“The driveway’s mine. Your grandfather―liar that he was― left the cottage and ten acres surrounding to me. Freehold.”
“I care less if the Pope blessed your Freehold. You can’t stop me from using it.”
She smirked. “I just did.”
“Och, you shouldn’t have said that, lass.” He winked, then spun on his heels to head down the drive.
Over his shoulder, he saw her watching him. The smug expression fell off her face. Calling after him, she moved to the edge of the small porch. “What are you doing, Mackinnon?”
He swung around, walking backwards. “Guess you’ll have to watch, lass.”
“Mackinnon!” She raised her voice to carry over the rising wind.
He shrugged. “Can’t hear you!” Jauntily, he jogged to his truck.
She didn’t leave the stoop. She must be getting chilled, but stayed observing as he reversed the Rover until the tail backed up against the chain.
Getting out, he snagged a rope from the back and uncoiled it. Wrapping it around the chain, he then secured it about the boat hitch. Whistling, he scooted behind the wheel and shifted the Rover into gear. Watching the rope play out in the rearview mirror, he saw Gillian on the stoop, hands on her hips, furious as it grew clear he planned to yank the chain and the posts out.
Precisely what he did. Completing a U-turn, he sped down the drive to park. Hopping out, he untied her chain, then dropped it clanking at her feet. “Yours, I believe?”
“OOOooo, bloody Mackinnon!” She seethed. “I’m calling the constable.”
“Go ahead, ring up Hamish Abercrombie. While you’re at it, lass, tell him you limited the access. You’ll end up fined.”
“OOOooo, beast,” she growled.
He shot back, “Vixen.”
“Ogre.”
He laughed. “Witch.”
Her brown eyes blinked. “Did you call me a bitch?”
“No, I called you witch.”
“Why would you call me witch?”
“You must be one.”
“Why would you assume that?”
“Because all I can think of doing is this.” Tossing good sense to the wind, he grabbed hold of her shoulders and yanked her to him, taking her mouth with his in a bruising, no-holds-barred, mother-loving, knock-your-socks-off kiss.
He must’ve lost his mind! Or maybe felt surge in his blood what his grandfather felt for Gillian’s grandmother all those many years.
To his surprise, Gillian kissed him back! She leaned into him, her mouth softly opening under his, as though she couldn’t get close enough. Inside his skin wouldn’t be close enough!
She tasted of lemon drops and rain.
Rain? It registered the sky had opened up while they stood kissing, as if neither of them wanted to stop.
His sane side said he was nuts to kiss her, even more of a fruitcake for standing in the rain when they could take a few steps into the coziness of her thatched cottage. Only, instinct warned the instant he broke the kiss, her presence of mind would return and she’d probably deck him. It’d be worth it.
Gillian stepped back, blinking tear-filled eyes. “Wh-why did you do that?”
“Seemed the thing to do.” Reaching out, his thumb gently stroked the curve of her cheek. Crippled by grinding hunger, his eyes traced over her face, memorizing every line, mesmerized to the point he couldn’t speak. Shrugging, he pulled his hand back to massage the centre of his chest where a tightness lodged. Off kilter, he was unsure what possessed him, other than he dreamt of kissing her for the last month―of doing a lot more than kissing her.
Gillian put the back of her hand to her well-kissed lips, her eyes accusing. “You think since my grandmother was easy for your grandfather, that I’m easy, too? That history can repeat itself?” She pushed the door open, glaring as if he were akin to a snake. “Think again!”
She slammed the door so hard the glass of the picture window rippled with vibrations.
“There’s likely one thing my grandfather and I agree on―a Grant woman is never easy.” Sighing, he shook his head and returned to the Rover.
~~~
Gillian followed the taillights bouncing across the burn and up the steep hill to Dunnascaul. Absentmindedly, she ran her thumb over her mouth, tasting him on her lips. A hint of cinnamon overlaid upon Cian Mackinnon’s own unique flavour. Her mouth tingled from his possession. Wow, he just didn’t kiss―he kissed. A slow burn licked at her body.
Never had she been willing to forget everything. Not once had she wanted a man to the point you could only see him, everything about him blurred to grey.
In spite of all, she so wanted Cian Mackinnon.
Too bad the Mackinnon men were heartbreakers. Oh, they vowed fancy promises, but weren’t there when it counted, never one to keep their word. She mustn’t forget that. Hadn’t her mother drummed it into her brain how David Mackinnon disappointed her grandmother time and again? Hadn’t he even broken his deathbed oath to Anne, leaving the castle to Cian instead of willing it to her granddaughter?
Curse fickle Fate! Oh, why had they met in a solicitor’s office instead of some romantic setting―moonlight, tropical breezes and slow dancing on a shadowy balcony? They’d sway to the soft music, their bodies so close, luxuriating in the heat that rose between them. She closed her eyes, savoring the power of the vision.
“Instead, I’m trapped by this blasted feud. His grandfather pledged to my grandmother on her deathbed. He broke it. I gave one to my mum on hers. I keep my word―unlike bloody Mackinnons. Mum said it’s left to me to see the castle was back in the family…my duty.” Sighing, Gillian frowned at the cat lying by the fireplace. “Don’t know why I talk to you. You might as well be a stuffed toy, Basil.”
The brown and grey tabby snapped his tail, as if that was all the recognition she deserved. Nothing stirred Basil. The laziest cat in the world, if he more than twitched his tail three times in a day she needed to mark it on the calendar.
“Oh, Gran, I wish I could talk with you, learn why you loved David Mackinnon with such a passion you’d trust the lying, conniving…” Feeling futility, she shrugged and headed to the bedroom to change into dry clothes.
It was spooky, living in the small thatched cottage where Anne and David carried on their lifelong, torrid affair. Their love permeated the house, lending her imagination flights of fancy at times, as if she heard bubbly laughter in another room. Sounds lovers might make.
After taking possession of the fairytale cottage, vivid erotic fantasies plagued her. At first, she passed them off as residual memories of Anne and David, seeing her grandmother at the age she was now. One night, after a particularly gripping fantasy of a man making love to her before the fireplace, she’d awoken in shock. The woman in the images was she, and the man was David Mackinnon’s arrogant grandson, Cian. Ever since, she’d worked to keep a shield between them.
Her mother, Maeve, had resented David Mackinnon, and for more than the centuries old Grant-Mackinnon feud. She’d abhorred Anne never loved Maeve’s father, blamed David for ruining Anne’s marriage. Gillian shivered. Her mother had been a bitter person, and in that dark coil tried to control Gillian’s every thought. In ways, Gillian supposed Maeve succeeded. Why else couldn’t she let go Dunnascaul hadn’t been returned to the Grants?
In her heart, she feared there’s a part of her too much like Anne, waiting to rise to the surface. Cian Mackinnon got to her on too many levels. Made her want to forget the past, all the old hatreds…and just love him.
If only he didn’t plan to ruin the castle. For a price, Blue-haired Go-Ins would queue up for twice-weekly tours, and May through August he’d throw open the doors to paying guests. A ruddy hotel! No respect for the history, the heritage! Dunnascaul should be loved, reverenced, not exploited.
Buttoning her jumper, she sat in the chair by the fire. Basil yawned and shifted closer to the flames. “You’re right, you silly feline, the heat feels good.”
Gillian placed her fee
t on the ottoman and pulled the soft plaide over her legs. Maybe dreams wouldn’t come if she slept in a chair.
~~~
Gillian rested peacefully, but Basil lazily lifted his head and yawned a meow to the shadowy figures of the two people standing by the chair. The woman raised a finger to her lips in shush, warning the cat not to awaken the slumbering woman. Anne gently stroked the dark blonde hair, so like her own when she was the same age.
Sins of the fathers…how many generations must this silly feud go on?
“Gillian favours me, does she no’?” she asked the distinguished man at her side.
“Aye, almost as bonnie as you were…” he cleared his throat, “are.”
“Och, you’re eyes fail, David Mackinnon. She’s prettier than I was at that age.” Anne once more touched her granddaughter with such love, with pride.
“Got bigger knockers, too.” He winked when Anne pulled a face and punched his arm. “Cian is a lucky lad. If he just wakes up and smells the roses.”
“I dinnae recall you complaining I lacked.” She huffed playfully.
“Now, lass, I dinnae say you were lacking, just she has a wee bit more than you. Males notice these things. I may be dead…but I’m no’ blind.”
David Mackinnon saw, indeed, Anne’s grandchild was a comely woman―perfect lass for his braw grandson. Only, no one was lovelier than his Annie―never was, never would be―even though grey threaded the golden hair and lines crinkled the corner of her eyes. Smile lines. Well, he’d given Anne plenty to smile about over the years. Heart heavy, he acknowledged he’d brought her ample sorrow, too. Still, he loved her with a passion that defied time. Loved her as the years placed its stamp upon her elegant countenance. No one was more beautiful than his Anne.
“She’s a lovely lass, a bonnie match for my Cian.”
“You’re a sly one, David. You promised Gillian would get the castle. She loves it, will care for it, protect it.”
He patted her on the shoulder. “Trust me. It shall work out.”
Hope sparkled in her eye as tears welled. “Do you really think―”
“Trust me, Annie, everything shall come out right. Our love will see the dream come true.”
~~~
“The woman’s barmy.” Fergus gestured wildly with his hands. “No bloody reasoning with her. None of us can budge her.”
“What did you expect? She’s a Grant,” Cian pointed out, climbing into the Rover while Fergus shoved himself into the passenger’s side.
Curious, Cian wasn’t sure what to anticipate. After dragging down the chain, he knew Gillian would one-up him in some manner. Bloody witch wasted no time pulling an end run.
He shifted into low gear as the Rover splashed through Dunnascaul Burn, then he pulled off the side of the drive. He noticed vehicles parked on the carriageway, emergency blinkers flashing. The crew of men milled about at the mouth of the drive, clearly keeping their distance from the crazy woman.
At first, he didn’t see Gillian. Then he spotted her. Aye, she was barmy. “Only a bloody Grant would pull such a stunt,” he growled, climbing out of the driver’s seat and slamming the door.
Wearing a determined expression, Gillian lay across the drive. A claymore clutched in her hands! He wondered how she missed indulging in the theatrical touch of painting her face with blue woad.
“Coward,” she hissed at Fergus. “Figured the worm ran to the bloody Laird of Dunnascaul to whine about me.”
“Gillian, you’ll catch a cold laying in that muck.” Cian hid his smile. The lass had spunk.
A fat cat slowly waddled up, licked Gillian’s cheek, then with an exhausted sigh, slid down to lean against her shoulder.
“That’s the most moth-eaten, overweight pussycat I’ve ever seen.” Cian snorted a laugh.
“Don’t insult Basil,” she snapped.
Cian knelt down to scratch the kitty’s chin. “Aye, he looks insulted. Basil, tell your mistress she’s cold lying on the damp ground. Why her teeth chatter.” As he pulled his hand back, the cat stretched to maintain contact. He leaned so far, then sort of went thump―face down to the ground. “Gor, is he dead?”
Her cheeks jerked in suppressed laughter. “No, that’s Basil. Any exertion takes a toll on him, poor dear.”
Rubbing the cat’s chest showed Basil rumbled in a deep purr. “Like your silly mistress, you don’t have any more sense than to lie in the middle of the muddy drive.”
“We’re committed,” she huffed.
“No, but you should be.” Cian glanced to the men he’d hired to put in the new patio. “She won’t use the sword on you. She’s a Grant. It’s all bluff.”
“Bluff?” she spluttered.
Fergus the foreman shrugged. “She threatened to charge us with gang rape.”
“She’s a bloody Grant.” Cian shook his head. Reaching down, he picked up the limp cat. “Someone take the pussy and put him in the house.”
“He ain’t goin’ to bite me, iz he?” Fergus accepted the seemingly boneless animal.
“Look at him…he probably doesn’t have any teeth left,” Cian assured.
“Eh, watch the beastie, Fergus, he might gum ye to death,” one worker called, sending the others into gales of laughter.
Standing up, Cian loomed over Gillian. Snapping his fingers he ordered, “Give me the ruddy claymore. No one believes you’ll run them through.”
Gillian unsteadily waved it at him, hard for a woman to control the long sword from that prone location. He wrapped his hand around the pommel and jerked her to a sitting position. Ridiculously, she tried to yank it out of his grasp. While she struggled with the sword, he leaned forward and scooped her up around the waist, then deposited her on her stomach upon his left shoulder.
“Mackinnon, you horrid beast! Put me down!” When she wiggled and almost toppled off, she changed her tune. “Don’t drop me!”
The crew applauded. He considered taking a bow, but figured that would push Gillian too far. “Gentlemen, start your engines.”
Cian put a balancing hand on Gillian’s derrière and started toward the house. Workers sped by in their vehicles, followed by the flatbed truck loaded with creek rock. He met Fergus coming out of the thatched house as he was going in.
“I put kitty by the fire. You sure he’s all right, lass? Never saw a cat that limp before,” he worried.
Pushing on Cian’s back, she raised up so she could see Fergus. “Oh, that’s Basil. He tends not to bestir himself unless necessary.”
Cian set her on her feet, spun her around, and with a swat on her muddy covered arse, pushed her toward the bedroom.
Bedroom. He moaned. Last night another of those damn erotic dreams visited him. They began after he’d met Gillian and continued nightly. Shaking with need, he’d awoken, his head pounding, covered in sweat. Unable to stay in bed, he jumped up and paced like a caged tiger, pausing to stare down the hill at the thatched cottage, willing Gillian to come to him. So the last thing his libido needed was to couple Gillian and bedroom in the same sentence.
“Get out of those muddy clothes, lass.”
“Who gave you leave to order me about, Cian Mackinnon?” Gillian swung around, her chin tilted in a to-the-manor-born style.
Cian smiled and slowly walked to her. “Lass, you get that perfect arse into your room and out of those damp clothes or―”
“Or what?” Eyes flashing, she glared.
The corner of his mouth tugged into an arrogant smile. He could feel it. “Or I’ll strip you buck naked and―”
Gillian shot into her room like a bullet. She hesitated, staring at him with big brown eyes, before slamming and locking the door.
With a chuckle, he walked to the fireplace, knelt and added peat bricks. Life around Gillian was never dull, he admitted.
Nudging the pussy with his foot to make certain the fuzzy thing still lived earned him a tail snap. “Basil, you’re the most worthless feline I’ve ever seen.”
Basil yawned.
; Once the fire’s warmth spread, he ambled into the kitchen and washed the mud from his hand where he’d swatted Gillian. Finding several blends of Brodies, he selected the silver tin of Edinburgh tea mix and then set the kettle boiling.
As he laid out shortbreads, Gillian came in. Wearing a wary expression, she watched him pouring tea. He got the impression she wanted to say something, but hesitated. Fine, he could break the tension.
He sat the cup and saucer before her. “What did you hope to accomplish, lying in the drive so my workmen couldn’t get to the castle?”
Glaring at it, she finally pulled the chair out and flopped down. “Guess I didn’t think it through.”
“What’s wrong with me repairing the castle?” he asked, stirring his tea.
“Fixing the castle is marvelous. Making it a tourist trap is so—” she gestured with her hands—mercenary. Dunnascaul is part of my heritage, part of your heritage.”
“Allowing Go-Ins twice a week for a tour and tea or putting up a few tourists during the summer won’t ruin it,” Cian countered.
“Have you seen what they’ve done to Urquhart Castle? It’s disgusting.” Gillian shuddered.
Cian nodded. “I’m not doing anything like that. I’m merely trying to repair the place before it falls down around my ears. I hope to restore it, with my money, blood, sweat and likely a few tears.”
“Why turn it into a hotel?”
“It’s a monster of a castle, Gillian. I’ve tried counting the rooms and lose track. Over seventy-five rooms, twenty-three bedrooms. There’s enough to have two wings for guests and still keep the rest as a private residence. Neither of us was raised there, but we both hold a deep love for Dunnascaul, want what’s best for it, to see it survive.”
“Restore it, Cian, but drop plans for the hotel,” she pleaded.
He glared into the tea as if the answer might be found floating there. “If you dropped the Grant-Mackinnon feud, you’d understand. The hotel is the only option left―”
“You’ll ruin it, being greedy―”
Cian’s anger flared. “Damn it, Gillian. Don’t you think I want the castle repaired and not put up with a bunch of Yank tourists poking about?”
No Law Against Love Page 20
