by Allie Mackay
Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, Kendra pretended to study the breakfast menu.
Porridge
Cereal
Homemade muesli with fresh fruit and yogurt
*
Grilled kippers
Smoked salmon with poached or scrambled eggs
Sausage, bacon, and eggs
Haggis and eggs
Grilled tomatoes, mushrooms, and pan-fried potatoes
*
Toast, scones, soda farls, and homemade preserves
Tea, coffee, and fruit juice
Setting aside the tartan-edged menu card, she eyed her almost-empty plate. She’d chosen a large soda farl, which she’d learned was a huge and thick home-baked scone served toasted and filled with lots of crispy bacon and a poached egg. Rarely had she eaten anything more delicious.
She could get used to breakfast in Scotland.
And she was about to fork her last bit of bacon when a shadow fell across her table. Looking up, she met Graeme’s smiling eyes, and her heart nearly threatened to burst from her chest.
“Iain serves up the best breakfast on the coast.” His deep, buttery-rich burr quickened her pulse, pouring over her like molten honey.
The look in his eyes made her prickle with awareness.
She blinked, sure her face was heating. “Yes, he does.” It was all she could think to say. He looked so good in his jeans and cream-colored, cable-knit Aran sweater. “I’ve never had a better breakfast.”
That was true.
Her words deepened his smile. The attractive way his eyes crinkled did dangerous things to her emotions. She could so easily fall in love with this man. She feared she was already halfway there.
“It is a lot of food….” She put down her fork, hoping to hide her feelings by looking at her plate. “I’m not sure I can finish.”
“You’ll hurt Iain’s feelings if you don’t.” He set a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. His touch sent delicious shivers along her nerves. “Dinnae worry yourself. Even if you’re feeling full now, you’ll be glad for the energy when we’re out on the open water. A good Scottish breakfast will keep you warm.”
Kendra almost laughed.
If her personal heat index rose any higher, Scotland would feel as balmy as Florida.
And not because of a soda farl stuffed with egg and bacon.
It was Graeme.
He affected her as no man had ever done. And she was pretty sure that agreeing to go seal watching with him had been a bad decision.
He looked more than pleased to see her.
“The Sea Wyfe is ready for us.” His tone proved he was also eager. “It’s a fine morning.” He glanced at the window behind her, his dimple flashing when he smiled again. “There’s only a light mist and the water’s mirror calm. The swells might get a bit choppy later, but—”
“Where’s Jock?” Kendra didn’t see Graeme’s companion anywhere.
“Och, he’s home sleeping on his hearth rug.” Graeme stepped back, making room for her as she got to her feet. “Jock doesn’t like the water. He aye finds excuses not to accompany me on the Sea Wyfe. This time he played his favorite trick: pretending not to hear me leave.”
“He’s a clever boy.” Kendra reached for her jacket, her breath catching when, just in that moment, the phone-box ghost appeared in the middle of the road. She blinked, looking out the window at the ghost, but he vanished again almost as quickly as he’d manifested.
Kendra straightened, letting Graeme help her into her jacket.
Guilt sluiced her.
She had no business going out for a sightseeing boat ride when one of Pennard’s disgruntled spirits wanted to make contact with her.
Although if this particular ghost kept vanishing rather than speaking to her, there wasn’t much she could do to help him. Spirits, like living people, had their own free will. Nor was it her policy to press her attentions on discarnates who didn’t want to communicate.
Manners counted in the Otherworld, as anywhere.
But she did risk another quick glance at the street. Not surprisingly, it was empty. And nothing moved near the red phone box except a seagull pecking at something on the pavement.
Kendra frowned, sensing the ghost’s essence lingering in the road.
“Are you unwell, lass?” Graeme was already opening the inn door for her, guiding her out into the brisk morning air. “Maybe you did eat too much? Iain’s soda farls can be a bit heavy in the stomach.”
“No, no.” Kendra shook her head, her heart flipping when he tucked her arm into his as they crossed the road, heading for the marina. “I’m fine, really. I’m only a bit nervous about going out on a boat.”
She’d improvised the excuse, but it wasn’t wholly untrue.
Pennard Bay did look still as glass, just as Graeme had said. But far out to sea, she could see the long North Sea swells rolling steadily toward them. Huge and white-crested from here, she was sure they’d appear even larger once Graeme took them out of Pennard’s sheltered bay. The waves already looked much more daunting
than the light chop Graeme had so casually sug-
gested.
But it was too late to back out now.
He’d stopped beside the little stone slipway and rested his hands on her shoulders. “I could handle the Sea Wyfe in my sleep, lass.” He leaned in, dropped a kiss on her brow. “You’ve no reason to worry.”
But she did.
Especially when his face hardened as he straightened. “I’ll no’ let anything happen to you.”
“I know that.” She did, just as she knew something else was bothering him.
Before she could ask, he tightened his grip on her and lowered his head again, this time kissing her full on the lips. It was a slow, deep kiss, shockingly intimate. And so potent she felt a flush rising through her entire body. Without thinking, she slipped her arms around him, leaning into the hard, strong length of him.
“I thought you weren’t going to kiss me again,” she pressed him the instant he released her. “You swore—”
“Keeping you safe matters more than a wee kiss.” His words dashed her giddiness.
Along with the wild burst of totally unfounded hope that she meant something to him.
“I wouldn’t call that a wee kiss.” She tried to jerk free, but he’d slid an arm around her, holding her in a viselike grip.
“It wasn’t meant to be.” He looked past her again, and this time she followed his gaze.
“Oh.” She saw at once why he’d broken his vow not to kiss her again.
Gavin Ramsay stood outside his house, looking right down at them. And even though the Spindrift sat on a ledge halfway up the cliff, the distance wasn’t great enough to hide his narrow-eyed stare.
He was majorly annoyed.
Kendra could see the sparks of angry green and black glimmering in his aura. She looked back to Graeme, not liking the vibes coming down the bluff from the Spindrift. “You kissed me because he’s watching, right?”
“Aye, well…” He looked uncomfortable. “That is what we’re about, see you. The kiss in the Laughing Gull last night, this boat trip—everything. No woman is safe from Ramsay, and I’m only trying to—”
“Protect me,” Kendra finished for him.
“That was my plan.”
“I’m a big girl, you know.”
“So you are.” He touched her face, smoothing a few strands of hair from her cheek. “You’re bonnie, too. And that’s all the more reason Ramsay can’t be allowed to get his grasping hands on you.”
“Are Scots always so territorial?” Kendra’s nerves still trembled from his kiss, and a flush was blooming on her face, warming her. “American women are independent. We’re not used to men fighting over us.”
“I’ve told you why I watch Ramsay.” A breeze lifted Graeme’s dark hair, the morning sun highlighting his proud, chiseled features.
He w
as so handsome.
But just now she could feel his annoyance, the force of his anger at the other man.
And the look in his eye when he shot another glance at his rival revealed that his reasons for disliking Ramsay went deeper than keeping pretty tourists out of reach of the local Romeo. Bad blood simmered between the two men, and she determined to find out why.
“He’s already going back inside.” She could feel the air lighten with his departure.
“He’ll only be searching for binoculars.” Graeme released her and turned to face the Spindrift. “Thon bastard doesn’t give up easily. He’ll keep an eye on us until we round Pennard Head.”
Kendra started to press him, remembering the look she’d seen on Ramsay’s face when he’d stood in the shadows of the alley between the two tiny cottages. His gaze had been directed at the Keel, she’d been certain. And enough anger had blazed in his eyes to set the entire village on fire. She’d known then she had to warn Graeme.
Although…
She glanced at him, not missing his fisted hands as he stared after Gavin Ramsay. Graeme was definitely aware of the animosity between them. And it mattered enough for him to cast aside promises and kiss her in full view of anyone looking on. The kiss hadn’t meant anything to him, but it had taken her breath and unleashed a wave of yearning deep inside her.
Something told her there would be no turning back now.
Yet that was what she should do.
But before she could make up an excuse and head back to the inn, Graeme took her hand and led her away from the slipway and toward the marina’s curving stone jetty. He strode almost to the end, taking her past a few small leisure craft and several fishing boats. One of the fishing vessels had just pulled in and was piled high with crates of prawns and bulging sacks of mussels. Seabirds wheeled and screeched above the boat, hoping for an easy meal.
Alongside the fishing boat, named Gannet, according to the black lettering on her side, men worked the lines and shouted greetings to another craft just chugging into the marina.
The second boat looked to have had as much success as the Gannet.
Even more gulls swooped in with the arrival of the new vessel. The cold morning air filled with the strong scent of fish and brine, a bracing mix laced with a good dose of salt, seaweed, and oily tar.
Kendra took a deep breath, appreciative. She’d never smelled anything so invigorating.
Sure, she knew women back in Bucks County who’d roll their eyes at her for finding such a smell heady. They were the kind of immaculately groomed, superpolished females who forked over a small fortune on expensive perfumes and cosmetics. She knew some who seemed to spend more on makeup than she did on rent. Point was, she knew many people wouldn’t get the appeal of brine-filled air, the sharp bite of dripping bags of scallops, or the seaweedy tang of fishnets drying by the harbor wall.
She did get it.
She loved such places. And she couldn’t imagine the world without them. A notion that pinched her heart when her gaze fell on a NO PENNARD PROJECT poster affixed to the base of one of the pier lights.
The fishing village was perfect as is.
And the mist-chilled morning, the busy marina, and the way Harbour Street glistened from the night’s rain filled her with a sense of longing such as she’d never known. There was something about wet stone and threads of blue peat smoke rising from Pennard’s row of whitewashed cottages that captivated her. Her heart thumped, her chest tightening. Closing her eyes, she took another appreciative breath. She released it slowly, savoring a world she knew she’d always carry in her heart, even long after she’d left.
No other place had ever affected her so strongly.
She felt a powerful pull, definitely.
And Graeme was looking at her as if he knew.
Kendra gave herself a shake, hoping the ache to stay here would fade away.
It didn’t.
Graeme smiled. “You like it here, aye?”
She flicked at her jacket, embarrassed. “I do find the village special. The whole coast, really.”
“There’s nowhere else like it.” His tone held pride. “Pennard is another world, and we owe it to coming generations to keep it that way.” His face hardened, his gaze flicking again to Ramsay’s Spindrift. “Scotland’s Past and their fool plans must be stopped.”
Guilt hit Kendra like a kick to the shins.
Scotland’s Past was almost her employer. She was here at their behest.
“I’ve heard a lot of dissent from the locals.” She had, and she did sympathize.
She waited for Graeme to agree.
“There’s no’ enough.” His rich Scottish accent deepened, and he stopped for a moment. “See thon man sweeping the pavement before the Mermaid?” He tipped his head toward the seen-better-days pub, silent now in the early morning.
Kendra looked across the water, her gaze going right to the bar. Without the low beat of hard-rock music pouring from its door and no spike-haired, black-jacketed youths lurching in the street outside, the Mermaid looked only slightly neglected and tons sad.
The man Graeme meant was now attacking the door stoop with his broom. He had a thick, somewhat wild-looking mane of red-brown hair that caught the morning sun and was pulled back in a ponytail much like Graeme’s. Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore jeans well, though he couldn’t compare with Graeme. He’d tied a butcher’s apron around his waist, showing he belonged to the Mermaid, so Kendra assumed he was the boyfriend of Janet’s niece, Maili.
“He’s Roan Wylie, the bar’s owner.” Graeme followed her gaze, confirming her guess. “He’s a nice enough mate, but he’s also one of the locals keen to let Scotland’s Past grease his palm. The Mermaid hasn’t fared too well in recent years and he’s let their blether get to him. He thinks he’ll make a fortune, selling out.
“Truth is”—he glanced at her—“he wouldn’t be relieving himself of a bar that’s fallen on rough times. He’d be selling his soul. He just doesn’t realize it.”
Kendra looked away, guilt pinching her again.
Indirectly, she was aiding the desecration Graeme hoped to avert.
“Heritage doesn’t have a price, does it?” It was all she could think to say.
She did mean it.
And the way her throat thickened at the thought of Pennard being turned into a theme park let her know she was already in deeper than was wise.
She cared too much this time.
And not allowing sentiment to creep into the work was another of Zack’s and Ghostcatchers International’s never-to-be-broken rules.
Yet…
How could anyone come here and not care?
She couldn’t.
Especially when Graeme took hold of her hands, lacing their fingers, as he looked down into her eyes. “You’re a fine lass, Kendra.” He leaned close, kissing her brow lightly. “If it weren’t for your American accent, I’d think you’d been born and bred in Pennard.”
Kendra wished she had been.
She’d make the village’s fight her own.
Most of all, she’d do something about the way Graeme made her knees go weak and her heart pound madly. If she were local, the path would’ve been clear. But whoever said life was fair? She knew from her work that it was often just the opposite. And trying to wrench things in one’s own favor often ended in disaster.
But she could dream.
She wouldn’t wish.
She knew too well how frequently one’s words came out wrong, giving the cosmos a free hand to create havoc. She cast a yearning look along Pennard’s waterfront. The soft morning light could only be called magical and luminous. Even Pennard’s cliffs glowed, and the horrid, thread-thin road snaking down the bluff shone like a ribbon of gold. It was a scene wrapped in romantic seclusion. And anything that shattered such tranquillity and peace was a travesty.
Meeting Graeme’s gaze, she vowed to do everything in her power to help him avoid such a tragedy.
Keeping her promise to Lora Finney was a start.
As for the rest…
She bit her lip. His hands grasping hers so firmly and the intense look in his eyes made her pulse race and her heart beat faster.
Perhaps she could do a tiny bit of carefully formulated wishing.
Sometimes miracles did happen.
Chapter 10
“Come, lass.” Graeme tugged on her hand, bringing her back from dreams and wishes, a world so perfect it wasn’t surprising dark ripples strove to mar the surface. “I’ll no’ have us linger so long here that Ramsay thinks to fetch his own boat and follow us.”
Kendra started, once again aware of the marina’s bustle, the air full of yelling seabirds and the chatter of the fishing-boat crews shouting and laughing as they unloaded the morning’s catch.
“What would he gain by doing that?” She looked at Graeme, not liking the answer she read on his face.
“Accidents happen at sea.” His tone said he was serious. “No one in these parts blinks when they do. The sea takes and gives. It’s an accepted part of life here. In olden times, folk even hesitated to rescue drowning men, believing the sea had claimed such men for her own and a worse fate would befall any who intervened.”
Kendra had heard of such things.
In her work along England’s coast and other places, she’d encountered more than one shipwreck victim who’d told her a similar tale.
But Graeme’s words dashed the tartan gloss, reminding her that Pennard was a place in turmoil, despite the village’s air of nostalgia and cozy quaintness.
He knew better than she what kind of secrets lurked behind the cottages’ colorfully painted doors and neat lace-curtained windows.
She swallowed, hurrying to keep pace with him. “You don’t think Gavin would—”
“I’d trust him to do anything.” He quickened his pace as they neared a small white motorboat. Morning sun shone on the boat’s clean, well-kept sides, while slanting blue letters declared that the sturdy craft was Graeme’s seal-watching boat, the Sea Wyfe.
