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  Cursed Laird

  Tara Nina

  Book three in the Cursed MacKinnons series.

  While diving for treasure, Caledonia uncovers a statue of a hot Scottish laird. When a lovelorn ghost appears with a sad tale and anti-curse, Caledonia’s life takes a spin toward the implausible. Especially when nightfall comes and the statue transforms into a gorgeous hunk right before her eyes. Her need to help turns into uncontrollable lust that a one-time, mind-blowing sexual adventure in his arms cannot sate.

  Struan MacKinnon wakes to learn over two hundred years have passed. He lands in the arms of a lass with a sexual drive that matches, if not surpasses, his own. The little wildcat ignites his lust and warms his heart in a way he has never experienced. But he is not free to love her.

  Imprisoned by a curse, he’s man by night, stone by day. Caledonia has her work cut out for her. She must win his heart in order to save his soul.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  Cursed Laird

  ISBN 9781419935503

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Cursed Laird Copyright© 2011 Tara Nina

  Edited by Grace Bradley

  Cover art by Dar Albert

  Electronic book Publication August 2011

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.

  The publisher does not have any control over, and does not assume any responsibility for, author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  Cursed Laird

  Tara Nina

  Dedication

  Cursed Laird is dedicated to all the honorary MacKinnon Clan members. Thank you to the readers who have shown support to the MacKinnon brothers by visiting my website and joining their cause. It is your love for them that compels me to continue writing their stories and setting them free from the dreaded curse of the gargoyle.

  Acknowledgements

  I acknowledge the love and support of my family and friends, without whom I would be nowhere in the real world. I have to admit that I would have been stuck in Chapter One of this book without the truly wonderful author Cait Miller. She and I tossed story ideas back and forth on a ten-hour drive to EC’s RomantiCon in Ohio. Her knowledge of spirits and ghosts helped develop a plausible thread for this series. Thank you, Cait.

  To my editor, Grace Bradley. I’d be lost without you.

  Chapter One

  Deeper. Deeper. She had to go deeper. Coolness cut her to the bone. Darkness surrounded her. Something lured her over the ledge. Beckoned to her soul to push beyond her limits. Caledonia knew better but couldn’t stop. The words of her favorite poem urged her to descend farther.

  Thy mighty Ben Lawers surrounds thee

  Four rounded forts protect thy sleeping bairn

  Chained within the center floats thy fourth

  Safe beneath thy watchful eye of Breadalbane

  Rest ye weary one fer yer day of release shall come

  Lest nay be the month of one when thy favored fish of Balloch run

  The sporadic flash from her diving watch caught her attention. Damn. Out of time. But she was so close. Gut instinct told her something lay at the bottom of the loch. That poem teased her with its meaning since she’d found it as a young child. It hinted of a great hidden treasure. She was sure of it.

  When she’d finally located the one spot in the loch she hadn’t explored, the rules of diving played against her. Caledonia stared into the black abyss in the loch’s deepest point. Today, time ticked against her, but tomorrow she’d be back.

  Whatever you’re hiding is yours for another day. Caledonia turned and slowly ascended, even though every ounce of her ached to explore that pit. To her knowledge, no one had ever ventured into that location. Glancing down, she vowed tomorrow whatever prize lay buried beneath its depths she’d locate and retrieve.

  Breaking the surface, Caledonia gathered her bearings then waved to her poppa, who stood fishing off the bow of their trawler, Marcail Struana. The moment he spotted her he lowered his pole, hauled in the anchor and maneuvered toward her. He cut the engine as soon as he reached her and helped guide her onboard.

  “I was getting worried, lass,” he said in his thick, Scottish brogue. “You know I don’t like it when you dive alone. Cutting it a bit short on your air, weren’t you?”

  They had this argument earlier when she sent the other two members of the crew, the O’Reilly brothers, on an errand. Several scuba tanks needed refills and she wanted the Trimix tanks readied in order to accomplish a dive to the bottom of the pit. At that depth she wouldn’t go alone, Percy would be with her.

  “Aye, but I was so close,” she replied with a smile, deciding not to comment on his concern.

  “Close to what, child? This ole loch’s been plundered over and over. Nothing’s ever been found but a few dozen bits ‘n’ pieces of those ancient crannogs. I think our time would be better spent searching elsewhere.”

  Caledonia touched his hand and met his curious gaze. Those bright, baby blues of his held a world of knowledge and she respected his wisdom, but on this she wouldn’t budge. This loch called to her and she was determined to find out why. “There’s something down there, Poppa. I feel it in my gut.”

  “Let’s pray you’re right. I’d hate to think we’ve spent the last week trawling for nothing but fish.”

  As he turned to secure her scuba tank in the holder, Caledonia smiled. She knew how much he missed the fisherman’s life. It saddened her to think of the decline the fishing industry suffered over the years, which caused many to leave the business. Her father included. Now they worked as a team, trying to keep her salvage recovery company running. She asked, even though she suspected he had success from the twinkle in his eyes, “Do I take it we’re having fresh fish tonight?”

  “Aye,” he replied with a nod toward the cooler.

  Caledonia lifted the lid to the smaller of the two fish holding tanks situated in the deck. Both were located in the stern. Four good-sized salmon lay on ice in the bin. “Looks like a good day indeed,” Caledonia praised.

  Poppa harrumphed good-naturedly as he readied the trawler for home. Caledonia wiggled out of her drysuit and hung it beside the scuba tank. She slipped on a light-pink cover-up over her one-piece bathing suit, gathered her notes and took a seat on the bench in the wheelhouse. With precision, she marked the coordinates of where she intended to dive tomorrow.

  Flipping through the folder, she located the map of the loch and highlighted the area she’d covered in today’s dive. She made note o
f a fishing boat she’d discovered. From the looks of its non-decayed condition, it must have been recently sunk by the last storm. Caledonia closed the file and tucked it under the cushion beneath her. She stood and walked the railing as Poppa steered for the small fishing village they called home, Lawers Glen. She’d been born there. Loch Tay was in her blood.

  She scouted the shoreline, noting several homemade docks. Quite possibly, it belonged to one of those. This evening she’d post the fact she found a boat on the bulletin board at the pub. If claimed, she’d then worry about raising it.

  Caledonia stared across the ripple-free water. Blue for as far as she could see, surrounded by rolling hills of green, met her approving gaze. The sun sat low on the horizon, gracing the loch with a world of phenomenal early-evening colors. The perfect setting, if she was painting a picture of serenity and beauty. Sun reflected off the glasslike surface, causing her to squint. Something lay on the bottom of Loch Tay, she sensed it. For as long as she could remember, a strange sensation tugged at her soul each time she sat along its shore. This odd calling led her to learn to dive.

  Every clear day for the past week she, Poppa and the O’Reillys prowled the loch for treasure. At night, an eerie sensation settled in her soul and kept her awake. A niggling tug deep within her, a haunting whisper on the wind that tickled her fascination and lured her to search beneath the loch’s surface.

  Why this particular location? Why not some faraway exotic location known for sunken ships from battles long forgotten? The questions plagued her. Caledonia sorted through her thoughts. For years she’d studied the best locations to find possible chunks of lost eras. But here… She shook her head. She’d grown up here and knew every nook and cranny of the surrounding area like the back of her hand. It was doubtful they’d find anything, as Poppa claimed.

  So why continue?

  It had to be the history of the place, she decided. Since childhood, she’d studied Scottish history, legends and lore. There was one thing Loch Tay boasted the other lochs didn’t. Crannogs. As a young girl, she remembered sitting on the dock and fantasizing about living in one of those stilted abodes. Now, she wanted to know what lay hidden within them.

  A cool breeze blew across the loch. A haunting whisper followed on its lofty coattail. Beware. ‘Tis too high a price to pay for what ye seek. Caledonia stiffened, straining to hear the words again. She shook her head, not certain if she’d heard it at all. One glance at Poppa and she knew he hadn’t heard it.

  Had she? Had she truly heard a whispered warning? Then it hit her as she realized the origin. Spirits walked among them, this she believed with every ounce of her being. Chin tilted, she held a defiant stance and stared out across the loch. If the spirits of this land spoke a word of warning, then she knew she was right. Something lay hidden within the loch and she had to be getting close, otherwise they wouldn’t have attempted to frighten her with an eerie prediction.

  What price was too high? Caledonia gazed at the spot she intended to dive. Better yet, what did the spirits protect they didn’t want her to find?

  * * * * *

  Through binoculars, he watched. What was she up to this time? He’d temporarily lost track of her after she raised that small yacht, which sank off the coast of Kinnairds Head. It amazed him she’d accomplished such a salvage feat with the beat-up trawler as her only vessel. But she did it. Probably by the strength of sheer stubbornness, he snorted. From what he’d heard, she received a minimal retrieval fee from the insurance company for that one. For such a paltry sum, he never would’ve bothered.

  His company didn’t retrieve common vessels for the everyday person. No. His team located and retrieved treasures sunken for centuries—long-forgotten, timeless items worth huge sums of money when sold to the right collector. He couldn’t help but smirk.

  Finding her in Lawers Glen, he’d thought it was some sort of joke. There wasn’t anything in that loch worth finding, besides crannogs. He’d told her that every time she’d mentioned the possibility of a search and salvage expedition here. In his opinion, those weren’t worth wasting time on. Nothing valuable had ever been found in one. The Crannog Society claimed them to be an ancient architectural masterpiece and turned them into a tourist spot, thus slightly stimulating the area’s dying economy.

  His eyebrow cocked and the corner of his lips upturned as he saw her jot notes in a folder. From past experience, he knew her methods. If she made notes, then she was on to something. But what?

  The retrieval of that yacht must have restored her confidence. He dropped the binoculars to hang around his neck. Seeing the trawler turn toward shore and the dock he knew belonged to the Kavanaghs, he made his way down the hill to his car. Something in this loch held Caledonia’s attention and he intended to find out what.

  In all their years together, her instincts never failed them. Except once off the coast of Bermuda, he mused. Came up bust on that venture. Her claims the Triangle interfered with their finding anything still annoyed him to this day. Ghost, ghouls and imaginary mystical triangles weren’t real. Looting sunken treasure, now that equaled reality in his book. From the looks of what he’d seen watching Cali, his gut told him she was definitely on to something.

  Now to find out what, he decided as he slid into the driver’s side of his latest purchase. He sighed contentedly, sinking into the plush, leather seat. Rolls–Royce truly had a way with fine leather.

  * * * * *

  Nothing tasted better than a Guinness after a day of diving. Caledonia tipped her glass to Poppa. “Here’s to a successful day.”

  “Aye, lassie. That it was.” He nodded in return then they each took a sip.

  Regulars filled the Thistle Pub. Young and old lined the solid oak bar that ran the length of the back wall. Only a few of the ten tables around the room were occupied. Having grown up in this village, she knew everyone and they knew her. The place buzzed with chatter, laughter and a friendly game of darts. So when the door opened and the place dropped into a dead silence, she knew she wasn’t going to like what she saw when she turned around.

  Kip stood in the doorway. Not a blond hair out of place, or a wrinkle in his metro-chic clothes, he stared across the room directly at her. If she wasn’t mistaken, his eyes were a stunning shade of blue. Guess those were the contacts of choice for the day. He looked down his nose at everyone, as if the pub was beneath his haughty standard. Which she knew in his eyes, it was. Holding his tall, lean frame in a straight-as-an-arrow stance, he maneuvered toward her, making sure not to touch anything along the way.

  Abel and Percy O’Reilly ended his chance of a clean, unhindered arrival by bumping into him on purpose. Caledonia couldn’t help but smirk when he nearly fell on his arse from the contact. The O’Reillys made a solid wall of thick, testosterone-riddled male flesh and refused to let him pass. From where she sat, all she saw was Kip’s head bobbing from side to side, trying to make eye contact with her.

  “You’re not welcome here, Crosby,” Percy said. His Scottish brogue deepened as he stood his ground against the much-smaller man. Caledonia knew if she said go, the brothers would pummel Kip to a pulp. They’d grown up together, learned to fish and dive together, and got into more trouble than she cared to remember together. They were the brothers she never had, and at the moment she contemplated letting them use Kip as a punching bag.

  “That decision isn’t yours to make, it’s Cali’s,” Kip said. His voice cracked and she knew the massive brothers with their bright-red hair intimidated him. They always had when they worked with her and Kip at her prior salvage company.

  She swallowed the smile that teased her lips. If only she were a mean person. She sighed as she stood and worked her way in between the O’Reilly boys. Being five-foot-five-inches tall and full-figured, she didn’t consider herself to be a petite woman, but standing between these two made her feel small and doll-like.

  “You remember the O’Reillys, don’t you, Kip?” she quipped.

  “I remember they left the
operation same time as you.”

  “You make it sound like I quit a job. We got divorced,” Caledonia said. “They considered themselves part of the settlement.”

  “We didn’t work for you,” Percy stated, flexing his biceps. “We worked with Caledonia. Still do.”

  “Caledonia, you want us to throw him out?” Abel asked without taking his eyes off Kip.

  Seeing Kip squirm gave her momentary joy. For the first time since their divorce, she liked the look on his face. Though he tried to hide it, she knew fear raced through his veins. His gaze darted from man to man then back to her. He wasn’t a fighter. No. He was a sniveling coward of a thief. Caledonia crossed her arms over her chest and leveled a hardened gaze directly at Kip. In no way was she going to let him charm his way back into her life. Those boyish good looks held no magic over her anymore. And without that, he had nothing as far as she was concerned.

  “What do you want, Kip?” she asked point-blank.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. Sweat beaded his brow and he dabbed it with the pressed, white handkerchief he kept in the left breast pocket of his blazer. Funny, when they’d first gotten married, he wouldn’t have been caught dead in one of those. Though she hated to admit it, he smelled nice. The cologne she recognized as her favorite and knew it was expensive. Just like everything else he tended to own over the last few years of their marriage. Nothing was too good for Kip Crosby. The memory of his words slid through her brain and tightened her spine.

  He hadn’t always been so self-centered and arrogant. Caledonia remembered for a split second the younger version of Kip, the one she fell in love with who enjoyed the adventure of the hunt. Then the reason that busted their marriage reared its ugly head as she perused the expensive clothing he wore. The moment they struck a rich find, his motive switched to money. It became about the money and nothing else with him, and that just wasn’t her thing. It killed whatever love she felt for him.