find another way to work off some of the pent-up energy he felt thrumming through his body.
Exerting his muscles with physical labor was just the thing.
Arran opened the door and got out of the Range Rover. The wind howled across the land, slamming into him just as the magic had done, and a glance at the evening sky showed that rain was on the way.
He closed his door and quickly opened the back passenger door to grab his duffel and backpack. Saffron had assured him that lodgings would be made available. In a way, Arran was hoping there wasn’t anything. It had been a very long time since he’d slept under the stars as he’d used to do four hundred years ago.
After adjusting the bags on his shoulders, he closed the door and looked at the site once more. The magic was beckoning to him, the sensual feel of it like kindling on a fire.
Desire pumped, scorching and burning, through him as his gaze scanned the area. With every breath, a yearning he’d never felt before filled him and grew until it consumed him, engulfed him.
Devoured him.
Where was the Druid? There was hunger such as he’d never borne. Every bone in his body urged him to find the Druid posthaste. It had to be the Druid who was causing such … desire.
The need was pulling him under, dragging him down a chasm of craving so dark and deep, there would be no coming back from it. If he didn’t do something soon, he would be lost.
He searched his mind for anything to hold on to, and that’s when he thought of MacLeod Castle. That was all it took for him to gain the upper hand on the desire raging within him.
Arran ground his teeth together. The Druid would have to wait. Right now, he had to meet Dr. Reid and learn as much about the man as he could.
The summer sky was still light despite it being past eight in the evening. It wouldn’t get truly dark until well after midnight, yet lights standing tall around the dig had already been turned on.
“Here we go,” Arran said, and started toward the site, the feel of magic growing with each step he took.
He’d barely gotten ten steps in before he was dodging people who assumed he’d get out of the way. Since there was a possibility they were carrying ancient magical items, they were right.
But still, a low growl sounded deep within his throat.
He was a Warrior, a man used to being feared. It didn’t sit well that he was dismissed so easily.
Arran walked over to a man with thin, windblown white-blond hair and glasses he kept shoving up his hawklike nose. The man was bony, his shoulders already hunching forward despite him being as young as his mid-thirties, if Arran guessed right.
“Excuse me,” Arran said as he reached him.
For several moments, Arran was ignored. The man glanced up from the clipboard in his hand as he scribbled something on the papers with his pencil. Arran raised a brow when the man seemed to look right through him.
Then, a double take later, the man took a step back, his blue eyes wide as he shoved his glasses up on his nose. “Dude. How long have you been standing there?” he demanded, his American accent thick, and his voice deeper than Arran had imagined would come out of someone so willowy.
“Longer than I’d like,” Arran replied, giving just enough inflection in his voice to tell the man his irritation was rising.
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry ’bout that. I tend to get involved with my work. I’m Andy Simmons, the site manager.”
“Arran MacCarrick,” he said, and held out his hand.
Andy shook it with a grip that was much stronger than Arran would have guessed. “You arrived earlier than expected. I was just told a few hours ago that you’d be helping out.”
“I was eager to get started,” Arran said with a smile.
“We’re glad to have you. Anyone connected to Ms. Fletcher … er … Mrs. MacKenna, is a friend of ours. Sorry. I’m still getting used to the fact that Saffron is married.”
“Aye. To a verra good friend of mine. Saffron knows how