"Tell me." Jamee straightened her shoulders, trying to read Ian"s face in the darkness. "I need to know, Ian. Faceless is worse, because they become monsters I can"t defeat. And I have to win. Somehow," she whispered.

"There were two of them," Ian said flatly. "In their thirties, I"d guess. They were waiting by both doors. Thank God we got out when we did."

Jamee tried to think clearly. His hard body cradled beneath the thick wool. Every touch seduced; every movement of his hands kindled fresh heat.

She closed her eyes and shut away the need. "Something else is bothering you."

He didn"t answer.

"Tell me, Ian. I have a right to know."

He muttered a curse and gripped her tightly. "They were well financed and well briefed. They knew we were alone. They were following us from the cliffs. It means, Jamee, that they know more than they should."

Briefed.The word slammed through Jamee"s head, causing a new kind of cold to grip her.

"Then you"re saying it"s someone close to me. Someone who knew my schedule and my destination."

"I"m saying it"s possible. And I don"t like the idea," Ian muttered.

Jamee didn"t like it, either. She wanted to scream and fight, but there was no one to fight. So she held on to Ian, her only source of stability in a world turned upside down, a world where she could trust no one, not even those closest to her.

"So, Scotsman," she said with a shaky laugh, "don"t you ever have any good news?"

Ian rested her face against his chest and slid his hands into her hair. "Don"t you ever lose your sense of humor?"

"Only when I"m deprived of my morning coffee."

"I can see I"m going to have to teach you the merits of a good Darjeeling," Ian said. "For the record, here"s the good news. The fog is lifting."

"And the bad news?" she asked.

"Tonight you get to sleep with me."

Jamee sighed, burrowing closer against Ian"s broad chest. "That"s not bad news at all. The bad news is that sleeping isall we"ll do." She raised her head. "It is, isn"t it?"

Ian muttered darkly. "It is."

"I was afraid you"d say that." She eased her head back down on his shoulder and five minutes later, she was asleep, sprawled over his chest. By then, her hands were wedged beneath his sweater, pressed against his naked skin.

Ian knew when she relaxed, knew when she finally slept. Even though every breath brought him fresh pain, he didn"t move beneath her. Her soft thighs fit so snugly against his rising erection that he had to concentrate on staying motionless.

But he didn"t pull away. The feel of her body was too precious in spite of his fevered reaction.

Carefully, he eased the cellular phone from his pocket and dialed Dunraven Castle.

"MacKinnon here."

"You appear to have had a little accident with the crofter"s cottage, my friend."

"Ian? Are you and Jamee-"

"Fine. I can"t say the same for the cottage, unfortunately. Any hope of getting a car up here?"

"Within the hour, I hope. The fog is lifting as we speak. Where are you now?"

Ian gave terse directions. "Remember the night we found the barrow?"

"Of course, it"s right at the top of the-"

"That"s the place," Ian interrupted. "No need to announce it to the whole world, however."

Jamee murmured once, and Ian slid a hand over her shoulder, soothing her. "Send some men after us as soon as you can. We might have been followed here," Ian explained grimly. "I can hold them off for a while, but I"d prefer not to."

"Understood. Sit tight," Duncan snapped, than rang off.

Ian sank back. Two hours until dawn. So little time-and yet in some ways, an eternity. He whispered Jamee"s name as his hands slid through the warm silk of her hair. He would hold back the past for her until dawn. He would help her fight her dark memories.

For the last hours of the night, Jamee would sleep without shadows.

DAWN FILTERED SLOWLYover the brown hills, shadowing the solitary ring of stones. At the top of the pass a golden plover soared on the high currents, oblivious to the landmarks left by ancient men. The last tendrils of mist ebbed to the high peaks as the sun burst free.

Jamee winced as her knee struck a rim of stone. She sat up stiffly. The tartan was draped over her legs. She was alone in the barrow and the fog was completely gone.

Ian was gone, too.

In the pale daylight, the chamber seemed small and unremarkable, its shadows hiding no terrors. Jamee shoved away the bracken and heather covering the narrow hole, then pushed outside, blinking in the pinkish light. Before her the high hills rolled implacably away toward stone cliffs and the girding sea. The charred roof of the cottage sent plumes of smoke trailing against the sky, but the memory of the dangers of the night faded before the peace of the landscape, where green lay upon green in a dozen shades that Jamee knew would haunt her dreams.

It was a beautiful place. A desolate place, filled with shadows of a restless past. Ghosts might well walk here-if Jamee had believed in them, which she did not.

Did Ian feel these same stirrings? She thought of an old castle somewhere to the north, circled by a river and ancient hills. How could he sell such a part of his heritage?

Something rumbled beneath Jamee"s feet. A car, coming fast. Maybe more than one car.

Dear God, where was Ian?

She spun awkwardly at a sudden noise behind her. Ian stood a few feet away smiling in the sunlight, one shoulder propped on the massive capstone. Dirt streaked his face and hands.

"You look terrible," Jamee said, running over the heather and throwing her arms around him.

"Maybe I should look terrible more often," he murmured, smoothing her hair with one hand.

"Don"t change the subject, McCall. Where have youbeen? That rumble is the sound of a car, in case you hadn"t noticed."

"Oh, I noticed. That should be Duncan MacKinnon, right on schedule." He checked his watch, then gave a crooked grin. "I phoned him while you were sleeping."

"Phone? How?"

Ian patted his pocket. "Cellular. I never leave home without it?" His smiled faded. "Duncan knew where we were, Jamee. The problem was getting to us."

"The fog?"

Ian nodded.

Jamee pulled away, her body stiff. "You could at least have told me about the phone."

"Things happened too fast."

"I don"t like deception," she said tightly. Her emotions were in turmoil. She wanted Ian"s arms around her, but at the same time, her reliance on him frightened her.

"Neither do I. But I gave your brother my word that I"d keep my participation a secret."

Her eyes widened. The rising sun left shadows over the hard planes of Ian"s face. "What made you change your mind?"

"You did."

Jamee swallowed. Feelings engulfed her. It was too much too soon. She wasn"t ready to feel so painfully aware of another person. She wasn"t ready to trust a man with her vulnerability. She took a step away from Ian. "The men at the cottage are gone?"

"As fast as they could manage with four tires losing air fast."

A smile tugged at her mouth. "You did that?"

"I wasn"t going to make it easy for them. From the look of it, their tracks run southeast, back toward the village. The constable"s men should be able to trace them. Duncan"s already phoned in an alert." Ian shoved his hands into his pockets. "I"m here, Jamee. If you"re cold. If you need me."

"I"ll be fine."

"That"s not what you said last night." A muscle moved at his jaw.

"That was last night." Jamee turned her face to the sun, shivering. "Someone could have killed you down there. I"m not going to lie, Ian. That bothers the hell out of me." She pulled up her jacket collar as wind knifed through her hair. "Maybe things are happening too fast. Forboth of us."

Before she could say more, a trio of Land Rovers bucked over the steep incline, then shuddered to a halt below the stone circle. A tall man with black hair jumped from the lead car and sprinted over the rocky ground, smiling broadly.

"Glad to see that the ghost of the dead Druid prince didn"t seize you in the night, Glenlyle."

"No one said anything about a ghost," Jamee said tightly.

"Oh, this old ring is haunted without a doubt. Many are the lights we"ve seen from Dunraven."

Duncan MacKinnon looked at Jamee, his blue eyes crinkling. "You must be Ms. Night." He enveloped her hand in a firm grip and shook it twice. "Length of life and sunny days and a belated welcome to Dunraven land."

"I don"t believe in ghosts," Jamee said.

"No? Don"t tell that to Ian here. He once throttled a lad who said the Glenlyle legends were naught but poppycock."

"What legends?" Jamee frowned at Ian.

"Forget the legends, MacKinnon," Ian thundered. "Where"s that whiskey you promised me?

We want a hot bath and a hot meal. On the way you can tell me what took you so long to get here."

CHAPTER TWELVE.

THELANDROVERpitched to a halt at the end of a narrow gravel drive. Up the hill, light danced from Dunraven Castle"s pink stone walls. A roof of black slate rose in a fantasy of gables and turrets above the rugged landscape.

Jamee pinched herself to be certain she hadn"t stepped into a dream.

"Twenty-two kings have slept here in the castle," Duncan explained with pride. "Three wars were planned here and more than a few affairs of the heart."

"It...it"s magnificent," Jamee breathed.

Duncan chuckled. "Wait until you see Ian"s great wreck up at Glenlyle."

Jamee"s eyes widened. "It can"t be bigger than this."

"You"ll see," Duncan said.

Jamee glanced at Ian, who smiled calmly. "Where"s that wife of yours, MacKinnon? I"ve been wanting to give her a kiss for months now."

"One kiss, laddie, and no more. Otherwise it will be clay-mores at dawn on the beach."

Ian sighed loudly. "It never fails to amaze me that Kara settled on an oaf like you."

"For one reason and one only. The lady obviously has excellent taste." Duncan opened Jamee"s door with a flourish. "Welcome to Dunraven Castle, Ms. Night." With that, he swept Jamee up into his arms and headed toward the massive oak door.

Jamee looked around her with great interest, not at all put out by his dashing gesture. "Is this standard procedure or is the fanfare only for impressionable Americans?"

"Quite standard, I assure you. The custom began several centuries ago when one of my more debonair ancestors insisted on carrying a queen of Scotland over the muddy paths beside the pigsty. The pigsty is gone, but the ritual remains, I"m glad to say."

"You can put her down now, MacKinnon," Ian said with an undercurrent of irritation.

"Not until we reach the front door. Ritual is ritual, you know."

Ian snorted. "Only when it suits you."

Jamee hid a smile, relishing the sunlight on her shoulders and the wind that rose from the sea, fragrant with salt and pine. "I like your kilt, Lord Dunraven."

"Call me Duncan, my dear." Duncan chuckled at the irritation on Ian"s face. "And do not be misled. A kilt is the best costume for a fight, you understand. There is nothing to bind or restrict a man"s movement. Scratch a Scotsman"s customs and you"ll generally find something to do with fighting or planning a fight."

"Or drinking," Jamee said helpfully.

"There is that," Duncan conceded. "As I recall, your father did a fair bit of that himself when he and your mother visited at Rose Cottage for their second honeymoon. I can"t tell you how sad I was to hear of their accident."