Chapter 2 Tag #2
We quickly exited one aircraft and boarded the other.
“Wind gusts are building fast. I’ll be able to land at Dornoch Airfield,” said the pilot, who I recognized as being former RAF. “But once there, I’ll have a tight window to get in and out.”
“Copy that,” I responded, knowing that, when we touched down, Typhon would have a vehicle waiting on the tarmac.
I followed Leila into the main cabin and waited until she chose a seat, then took the one across the aisle and studied the woman who had been under my skin since her first day of intensive training at Unit 23’s facility near Cape Wrath in the Durness parish—less than two hours north of the castle where we were headed.
Then and now, I had to remain steadfast in not succumbing to the overwhelming attraction I had for her. She was Idris’ sister, I reminded myself again and again. That meant hands-off, regardless of how impossible it was to keep my thoughts from drifting to her.
I couldn’t ignore the way her body naturally turned toward mine in the jet’s cabin that felt too small, too intimate.
Every movement as she adjusted herself in her seat made the black athletic shirt she wore shift across her body, drawing my attention despite my attempts to look anywhere else.
The fabric pulled tighter when she reached for her seat belt, outlining the curves of her ample breasts and the dip of her waist. The way her long hair was pulled into a tight bun exposed the elegant line of her neck, and the cargo pants that had seemed practical in the underground station now felt designed to torture me.
She glanced over and caught me staring at the spot where her pulse flickered beneath her bronze skin.
Every time I was near her, I fought to remain detached, but with her close enough to touch, my resolve threatened to unravel.
To fall away in the same way her clothes would as I peeled them from her body.
“Tag?” she said as my eyes swept her breasts once more, unable to resist one last glimpse but nearly biting my tongue when her hardened nipples kept my gaze lingering overly long.
I cleared my throat. “Yes?”
“Never mind.”
From the corner of my eye, I caught the flush of her cheeks before she turned her head toward the window. I rested my head against the seat and silently repeated the words that had become my mantra.
She was Idris’ sister. She was twenty-two to my thirty-four. She was my responsibility to protect. It could never be more than that. We could not be together. It didn’t matter how magnetic the pull between us was.
I knew better than to succumb. I’d learned not to from my parents, who’d taught me what happened when people who shouldn’t be together tried to force it. The vow I’d made at my dad’s funeral held—never marry, never risk becoming them.
I didn’t open my eyes until the plane touched down at the private airstrip at Dornoch. As anticipated, a Land Rover waited with keys in the ignition and basic supplies loaded in the back.
The drive north to Dunravin took less than ten minutes through the Highland predawn twilight. The road narrowed as we climbed to where the castle sat, high on the cliff where there was nothing but the historic edifice, tempestuous sky, and the smell of the sea.
“The storm is moving in faster than predicted,” Leila observed as clouds raced across the moon.
The radio confirmed it with severe weather warnings, recommendations to seek shelter, and advisories to avoid unnecessary travel. The forecaster predicted that by tomorrow night, the Highlands would be entirely cut off from the outside world.
“What do you know about this place?” Nightingale asked as I drove through the gates that had been left open.
“Renegade said the place was solid but needed work. The heat functions well enough in the east wing, but is intermittent everywhere else.”
The driveway curved, and Dunravin Castle came into view, its towers and battlements showing little of what it had withstood during six centuries of Highland squalls. Even as old as it was, it was formidable.
“Christ,” Leila breathed.
“Gothic enough for you?”
“I was thinking more ‘defensible position with too many unknowns,’ but sure. Let’s go with Gothic.”
I parked as close as I could to the entrance, and we raced to the main door. It was constructed of massive oak reinforced with iron and opened with a key old enough that it should belong in a museum. Inside, the main hall was shrouded in shadows until I found the lights.
“There’s supposed to be a generator in the undercroft,” I said. “Solar panels with battery backup.”
“Solar,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Zero redundancy.”
Leila moved farther inside, cataloging exits and evaluating positions. With every step, she appeared more exhausted, running on fumes, yet thinking strategically.
“Renegade said there are four bedrooms in the east section,” I said, reading more of the message I’d received from him.
She paused at a window and gazed out at the sea. The wind was picking up, rattling the centuries-old glass. “How long has it been since his family was here?”
“No idea. My guess is it’s too isolated for regular use,” I responded.
“And yet ideally isolated for hiding someone being hunted.”
“Exactly.”
She turned from the window, and for an instant, her composure slipped. I saw what the last few weeks had cost her—the fear she’d never admit to caused by the weight of whatever she’d discovered in Syria.
“We should talk about—”
“Whatever it is can wait until we’ve both had a chance to rest.”
“There’s vital intel,” she pressed.
“Most of which I probably already know.”
She raised a brow.
“Let me rephrase. I probably know some.”
As I followed her up the grand staircase, I tried to look anywhere other than at the way her arse swayed with every step she took.
The woman was solid muscle, yet no amount of fitness could ever hide her femininity.
As I did every time I was with her, I longed to pull her into my arms, not in a brotherly hug, but as a man who desired her more than I had any other woman.
“It’s freezing up here,” Leila said as we reached the top of the staircase. She opened the first door we came to, which led to a large bedroom that had a massive rock fireplace already laid with wood.
“Wait here,” I said, moving past her to check the room.
It was the master suite, by the look of it, with heavy furniture built to last centuries, thick draperies on the windows, tapestries hung on the walls, and a sofa positioned near doors that led to a balcony.
The bed, which sat farther from the hearth, was massive, with carved posts reaching nearly to the ceiling.
The lights flickered, died, then came on at half strength as I knelt to put a match to the kindling.
“I’ll sort the generator in the morning. Tonight, we’ll stay here, where there’s heat.” I stood, brushing my hands clean. “I’ll take the sofa. Get some rest.”
She was already moving toward the bed, exhaustion winning over any argument. She climbed in fully clothed and pulled the heavy blankets up to her chin. The archaic heating system groaned somewhere in the walls, then went noiseless.
Twenty minutes later, the room remained so cold I could see my breath, and the sofa might as well have been carved from ice.
“Tag?” Her voice sounded small from across the room.
“Yeah?”
“You’re going to freeze over there.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. I can hear your teeth chattering.” A pause. “Please get in the bed. We’ll freeze separately or survive together.”
She was right. Hypothermia wouldn’t help anyone. I stood and moved to the opposite side from where she lay, then crawled between the layers of blankets rather than under them.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
The wind howled. The wood crackled. And I lay there, acutely aware of every breath she took, trying not to think about how many days we’d be trapped here and how absolutely fucked I likely was.