THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

into the choppy water.
    ~#~
     
    On Blackstone’s parapet, Duncan’s gut churned as he strained to see Beth through the sheeting torrent. Cursing himself for allowing her to go, he caught sight of her—stark white in a heaving world of gray—-just before the wind shifted and drove the rain sideways yet again, obliterating his view.
    He raced to another break in the parapet’s battlement hoping for a clearer line of sight to no avail. His futile efforts were wasting precious time. He had to shift, to materialize. He was useless to Beth in his present state.
    Against every instinct that clamored to keep her in view, he closed his eyes. He suppressed the vision of Beth’s terrified expression and focused on becoming one with the elements, focus on all things solid and whole, his only hope to help her.
    Seconds felt like hours as he concentrated on simply being.  
    When he suddenly felt rain for the first time in centuries and cold for the first time in decades, he gasped, threw back his head and threw wide his arms. He roared as he opened his eyes to the brutal assault of the sheeting rain. He’d done it.
    Relieved to his marrow, he resumed his search. On the next flash of lightening he caught sight of Beth, eyes wide in terror, just as she and the boat, now sideways, disappeared beneath a crushing wave.
    “ Nayyy! ” ripped from his throat as he dove over the parapet.
    ~#~
     
    Duncan, clutching Beth’s unconscious half-frozen body tight to his heaving chest, raced up Blackstone’s stairs to the solar.
    Fearing he’d found her too late, he laid her on the bed and ran a shaking hand along her throat. Though her skin wore a worrisome blue cast and felt like ice, to his monumental relief he felt a strong pulse throb beneath his fingertips. He threw the bed covering across her and frantically rubbed her near frozen limbs.
    “Can ye hear me, lass?” Getting no response, he shook her. “Lass! Do ye hear me? Ye canna die. Nay, ye be The One .” 
    He blinked back tears as he blew on her hands. “Please, God, after bringin’ her to me, ye canna be thinking of takin’ her back.” He’d not—would not—lose this lass. Nay, not after waiting so many lifetimes for her. She had the mettle, the fortitude, to break the curse.
    Heart pounding, he scrambled over her and stood before the carved headboard. He reached above his head and turned the woodcock’s head until it came loose in his hand.
    Reaching into the four-inch thick wood, he extracted a brittle leather pouch. He tore it open and dropped the Brooch of Lorne—-Robert the Bruce’s ornate clasp—onto the bed. He stared at what remained in his hand, at the gold and pigeon-blood ruby ring he’d not seen in centuries. His breath caught as the key to his redemption glittered in his palm.
    Beth had yet to finish the diary, dinna know all that had gone before, but he had no choice. Before she was lost to him, he had to take her.
    He dropped to his knees, cradled her in his arms, and kissed her cold forehead. “Wee ferret, I pray ye can forgive me for what I’m about to do.”
    He tightened his hold on her. As he kissed her dusky lips, he slipped his wedding ring onto the middle finger of her left hand and the world turned lightening blue.
     
     
     
    Chapter 4
     
    Beth awoke in the dark, drenched and chilled to the bone. She winced against the roaring cacophony assaulting her ears from above. Covering them with shaking hands, she briefly looked around the dismal, unfamiliar space. She had no idea where she lay and didn’t care. Her head hurt unmercifully, more so when she coughed up a mouthful of salt water. Think, Beth, think!
    The last thing she could recall was hanging onto her capsized boat for dear life as wave after unrelenting wave tried to push her under.
    She winced as lightening cracked again. Hearing what sounded like horses and men screaming, she pictured her beautiful mullioned windows slamming on frail hinges against the keep’s walls. She tried to sit. Wondering how she was still alive could wait until she secured the keep. She didn’t need—-nor could she afford—another broken window.
    A heavy weight held her lower torso and legs pinned. She craned her neck to see why and found two lifeless women, their faces dark and bloody—their mouths open like effigy masks, holding her down. Bile rose in her throat. She screamed.
      The roof of her prison sprang open before her scream’s echo stopped. A heavily muscled arm reached for