued to stare at her. An action he was well familiar with. She would try to fight it, but she was crazy for him. All women were. It was a curse he’d been born with.

  “I am anxious to learn of your world,” he said, letting his eyes roam over her luscious body. “Starting with your bedchamber.” He reached for her again, to pull her to him, but she backed away.

  She was afraid of him. Didn’t trust him. Clever lass. He should’ve known she wouldn’t give in so easily. This tender flower would need time to unfold her beauty.

  Her mind intrigued him more than any other part of her. He’d listened to her fight off the reporters and keep David Wilkes at bay. Sharp and witty, she was a woman who could lounge all night beside a fire with a dram of whisky and debate the world. She would be the perfect companion. The perfect host to lead him into the future. The twenty-first century.

  Gads.

  How time had passed. He’d given up so many years of his life, and he would get all of them back with this remarkable woman. He wanted her to show him everything.

  ****

  In her bedchamber? Kenna raised her brow in surprise. “You certainly move fast, don’t you?” She’d never brought a man home before. Not for that sort of thing.

  She preferred to keep her love life private, when she had one. She hadn’t had a date for months. She remembered more than twelve months was a year. Okay, so it had been a long time. Most men didn’t interest her, and if they did, they had to pass her second test: being able to spell.

  “I’ve been locked away for a verra long time.” Ian stepped towards her again.

  How did you spell verra?

  The heated look in his eyes made her want to keep a safe distance between them and she continued backing out of the kitchen as he advanced on her, moving them down the hallway.

  “I didn’t wake you because I wanted a lover,” she snapped. “I didn’t mean to read the inscription.”

  “Dinna you now?” He kept stalking her, his long strides forcing her to pick up the pace of her backwards retreat. “No’ a verra good liar, are you?”

  Kenna stumbled into the study. Trapping herself in the room with this great warrior was probably a mistake, but it was better than leading him to her bedroom. She imagined once he got started, there would be no stopping him. Certainly not from her if her dreams were any indication of how good a lover he’d be. “I didn’t know what would happen when I read it,” she insisted. She’d had an idea, though.


  “Ah, lass,” he sighed, then smiled wisely. He had a mouth made for kissing. “I heard you ripping through the notes of your uncle. You were dying to release me from the curse.”

  He’d been awake in his tomb? Listening to her? He must’ve heard everything that went on in the house since he’d arrived. Did that mean he’d been awake through his entire confinement? For centuries?

  “You heard me?”

  “I heard you, MacKenna Douglas.” He leaned closer to her. “I heard everything.”

  Was it getting hot in here? She’d put the fire out hours ago, and had turned down the heat before going to bed. It was a cold, rainy January, and still her body grew heated and warm. Because of him. Because of the way he’d said her name in that deep, Scottish brogue. And the predatory way he was looking at her.

  “Wh-Why were you cursed in the first place?” she stuttered the question.

  Why had he suffered such a horrible punishment?

  “The truth is, that slag of a Queen tricked me into drinking her potion.” Fury burned in his green eyes. “I wouldna serve her. I am Ian Fletcher!” He crossed one of his arms over his chest. Such a regal gesture. Proud. “I bow to no one.”

  Kenna felt the power of this warrior. Raw. Courageous. Strong. Was he a noble man as well? One to be trusted? The sheer size of him alone was intimidating, and she would be weak and helpless against him. Oh, and he was immortal, so he couldn’t die.

  “How did the Queen trap you?” she wondered.

  Was the Queen more powerful than Ian? Hard to believe. It had to be Fairy magic. Even harder to believe.

  “She dinna trap me, lass.” He seemed amused at the very thought. “I took myself from the world.” His look quickly turned somber, grim. “I was tired of being alone, wandering the Earth while everything around me died. I asked to be sealed inside the tomb.”

  How awful! She had the urge to comfort him, to take him in her arms, but he might not welcome the gesture. The hardened warrior might think she was offering him more than comfort. A man who radiated as much sexuality as he did needed to be kept at a safe distance.