Highland Pull

By Laura Harner

Waking up next to a dead woman was a good indication that Dr. Gabhran MacLachlan was in bigger trouble than he’d realized. Recognizing this as another trap set by the dark Druid Master, Gav races from Edinburgh to New Orleans to find Alysone, a mental patient who claims to have awakened in a reality that isn’t hers. Her story, so close to his own, may be the necessary key to unlock his Druid memories and prevent him from shifting realities once again.

When Alysone disappears, Detective Miranda Close is less than thrilled to discover her new landlord and would-be lover is the missing woman’s doctor. Raised in the magick of New Orleans and already familiar with the darkness coiled within Gav, Randi’s belief in the supernatural may be all that saves her life when they are pulled hundreds of years into his past, and only one of them remembers the truth. When realities shift once again, Randi realizes they may be pawns in a much larger game.

The Highland Destiny saga continues with a tale of betrayal, murder, and magick that spans two continents and hundreds of years.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laura Harner
• Release date: Aug 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781937252168

Laura Harner

Laura lives on waterfront property in Arizona because she's always wanted to be an oxymoron. She once enjoyed hobbies such as gardening and travel—now the characters in her head compel her to tell their stories, so she writes. (It doesn't actually help quiet the voices—but it keeps the folks in the white jackets at bay.)She shares her home with an ever-revolving cast of characters—some of whom are actually real—and is living her dream of building her own version of the Willow Springs Ranch.With over fifty published novels and novellas, Laura is an international bestselling author of erotic romances, romantic suspense, urban fantasy, and Highland romances. Her books can be found at all major online retailers.Connect with her online at:http://lauraharner.com

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Dedication

To my readers.

You have made this first year as an indie published author a dream come true. Let’s find more worlds to explore together.

I would also like to offer a special thank you to Virgie Stickelmann. You have gone above and beyond, once again, my friend.

Tom Webb, Carol, Liz, Robyn, Danielle, Julie, Sadye, Gail, Lisa, Sonya, Kara, April, Diane, and all the others who have read Highland Pull, whether it was the original manuscript or isolated sections, you have all contributed, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

And as always, thank you Dan for helping to bring the image in my head to life through your photography.

Acknowledgement of Trademarks

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmark mentioned in this work of fiction:

Royal Sonesta: Sonesta International Hotels Corporation

Star Trek: Paramount Pictures Corporation

Moon Pie: Chattanooga Bakery, Inc.

Abita Turbodog Ale: Abita Brewing Company

Macallan's Whiskey: Macallan Distillers Limited

Albus Dumbledore: Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.

Braveheart: Paramount Pictures Corporation

Café du Monde: H.N. Fernandez, Inc.

Prologue

Rain falls hard on the bayou, harder than anywhere else in the world. The sound it made on the tin roof of the little shack was deafening. Marie checked all the symbols and even in the flickering candlelight, there was no mistaking the signs.

In her part of the world, magick spoke to her through voodoo. The spirits were not always clear, and could be fickle, but she was a powerful Priestess, the great granddaughter, and namesake, of the greatest Voodoo Queen of all New Orleans, Marie Laveau. It was her duty and honor to preside over the ceremonies and ritual dances for her community.

She earned money from the tourists, selling trinkets and meaningless amulets, but the locals, those in the know, those who needed real power, came to Marie. None in the Crescent City, none in the bayou, indeed none in all of Louisiana was more skilled in magick. Especially black magick.

Marie checked the signs once more, still nothing changed. Two men were coming, one who was dark seeking light and one who was being consumed by darkness. Interesting.

These men had a different kind of magick, Druid magick. Their magick was ancient and like the Voodoo Queen, they were also bound to care for their people and the land. They drew power from nature, and some said they could manipulate the elements, possibly even shift space and time.

Marie knew Druids passed through New Orleans from time to time, but they were not awakened; they knew nothing of the power that slept deep within them. The Druid knowledge of their ancestors had been stripped by someone or something far more powerful than any human magick. Their legends told that the Queen of the Tuatha Dé Danann, the Fae, had stripped the Druids of their knowledge in a fit of petulant jealousy thousands of years ago.

Now the signs showed those ancient plans to disband the Druids were coming unraveled. No matter how many ways Marie looked, she encountered Darkness and Light. A light no matter how feeble is always stronger than the dark. However, darkness was powerful and it exerted a pull that could be hard to resist.

****

She sat alone in the dark listening to the rain pounding in the courtyard and spilling over the rims of the rain gutters that circled the roof. Rain made her feel lonely, but she didn’t know why. She didn’t know why she felt many things.

Two years ago, she had awakened in the middle of a life about which she knew nothing. She was a young woman of twenty-three, or so they told her. She didn’t remember her birthday. Or her address, or where she’d gone to school, or…well, anything. Even her accent didn’t feel like her own. The people around her claimed to be her family, claimed to have always known her, and claimed to love her. To be honest, they seemed most sincere, and she suspected they believed it themselves.

The doctors had argued variously that she had some form of amnesia, severe depression, or multiple personality disorder. An MRI had confirmed there was no tumor. They’d given her drugs, hypnotized her, and she’d had so much therapy, she had nothing left to say. Now one of the younger doctors wanted her to consent to electroshock treatment. She was not going to let that happen. It was time to start convincing them she was feeling better.

The problem was, this had happened to her before. She was almost certain of it.

Chapter One

The second time he killed was easier than the first. And although both times had been to save himself, he wondered…would the next one be easier still? The power of the darkness was getting harder to resist.

Gav looked down at the body on the bed. I’m in big trouble.

*

He sat at the bar waiting for her to arrive, staring into a glass of fine single malt whisky, and thinking over the mess that was his life. In the last few weeks, he had discovered he was a Druid with a raw and untrained power that others could sense. He’d attended an initiation ceremony for the Druid Order of the Etarlam to learn more about who and what he was. He’d watched with a horrified fascination as Martin Worthington, III, the man who’d recruited him, performed actual magick and summoned the wind. When tendrils of darkness had swirled around the room spreading cold and chaos, he’d gotten his first glimpse at just how out of his element he was.

The darkness had curled around Gav, sampled his power and intentions, then moved on, presumably to do the same to others in the room. The smoky tentacles passed over some and found others unworthy, constricting around them like a python, until they fell to the ground, dead. He hadn’t stayed to witness the end of the ceremony; instead, he’d helped two women escape before they’d been sacrificed as part of the ritual. He still didna know what had made him risk everything to help them. The three of them had little chance of escape and he understood he would be hunted and made to answer for his crime against the Etarlam. Yet, leaving the women behind and saving himself had never been an option.

The three of them had nearly made it to the door before the darkness found him again. This time when the tendrils wrapped around him it felt as if he were being caressed, tasted. Then it entered his soul and came with him as he had escaped.

Now his Druid senses were fully awakened, and Gav could feel the frequent subtle probes against his mind as Worthington continued to enflame the dark. The new Druid Master was calling him home and the blackness within rejoiced.

He sighed, as he thought about his other big problem. ‘Twas not just the dark he was fighting. He recognized another more familiar and unwelcome feeling. He was close to being lost again, to being changed. His memories of this part of his life went back exactly four years, nine months, and two days. He’d never been in one set of memories for more than five years. At least not that he could remember, he thought sardonically.

It was as though every five years he slipped into a new life. He didna know how many times he had been lost before, just that there were things he couldn't remember, circumstances around him would change, he was changed, and no one but he noticed.

Her musky perfume swirled around him, and he was suddenly aware she had been sitting there watching him brood for some time. He looked up and she gave him a seriously long look before her lips formed a slow seductive smile.

Welcome back, Doctor, she said, a laugh in her voice and a fresh drink for him in her hand.

Doctor, he replied, a smile in his voice that he knew wouldn’t reach his eyes. Why not call me Gabhran or Gav? he asked, pronouncing his name GAV-run. He eyed her appreciatively. Short white-blonde hair, light blue eyes, body draped in a clinging midnight blue dress that showed a lot of cleavage and whole lot of leg.

Gabhran, I like the way that sounds, the way it slides over my tongue. And then she used that tongue to taste the rim of her wine glass.

And may I call you Brianna, Doctor Gibbs?

Placing a small hand on his forearm, she said, Mmm…I like the way my name rolls around your mouth, too. You will have to call my name often.

Are you always so blatantly provocative? he asked.

Her laugh sparkled. I don’t think I’ve felt the need to be, before. Drink up, let’s get to know each other a bit, Gabhran, she purred, drawing out the syllables of his name.

They clinked glasses, and he tossed back his whisky, signaling the bartender for another. He had a head for his liquor, but if he was having a second drink, he should eat soon, and said so. Brianna handled his concern by ordering a tray of oysters as an appetizer, and then suggested they move to a more intimate snug in the bar, while they waited for their table.

She slid around right next to him, curled one leg up under her, and turned to face him. It gave him an excellent view of her cleavage. It would give his hand access to other, darker places, should he so desire. Shaking his head at his own sudden lust, he sipped his whisky and wondered what her game was.

I’ve never tasted single malt before, do you mind? she asked, reaching for his glass, before he could set it back down.

Be my guest, he laughed, holding his glass out to her.

Instead of taking the glass from him, she wrapped a hand around his and turned the glass until the last spot his mouth had touched was in front of her lips. She ran her tongue over the rim, licking the wet left behind by his lips, and he tilted the glass, pouring the whisky into her mouth. She held the amber liquid in her mouth, letting the heat between them build, before she swallowed.

Never shifting his steel blue eyes from hers, he returned the glass to his own mouth and repeated her gesture, licking the rim before tossing that drink back as well. The scent of her desire filled the air between them, and he was rock hard.

Your oysters, ma’am. The waiter interrupted the moment, setting the tray on the table between them. Gabhran thought the interruption fortuitous; he had a pretty good idea of where his hand would have gone next. He wasn’t even sure the oysters were still raw given the heat between them.

Two more glasses of whisky, he said a bit roughly.

Right away, and your table in the dining room will be ready shortly, sir, the waiter said before returning to the bar for the drinks.

Do you like to watch? Brianna asked, feigning innocence at the double meaning of her words. She picked up a shell and held it to her lips, then tossed the oyster back. She extended her long neck and he watched her throat work, his cock getting harder by the minute.

I am not sure I have had the opportunity to watch before. It had gotten much warmer in the bar, and he reached discreetly under the table to readjust himself.

Let me watch you, she said in that husky voice of hers, raising an oyster to his lips. He opened his mouth, and she slid the oyster from its shell and let her fingers linger on his lips. The salty, slightly fishy, and decidedly slippery oyster passed over his tongue and slid down his throat.

Your turn, she said throatily, as she put her head back and waited for him to feed her. It was impossible not to imagine slipping something else down her throat, when he looked at her with her head tossed back. He used his fingers as she had, to slip the oyster from its shell and between her plump lips. His breath hissed, as she sucked his finger into her mouth, her tongue swirled around it, and her eyes locked on his, making promises.

He had never felt such an intense and mindless lust. There was fire in his blood, a sense of inevitability about what they would do. When the waiter returned with the drinks, Brianna asked him to cancel their dinner reservation, handed him a wad of cash, and told him to keep the change. Then she reached under the table and stroked him. His shaft strained to be free. Finish your drink, Gabhran, let’s go to my place.

Gav felt helpless to resist the desire. He realized how neatly he’d been set up. She’d obviously put something in the drink she had handed him and began her seduction while waiting for the drug or spell to take effect. She was a desirable woman, and it had been a long time since he had known physical pleasure. She would not have had to use drugs, even if he might have moved at a slower place.

His thoughts were foggy, when he was consciously aware of his actions at all. Brianna was predatory and he enjoyed every minute. The darkness within him enjoyed it even more. As soon as the door was closed behind them, she fell to her knees, freed his shaft, and took him right there. They moved to the bedroom next, clothes flew everywhere, and he entered her quickly, their pace frenetic.

She put her hands up to the bedposts, grabbing the silk scarves already knotted there, silently offering her submission. The darkness within him was hungry and what she wanted was too easy. He flipped her roughly over on her stomach and covered her body with his. He stretched her arms, rearranged her silken restraints, and then bound her tightly. She strained and whimpered, complained the ties were too tight. The darkness within him roared its approval.

He left her then, to go find a drink, to explore her place. Her screams and curses from the bedroom enflamed him. He let the tension build. She’d thought to have a seductive, sexy kind of tying to the bed, but he’d scared her with his darkness. Something about the drugs she’d used had lowered all his defenses.

Trying to reestablish his ethical equilibrium, Gav returned to the bedroom, intending to release her before their final round of bed play. As he approached the bed he saw the tiny tattoo in the small of her back, a Z-shaped bar and a snake. It was the mark worn by members of the Bresal Etarlam, Worthington’s Druid sect. Brianna Gibbs is Druid.

The darkness roared, blood pounded in Gav's ears, and he howled with a violent combination of rage and desire. Brianna responded to his anger, not with fear, but with an animal hunger. She pushed herself onto her knees, ass up in the air, arms taut with her hands still restrained in front of her and begged him to give it to her fast and hard.

He took her roughly then, offering no mercy. He knew he was hurting her, and he knew she wanted more. When he was spent, he withdrew from her, leaving her bound while he lay next to her. She hadna found her release, and he didna care. She was whimpering, still pumping her hips against the mattress. He would take her once more before he left, withhold her pleasure until the very end.

He must have dozed, but when he awakened, she was still tied to the bed, face down, and her throat had been cut from ear to ear. She was not long dead.

A perfect set up, and he knew Worthington was behind it all.

Chapter Two

Gabhran finished packing his suitcase and locked up his Edinburgh house. Now that he knew about the hidden vault of family secrets in the library, he suspected that even if he found himself transported to another reality, another life, his memory of this house would remain intact now. If so, he could return later, but it was not safe to stay here now. He didna know if it would be the police or Worthington coming for him after what happened to Brianna, but he knew he had to get away. Besides, he had grown weary of waiting for the change to come; he could use this time to search for answers.

In the random way things sometimes happen, he’d recently come across an article in a medical journal about a mentally unstable woman who reported multiple realities. The medical team treating her had many theories, not one of which included the fact that she might be right. Gabhran suspected the paradox she presented was the same one he was living. He was headed to New Orleans to the state hospital where she was housed. He needed to talk with her, and it gave him someplace to go.

Gabhran stepped off the plane at the Louis Armstrong International Airport. After eighteen hours, even the extra space offered by the first class seat had cramped his nearly six and a half foot frame. He stretched his legs, walked out into the waiting sunshine, and was struck by the wave of heat and humidity that rolled over him. He gasped with the effort of drawing a breath, and his clothes instantly stuck to his body.

He stepped to the first cab in the line and asked for the French Quarter. The driver asked about reservations, but Gabhran had none, having left Edinburgh in rather a hurry. Take me to a place near that famous street in the French Quarter, where ‘tis likely they will have a decent room available.

The cabby didna answer immediately. Instead he scanned Gav from the tips of his leather-clad feet to the wilted dress shirt and loosened tie. Then their gazes locked for a long moment before the old man nodded, as if to something only he could hear.

You look like money ain’t a problem. Hope you got American. Then he pushed a button and popped the trunk lid. Despite the heat, the man’s dark skin looked cool and dry below his white tight curls, but his thin frame didna look strong enough to carry the heavy bags. Gav tossed them in the trunk himself, then climbed into the backseat.

Ignoring the near-constant quiet murmur from the front seat, Gav occupied himself with looking out the windows and absorbing the feel of the city. It startled him when a dark hand with papery skin slapped down on the back of the bench seat.

When Gav turned his head, he caught sight of a broad grin in the mirror. The cabby cranked up the rear air, fished out a business card, and passed it back. With an accent full of vowels and sugar, he said Call me Alfred. Now why don’ you tell me awhile what it is you be looking to do?

I’m a doctor. I’m here to do some volunteer work at a little clinic on Governor Nicholls Street.

Is that so? He got another long look in the mirror, but then Alfred pulled out a cell phone and made a call, abruptly ending their brief conversation. Gav went back to looking at the narrow streets and garishly decorated shops. It seemed to him that the cab was deliberately turning up and down the narrow, one-way streets, giving him a look at the shops selling souvenirs, bars, clubs, seafood restaurants, tattoo parlors, and Voodoo fortune tellers. As they drove, the darkness within him swelled, poked its head up, interested and hungry. It liked the atmosphere of the French Quarter, the mystery of the place; the darkness felt at home.

The old man nodded to himself once again, and pulled up in front of a single-family dwelling on Burgundy, deep in the heart of the French Quarter.

Is this an inn? Gav asked, confused by the lack of a sign.

No, sir. You din’t have no reservations, and when I asked you yo’ business, you told me you was going to be doctoring near the Quarter. Doctor’s need they own houses. And if you don’ mind me saying, your eyes are real careful-like. You sho’ did look behind to see we wasn’t being followed. I would care to wager you don’ want no one to be knowing where you’re staying for now. Am I right?

Gabhran met Alfred’s wise gaze in the rearview mirror before answering. "Aye. So what is this place?"

My daughter, she sells and manages real estate. You come talk to her a while, and see if you don’ like what she has to say. You and she don’ deal? I’ll be taking you just down the road a block to the Royal Sonesta. Now let’s go, Marion is waiting inside. And don’t you be worrying none, the air conditioning, she be working jes’ fine.

Although the French Quarter teemed with people, this particular cobblestoned block was lined with homes and was free of the tourist trade. The front of the house was a plain, traditional Creole townhouse, a pale pink with black shutters and wrought iron railings surrounding second and third floor balconies.

A lovely woman in her early fifties waited just inside the door. She glowed with rich mocha skin, light brown eyes, and chin-length dark brown hair streaked with delicate white strands. How do you do? I am Marion Gauthier. She held out her hand for a handshake.

Her voice was a rich contralto, her accent barely perceptible, and she eyed Gabhran with interest. It is a pleasure to meet you. My father tells me you are interested in a long term rental, and prefer privacy to the convenience of a hotel?

Gabhran smiled at her. Aye, your father seems to know a great deal about what I want. Maybe more so than I do. He says this is a private residence. Are the owners letting a room? I doona think that interests me over much, I am a verra private man. His brogue sounded strong to him…a sign of stress? Or perhaps just a natural contrast to this woman’s gentle tones.

Sugar, the owners cannot afford this place any longer. The price has dropped nearly in half since they put it on the market a year ago. They would take most any offer to get it off their hands, but I was under the impression you were looking to rent not buy. This is a much more private arrangement than a hotel, and they would be grateful for any income, so I could arrange a lease. How about you walk around on your own, since you appreciate your privacy. I will wait on the patio, in case you have questions.

The simplicity of the exterior gave no hint of the luxurious interior. Gabhran walked through the house, enjoying the wood floors, the surprisingly large rooms, noting ceiling fans and fireplaces in each room. He knew he would take the place. He wasn’t sure how long he would need to stay here, but he needed to make contact with the mysterious patient, and spend enough time with her to determine if she experienced the same sensation of changing realities that he did. He expected to be here several months, at a minimum.

When he stepped outside, he was surprised to find a lush brick lined courtyard, with stairs leading to another balcony on the second floor. The walls were lined with planters filled with tropical plants, banana trees, palms, ferns, and many he didna recognize. The center of the courtyard had a large, ornate four-tiered fountain, complete with a musician perched on top playing a trumpet, and water trickled from the bell of the instrument. Across the bricked expanse was a small building.

When he joined Marion on the patio, he asked about it. She told him there was a garage, which was a premium in the French Quarter, and a small apartment above it. The apartment had a separate entrance and the tenant was seldom around and as a local detective, was never any trouble.

The damp courtyard air lay heavy on him, as comforting as an old blanket after a bad dream. The darkness within him couldn’t compete with the earthy smells of compost, greenery, and the sweet honeysuckle that climbed toward the sunlight on a corner trellis. Everything about this house offered comfort, freed him from the tumult of his soul. The moment Gav had stepped through the front door, the darkness within him had quieted. That was all the encouragement necessary to decide this house was meant for him. He needed to feel free of the darkness, and the house seemed to tame it somehow.

Marion assured him she had already spoken to the owners and he could stay there starting that night. Before they finalized an agreement on the cost to rent the house for a month, Gabhran surprised them all when he made an offer to purchase the place outright, including the furniture. There was a sense of peace in the house that he found restful. After one more phone call to the owners, there were handshakes all around. Alfred said he would return in the morning to take him to visit his nephew, who just so happened to be an attorney who specialized in real estate.

Just lookin’ to help you out, boss, Alfred said with a wide grin splitting his narrow face.

Finally, Gabhran was alone. He unpacked, showered, and headed out into the sultry New Orleans night to see what he could make of this place he was suddenly prepared to call his home, even if it was only temporary. The pull of the highlands in his native land would always be first in his heart, but for now he let the party atmosphere of the French Quarter wash over him. The streets were crowded, everyone had a drink in hand, and laughter layered over the ever-present music. Heads turned as he cut a swath through the crowd, and Gav assumed the tourists weren’t used to seeing someone of his size.

As Gabhran walked along the banks of the Mississippi, he wished he’d brought some money to drop into the open cases of the street musicians. Music was everywhere, carried on the breeze, floating over the water, perched on street corners. Gabhran watched a full moon rise, reflecting off the river in a thousand pieces and wondered where he would be, come the next full moon.

As he approached a small table set in the shadows surrounding Jackson Square, a young woman dressed in a flowing garment whispered, I’ve been waiting for you.

A prostitute, he thought, and instinctively he widened his berth.

Her voice cut through the night, I know you have magick, and there are things I must read for you, but not tonight. You will find me any day at the Voodoo Museum. Do not be fooled by the appearance, it is designed to appeal to tourists.

Her words intrigued him slightly, but only because she’d mentioned magick. He supposed it was all part of a gimmick to lure in tourists. She was just a walking billboard. He tossed his head, his long, black hair falling loose, and began to circle around her, to continue on his way. Out of my way, woman. I am not interested in your wares.

The air around him suddenly grew chilly despite the sultry night. His heartbeat slowed painfully in his chest. She had magick. Not Druid, but something that made the dark within him roar to life and push back. It wanted this woman now. It craved her blood, and he took an involuntary step toward her, his fingers curled in anticipation.

Her voiced whipped with the force of a hand across his face, and he froze in his tracks. Make no mistake, I do know you, Gabhran MacLachlan. The dark within you is strong tonight. Seek me in the daylight. Her skirt swished as she turned and faded into the shadows, leaving him wondering if she’d really been there at all.

He staggered as he forced himself not to follow her…hunt her. Her words had stunned him. She was waiting for me, and she knew my name. And the darkness wanted to kill her. I have to be very careful now. He veered down a brightly lit street closed to vehicular traffic, so his mind could wander, without fear of being run over.

The street was lined with bars and masses of people covered the street and sidewalks. Men stood outside clubs and pressed pieces of paper in his hands, encouraging him to step inside. Women stood in doorways, speculatively eyeing all the males who walked alone. Everywhere he looked nubile young women kept blatantly flashing their breasts at him to his utter bewilderment. The area reeked of alcohol, tobacco, and desperation, surrounded by an atmosphere of never-ending party. This was the famous Bourbon Street.

Gabhran passed a group of four beautiful women standing in the doorway of a club, dressed to kill in evening gowns, with flawless makeup and hair. One of the women playfully reached out to touch his arm, while the others made bawdy promises, suggesting a man of his size could surely handle all four of them at once. Oh yes, the darkness had liked that idea. They were as lovely as any lasses he had e’er seen. His gaze drifted to their breasts. Good Christ, they have chest hair! What the hell is this place? He swiftly continued walking.

Around the next corner, he passed another club with windows and doors open to the night, and the tones of a lone trumpet flowed out and over him. Without stopping to think, Gabhran entered and was encased in pure New Orleans Jazz. People were seated on benches, folding chairs, and the floor. He squeezed into a spot against the wall and leaned back as the music washed over him, stilling the darkness that had raged on the street. He loved it all, fast, slow, syncopated, smooth. This was a place to which he would return often.

A young woman sat on a bench in front of him, honey-blonde hair in a loose knot at the nape of her neck. Her profile was all that was visible, and he rested his eyes on her, cleansing his mental palate. When she stood to clap after the last set, he was relieved to see her camisole showed her to be all woman, down to the natural jiggle of her luscious breasts. Her nipples were small, sweet buds pressed against the cotton fabric and he was struck with a strong desire taste to them. He was slow to avert his gaze when she turned to leave, and she raised a brow, gave a half smile but kept walking.

With a quick and inexpert flash of his Druid senses, he caught a pure light spilling from her, like the glow of a street lamp pressing back the shadows of the night. This was a woman he would love to get to know. Her eyes had appeared hazel in the dim light, and her expression had been full of laughter when she’d caught him staring. Her legs were bare and her short shorts hugged her perfect ass as she walked away. Had she looked back,