by Vonnie Davis
Men carried scarred wooden benches to the tables for the children and teenagers. Chairs were brought forth for the comfort of the elderly or people of honor. She was relieved to see Gram was seated on one far away from Malcolm, for he was aiming murderous looks her way.
As members of the community assembled around the tables, beer and ale flowed freely, as did raucous stories of a young Angus. Gram’s eyes sparkled, her whole demeanor lively and attentive as she listened to the banter.
Paisley pushed her food around her plate, trying to make sense of things. On the way here from the airport, she’d seen and heard animals speaking. Nothing strange there. The eyes of one of the creatures blazed amber. Later she’d seen Creighton, or a bear—she still wasn’t sure about what or who she’d seen, no matter the man’s glib excuse—looking up at her window, its eyes glowing golden. Today at the service, Creighton’s eyes took on the same appearance. If she didn’t know better, she’d think the beast and man were one and the same, an impossibility to be sure. Still …
The massive body next to her leaned into her space and halted her thoughts. Both strength and warmth whispered warning signals. “Ye dinna seem enamored of yer food, lassie. Not to yer liking?” Creighton’s eyebrows rose.
His maleness, potent and overwhelming, made her nervous. She cleared her throat and unbuttoned and buttoned the top of her purple blouse. “No, it’s very tasty. I’m just lost in thought.”
Dark eyes with flecks of gold focused on her nervous fingers toying with her button. A muscle bunched in his jaw. He straightened and reached for his glass of ale. “Ye trouble me, lass.”
“I do have a name, you know.”
He set his glass down and slowly turned toward her. It seemed his gaze settled on the heart broach pinned to the bosom of her suit jacket. The piece of plaid Gram insisted she show off hung beneath it. His fingers reached to touch the wool material, inadvertently sweeping across the swell of her breast. When she gasped at her nipples hardening to his touch, his dark eyes rose to lock on hers.
“Where did ye get the tartan, Paisley?” Her name rolled off his tongue in that delightful Scottish burr he had.
“Someone hung a wreath of heather tied together with this strip of plaid on the inside of my bedroom door a couple nights ago. My locked bedroom door.”
“There’s a difference between plaid and tartan.” He sat straighter in his chair. “A plaid is a rectangular piece of woolen cloth usually draped over a man’s shoulder or worn as a shawl by a woman. Tartan is the pattern of weave and colors in a fabric. Some clans have a tartan or weave pattern registered to their clan so only they can wear it.”
“Is this tartan registered?” Had she committed some unforgivable Scottish sin by pinning the narrow strip of it to her jacket?
“Aye. Our ancestor Argylle Matheson registered it back in the late eighteen hundreds.”
Embarrassment at her social faux pas sent heat coursing through her system. She was no doubt blushing. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Her fingers worked to open the clasp on her pearl and gold broach. “I … I meant no disrespect to your clan. I … I didn’t know …”
A calloused hand covered hers. “Be still. ’Tis all right. Ye’ve offended no one. Angus Iverson was of our clan. Most people probably figure ye’ve worn it to honor him. Dinna fret, lassie.”
Brown eyes bore into hers, and she couldn’t tear her gaze away. Thick fingers gently stroked hers as they covered the strip of tartan at her breast. Warm tingles cavorted through her hormonal system. Her nipples peaked and desire pooled. What would it feel like to have his broad hands touch her everywhere, his fingers fondling her femininity, bringing her to—
Creighton’s mother stepped behind them, discreetly pushing his hand away from the broach and Paisley’s breast as she held a large soup tureen between them. “Paisley, I see yer not eating our heavier fare. Perhaps a bowl of carrot and orange soup would please ye more. It’s an auld Scottish recipe and great for blustery days like today.”
Paisley didn’t miss the annoyed glare Fiona gave Creighton. Eating a few bites of something as horrid sounding as carrot and orange soup was worth the silent scolding this grown man just received from his mother. He shouldn’t have touched Paisley, setting all her feminine parts on hormonal overload. She smiled broadly at Fiona. “That sounds lovely. How thoughtful of you.”
Fiona reached for a small bowl and ladled the aromatic concoction into it. “Eat up now, lassie. Standing in the graveyard fer so long must have chilled both ye and yer grandmother to the bone. Ye arna used to our weather here along Mathe Bay.”
“Thank you. You’re most kind.”
Fiona nodded and winked at Paisley, then scowled at her son. “Keep yer hands to yerself a’for I box yer ears,” she whispered, before bustling off.
Paisley’s cell phone vibrated against her side. She removed it from her skirt pocket, glanced at the text, and groaned. Alex wanted to know how soon she was returning to Virginia. He’d arranged a meeting between her and a ghostwriter to discuss the book he assured her would catapult her and her unique abilities to the top of the animal-care industry. Why couldn’t he understand she hated standing out from the crowd, being considered the freak? She thumbed in a response.
Creighton sat back and rested his arm across the top of her chair. The man always seemed to suck all the air out of the room. He had to; how else could he make her dizzy every time he was around her? “Problem?”
His breath drifted over her neck, sending tingles through her system. She needed to focus on a different man than the commanding one currently invading her personal space. Shoving her cell back into her pocket, she reached for her glass of water. “My fiancé wants to know how soon I’ll be home. Gram and I left our return dates up in the air, and he’s not too pleased. He’s my boss and had to bring in his backup veterinary assistant while I’m gone.”
“Fiancé?” Creighton scowled, removed his arm from her chair and straightened. “I didna ken ye were engaged. Where’s his ring?” He jerked his chin toward her hand.
His question picked at a scab over an old wound. She’d hoped for a diamond, but Alex felt the tradition silly. Vanity, he claimed. “He feels engagement rings are ostentatious displays of wealth.”
Creighton laughed. “So, ’tis a cheap bastard yer engaged to, then. Rings are also a sign of affection and permanence. They dinna have to be expensive, but they do have to be chosen with care to reflect the man’s feelings fer his intended. Something with sentiment.”
Paisley blinked back tears as she stared at her plate. Thanks for making me feel undeserving. First Alex and now you.
He lifted his glass and spoke into it before sipping his ale. “I suppose his bed is cold without ye.”
How dare he? It happened so quickly; a natural reaction, really, since his attitude and remarks angered her. Without thinking, Paisley poured her water onto the disgusting man’s lap.
“Bloody hell!”
Heads turned toward Creighton. Conversation stopped.
She leaned toward him. “Bloody right, you arrogant ass.” She stood and tossed her napkin on her plate.
Before she’d gone a dozen steps toward the stairway, a hand coiled around her biceps. “Come with me, ye spoiled twit.”
She jerked away and rounded on him, her hands fisted on her hips. “How dare you call me that? Did you have the right to make that remark about my fiancé? No, you did not. Whether or not I warm his bed is my business, not yours. Likewise, whether or not I’m the type of female deserving of a diamond is not for you to decide. Furthermore, I’m tired of you being kind one minute and sulky the next.”
His dark eyebrows knit together into the semblance of a furry caterpillar. His eyes glowed golden and a low growl sounded. “Sulky?”
She poked her finger in his chest. “Yes. Sulky. Maybe people submit to you here, but don’t expect it of me.”
“Aye, lassie, ye will submit.”
Her glasses slid down her nose again and she pushed them ba
ck up with more force than was necessary. This man had her so damn mad she was crying. “No way in hell, buster.” She turned and bolted up the steps to her room. Submit, my ass. What century is he living in?
Chapter Six
Creighton wiped the beads of water off his kilt, unsure if he should laugh or tear the castle apart. Good God, the woman stirred his blood. Too bad she and her daffy grandmother had plans for Angus’s property. If things were different, he’d pursue her, woo her, and, by damn, win her. To hell with her fiancé, milksop that he probably was. Aye, she’d be worth the trouble. All the arguing and making up would keep his soul alive. Think of the strong bairns she’d bear him. Whoa now, these are dangerous thoughts. Especially when I don’t know the truth of her and her grandmother’s intentions. Once again, his bear voiced his opinion that Paisley was pure of heart. Since when were bears good judges of human character?
At least he’d had the presence of mind to put his shield in place so she couldn’t read his thoughts. He’d have to be careful around her. What manner of magic gave her this ability?
Bryce stepped beside him. “Lover’s spat?”
Creighton ran his hand over his eyes and sighed. “Nay, ’twas only flint and steel coming together.”
“Ah, is that why the temperature in the room shot up and simmered, then?”
“I’m not sure the American’s to be trusted. She might be part of her grandmother’s plan to divide and sell Angus’s estate.”
Bryce sipped at his glass of ale. “Effie disna seem the type to do something underhanded.”
“Money, a lot of it, makes people do underhanded things.” What would money do to Paisley? She didna seem the flamboyant type. Last night in the stables, a connection, a bond dovetailed between them as if the jagged parts of their souls yoked to form something stronger than each could ever be on its own. She’s ours. Nay, not until he knew the truth of her. He wouldn’t risk his sleuth’s way of life, no matter the potency of his attraction.
“Creighton, where’s yer mind, as if I don’t know?”
He turned his attentions from the empty stairway—and the thoughts he had of storming up the steps to reach her—to his younger brother. “When I came in from outside the other night, I found ye with yer arms around her. Dinna be touching her again.”
“Laying yer claim are ye?”
He clasped Bryce’s shoulder. “Nay, just keeping us all safe.” And ye away from her. Creighton turned, entered the dining room and strode to Paisley’s grandmother. “Mrs. Munro, might I talk with ye for a few minutes?”
Effie pushed her pink hair back with bright pink fingernails. Matching lips wrinkled and pursed. “Of course.” She stood and he took her elbow to lead her out of the large room.
“Are ye warm enough? I fear ye may have gotten a bad chill at the cemetery.”
Pink curls bobbed. “Aren’t you the sweetest thing for asking? I did get chilled. The wind was blowing so hard, or as we say in our part of Virginia, ‘The hawk was talkin’.’ Now, why are you leading me toward the stairs?”
“I would ask that ye go check on Paisley.” He glanced up the steps.
“Why? Is she sick?” Her silver eyebrows creased in concern.
“I upset her and she stormed off to yer suite. I fear she may be in tears.”
Effie yanked her arm from his grasp and fisted wrinkled hands on her narrow hips. “And just what did you say to upset her?”
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I insulted her fiancé.”
“Oh?” The corners of her mouth quirked up and her eyes twinkled. “Did you, now?”
“Aye. Tell me, why didna he gift her with an engagement ring? It’s not like she disna wear jewelry. There’s an opal on her other hand, but nothing on the hand that should bear a man’s sign of affection and devotion.” Ours, not his! His bear had been raging since Paisley’s engagement came to light. Creighton’s emotions were in turmoil too, and he struggled to calm both halves of his duality.
Effie’s cool hand touched his arm. “I couldn’t agree more. Alex isn’t devoted to her. Oh, he came on strong when they first started dating, all charm and compliments. Now he’s just full of demands.”
“Then why does she stay with the bampot?”
“Bampot? Is that like a galoot?” White eyebrows arched in question.
He smiled as he leaned down to whisper at her ear. “Worse, me lady, if he hurts her.”
She pursed her pink lips for a few seconds. “You’d have to know about her early childhood to understand the value she places on loyalty.” She cocked her head and regarded him with narrowed eyes. “My question is, why are you so concerned about her? We’ll probably be gone in two or three days. Then you won’t see her again.”
For a few seconds, he stopped breathing. His fingers curled into fists. Not see Paisley again? A heaviness settled into his chest as if a tree had fallen on him.
“Creighton? Are you okay? You’ve turned absolutely pale.”
He nodded, willing his lungs to gulp oxygen. “Would ye go to her now? Make sure she’s all right?” You go! Claim her! She’s ours! He had to go outside and give the bear full rein for a few minutes. He’d shift and run through the Highlands. His bear needed to escape for a while.
“Maybe you should be the one to check on her.”
“Nay.” He glanced up the steps again. “ ’Twould be a bad idea. She needs yer understanding more than me awkward words.” He stepped away from Effie, wishing he could step away from his instant connection to Paisley as well—and from his bear’s demands. “Angus’s solicitor will be here in a little over an hour fer the reading of the will. We’ll meet in me office.” He pointed to the large carved door across the hallway.
Effie started up the steps. “Very well. I’ll be there.”
Creighton entered his office, closed the door, and turned the lock before striding toward the wall of bookshelves. Tucking his index finger in the spine of a worn copy of William Blake’s poetry, he tipped it back an inch and depressed the button behind it. The wall swung inward and he stepped into the darkness, pulling on the rope to reverse the mechanism to close the door.
A flick of the light switch sent power to the bare lightbulb halfway down the stairway. Descending the narrow stone steps, he hurried into the dank secret passage just as his ancestors had for centuries before him. The need to shift grew stronger with each meter gained. With his attraction to Paisley and his bear’s demands shadowing his every thought, he needed the healing balm of fresh air, of his natural habitat. She would leave soon. This woman able to read his thoughts and stir his blood would walk out of his life in less than a week. Damn. It shouldn’t matter. But, God help him, it did.
At the base of the antique steps, he turned left and undressed, laying his clothing across a wooden chair. A couple minutes later, the bear nosed open a thick wooden door and treaded outside into his element.
On all fours, he lumbered toward the woods that surrounded the back of the castle. There were Scots pines and the birch he loved so much, their hanging twigs giving the impression of purple mist. Although the wind raged, bringing sleet and bitter cold, Creighton relished the onslaught of nature. For a few moments, he wanted to run, to exorcise the engaged Paisley Munro from his system.
Erasing his dad’s words from his memory wouldn’t be a bad thing either. “One day a woman will walk into yer life and ye won’t be able to bear watching her walk out. Aye, lad, she’ll be the one fer ye. Yer forever mate.” Thanks a hell of a lot, Dad, fer teaching me about love at first sight. Ye didna mention the agony of it. Nay, ye neglected to tell me about the cutting, searing pain of falling hard fer a woman in love with another man.
The scent of two deer, huddled under a couple of close-growing yews, prompted him to veer in the opposite direction. No use disrupting their peace on this nasty afternoon just because he was in turmoil. He needed to run and think and plan. How could he, part human, part bear, win the love of a woman who had
no clue what it was like to live a dual existence?
His claws gained ground as he ran through the woods and up the hills into his beloved Highlands. Home. The lodging place of his bear.
Hornsby ambled out of a copse of pines in front of him. Hey, big guy. I don’t usually hear ye until nightfall when yer human lets you out. What’s wrong? The deer tilted his head to sniff the air. The worrier was probably checking for danger.
No danger out here. The real danger is in the castle. A female we want.
The deer snorted. Isn’t it always a female? He glanced over his shoulder when one of his two does grunted. You need me to run with you? Talk it out?
Nay, friend. I just need to exercise. Me human isn’t being very smart about our future mate. Man wants to act jealous. Hell, just find the rival and fight him fer dominance.
Hornsby nodded. It is the way of our kingdom. Humans do jealousy and all those other weak emotions. We survive by being the strongest, the fittest.
Aye, and we both know I’m the meanest son of a bitch in the Highlands. My human needs that female. No one else will do. Only her. He took off running, needing his habitat and his home. Escape from the constraints of his human form was a boon he meant to enjoy.
An hour later, Creighton, dressed again, opened his office door to James Aiken, Angus’s lawyer. Malcolm Iverson wasn’t far behind. Within a few moments, Isobel Erskine, longtime housekeeper for Angus, and his loyal butler, Hamish Sinclair, joined them. Someone knocked on his door and when he opened it, Effie smiled at him. She wore her pelican baffies and he tried not to smile at her idiosyncrasy.
“I see you’ve got color back in your cheeks.” She reached up and scowled. “Bend down, big guy, so I can feel your skin. Are you running a fever? Your cheeks are beet red.”
He leaned so she could place her palm on his face.
