by Vonnie Davis
“Heavens, you’re cold. Do you feel all right?”
“Aye. Don’t concern yerself, ma’am. I only stepped outside fer a wee bit. How is Paisley?” God, just the mention of her name brought him pain.
“She was in the shower by the time I got upstairs. Singing about washing a man out of her hair.” She tilted her pink head to the side. “You going to let her do that? I feel a connection between you two. Sparks.” Her fingers wiggled in the air to imitate her words. “Deep heat. Affection. Are you going to allow her to leave in a few days?” Her silver eyebrows rose in question … or challenge.
“Whether she stays or goes is her choice. I won’t force her heart.” He placed a hand on Effie’s shoulder and leaned toward her ear. “But I’m not above some intense wooing.”
Delight brightened Effie’s eyes and she clapped. “Now you’re talking, you handsome Scot.”
“Are ye two going to whisper all day? We want to get the reading of the will over with.” Malcolm’s face was pinched with annoyance, and his lips formed a sneer.
“Pay no attention to the man’s rudeness. He’s grieving. Come in. Everyone else is here.” He gently wrapped his hand around her bony arm and escorted her to the chair next to his.
James Aiken stood behind the large mahogany desk, his rectangle wire-framed glasses riding low on his nose. Everyone sat in the five chairs Creighton had positioned around the desk.
The attorney quickly read through the opening legalese about Angus being of sound mind and then slowed his tempo. “ ‘I appoint as executors and trustees of my will my great-nephew, Malcolm Angus Iverson of 922 Barmekin Brae, and Laird Creighton Duff Matheson of Matheson Castle, both residences being located in County Ross and Cromarty in Scotland, and should one or more of them fail to or be unable to act, I appoint to fill any vacancy Ronan Taggart Matheson of Matheson Castle, County Ross and Cromarty in Scotland.
“ ‘I direct my executors and trustees to settle my debts and funeral expenses and the expenses of administering my estate from the funds of said estate.
“ ‘I give my housekeeper of twenty years, Isobel Erskine, twenty thousand pounds sterling and my BMW.’ ”
Malcolm cursed under his breath.
Isobel blotted tears with a crumpled handkerchief. “Always a generous man, he was.”
The lawyer cleared his throat, no doubt a sign he wanted to continue. “ ‘I give my loyal butler of thirty years, Hamish Sinclair, forty thousand pounds sterling, my Land Rover, and my golf clubs he always coveted’ ”—James Aiken glanced at Hamish and smirked—“ ‘even if the bas’ can’t hit a golf ball fer shite.’ ”
Malcolm swore louder.
“Don’t know why yer cursing, Malcolm. Yer not the one he called a bastard.” Hamish sniggered. “Damn Angus. I could play golf better than him any day.” He blew his nose like a goose honking. “He was a fine boss. A fine boss, indeed. A pain in me arse, but a good man to work fer.”
“ ‘I give to my great-nephew, Malcolm Angus Iverson, the funds needed to pay off his mortgage, my extensive gun and coin collection, and half my stocks and bonds.’ ”
Malcolm’s face mottled red. “Half? I took care of me uncle and I only get half his stocks and bonds?” His eyes narrowed. “Who gets the other half?”
“I’ll get to that presently, Malcolm.” James’s stern gaze returned to the document. “ ‘I give to my niece, Effie Iverson Munro, daughter of my deceased twin brother, Argylle, half my stocks and bonds, Iverson Loch Estate, comprising six hundred and twelve acres, every building on these lands, and all the contents, furnishings, and equipment therein.’ ”
“Oh, no.” Effie trembled and Creighton took her hand in his. “Why?”
“Why is right!” Malcolm jumped out of his seat. “That land should be mine,” he roared.
Creighton pointed to the empty chair. “Sit down, man. Show some grit.”
“But … but …” The irritated man slumped into the chair, his furious gaze locked on Effie.
The lawyer shifted his shoulders. “Shall I continue?” At Creighton’s nod, James cleared his throat. “ ‘The following conditions of this bequeath must be met. The two hundred acres bordering Matheson Castle property on the coast of Mathe Bay will remain under the care of Creighton Matheson and his heirs. Effie and her heirs must seek Creighton’s approval before altering the land in any way, form, or manner. The two hundred acres on the southernmost part of the estate will remain under the care of Malcolm Iverson and his heirs. Effie or her heirs must seek his approval before altering that section of the estate, as well. Under no circumstances may my estate be sold, divided, or developed.’ ”
“She’s got plans for the estate. Don’t think she doesn’t.”
Effie gasped. “How could I, when I just now learned of my inheritance? Frankly, Malcolm, your overbearing attitude is wearing thin.”
“Over … overbearing?” His knuckles whitened on the arms of his chair. “Ye American conniving bitch.”
She leaned over Creighton toward Malcolm. “That’s right. I am a bitch and a pink-haired bitch, at that.” She winked. “And, darlin’, that’s the worst kind to have wreak havoc on your life. Now, show me some damn respect and we’ll get along just fine.”
“If you two cousins are through with your bickering, I’d like to continue with the reading of the will.” Both Effie and Malcolm sat ramrod straight in their chairs, arms folded, eyes narrowed, breathing rapid. “ ‘I give the residue of my bank accounts to Effie Munro. If she fails to survive me by twenty-eight days or if this gift, or any part of it, fails for any other reason, then I give the residue of my estate to Malcolm Iverson, under the complete protection of Creighton Matheson or his heirs.’ ” James Aiken laid the document on the desk and removed his glasses. “Simply put, no one person can ever possess complete and absolute rights to the estate.”
Creighton was pleased. Angus had planned well. The two hundred acres containing many of the caves his sleuth used were now under Creighton’s protection. Angus, a member of the sleuth, knew the importance of the estate to the mathan, or bears. A huge problem was solved thanks to Angus’s shrewd legal arrangements.
The American seemed surprised at her inheritance. Odd, since Malcolm told him repeatedly this elderly woman had unscrupulous plans for the estate.
Malcolm’s face, beet red, gave away his emotions. Evidently he’d hoped to be the sole heir of the property; a reasonable assumption, given the family ties. Yet if he truly believed Effie would inherit, he should be resigned to the conditions of the will, not surprised and upset.
Something didn’t sit right with Creighton. Either Malcolm lied about the American or the American was an exceptional actress. He stood and stepped toward the private bar he kept stocked in his office. “Drinks, gentlemen? Miss Effie, Isobel, would either of ye care for a sip of wine?”
Isobel still wiped at her eyes. “Wine would be lovely, sir.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll pass on the wine. Instead, I’ll have two fingers of your finest whisky, straight up, please.” Effie stood and approached the lawyer.
Malcolm appeared at Creighton’s elbow while he poured their drinks. “Careful, man, the woman’s a schemer. I took care of Great-Uncle Angus. Ye know I did. Yet, she gets the house and the property and half of everything else.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Aye, she’s not wasting any time whispering to Aiken.” With an upturn of the glass Creighton handed him, Malcolm downed the tipple and reached for the bottle to refill his glass.
“Easy now. No need getting drunk, especially on me whisky.” Drinks in hand, Creighton turned toward James Aiken and Effie. Their heads nearly touched as they talked in hushed tones. She slipped a business card from the pocket of her skirt and handed it to the lawyer. Creighton’s stomach twisted with apprehension. Maybe the pink-haired woman was up to something.
After the lawyer and Angus’s servants had left, Effie went upstairs to take a nap, or so she claimed. Malcolm was on his cell, one hand gesturing as he whispe
red his end of the conversation. Once he ended his call, Creighton leaned against the side of his desk and crossed his arms. “I’d like a few words with ye. I have some questions regarding the American.”
Malcolm leaned in, his eyes narrowed. “Watch her. She’s trouble.”
Creighton tilted his head to the side and studied the man’s body language. He was tense and sweat beaded his forehead. “How did ye come about kennin Effie would sell the land to an American oil company? She seemed surprised over her inheritance, as if she hadna clue.”
Face reddened, Malcolm’s lips thinned. “A person of importance took me into his confidence.”
“Importance?”
“Aye.”
Creighton pushed away from the desk and straightened. “Well, as yer laird, I demand to know who this significant person is. I’d like to speak with this person of importance.” He practically spat the last word in venting his displeasure. Malcolm’s dire predictions of Effie’s future plans for the estate had weighed heavily on Creighton’s mind this last week. More important, it had tainted his opinion of Paisley. He needed to get at the truth.
Malcolm glanced at his watch. “I have an appointment I need to attend.”
“Appointment? On the day of yer uncle’s funeral?”
“Aye.” Malcolm’s face was a mottled red and grey. His gaze darted to the door as if he wished to exit in a hurry.
“I willna keep ye. Give me the name and ye may be on yer way.” What the bloody hell was the big secret?
Malcolm shook his head. “Let me speak to him first to see if he’ll speak with ye. Business associates need a wee bit o’ coddling.”
He didna like being put off. While he wasna a controlling, micromanaging laird, he did expect his wishes to be carried out, and with very little delay. “Verra well. I’ll wait a couple days, but no more.” Just how did this person of influence know what the details of Angus’s will were? Was he a close friend of the deceased, a confidant?
“Of course.” A pained expression came over Malcolm’s face. “Well, I must go.” He spun on his heel and stalked out of Creighton’s office.
Chapter Seven
Creighton changed out of his kilt and regalia into jeans and a turtleneck sweater. Wanting to share the news of Angus’s will, he went in search of his brothers. Ronan stood in front of the massive stone fireplace, holding both a glass of tipple and the rapt attention of those gathered around him in the great hall of the castle.
Creighton shook his head. What wild tales was his brother telling the clan? Once Ronan started on myths and Scottish history, there was no stopping him.
The hall was crowded with family and neighbors who’d stayed on after the mid-afternoon meal. Some sat on the numerous chairs and sofas surrounding the huge hearth. A few men held their wives or betrotheds on their laps. Children sprawled across the Oriental carpets gracing the wooden planks that covered the original stone flooring.
His gaze swept toward the minstrel’s gallery overhead, where the sounds of teenagers’ whispers and giggles replaced musical renderings of centuries past. He’d kissed his first girlfriend up there while Uncle Graham regaled the clan with stories, just as Ronan was doing now. No doubt a few kisses would be exchanged this afternoon too.
Paisley sat on the floor with Colleen perched in her lap. Looking fresh from a shower, she wore grey slacks and a green sweater. A paisley scarf was tied around her shoulders like a shawl. Gold hoops dangled from her ears.
Creighton scowled as his gaze swept the room. Why hadna one of the men given her his seat? Where were their manners? She tilted her blonde head back and laughed at something Ronan said. The exposed view of her neck stirred something within him. A primal need. A deep longing. A desire so keen it nearly took his breath away. Ours. Our destiny. His bear was exerting his intuitive thoughts again and Creighton fought for mental control.
What would it feel like to slide his lips and teeth over that span of creamy white flesh? He hardened at the thought and once again failed to repress his yearning for this American. Since her arrival, he’d struggled with numerous sexual fantasies and carnal cravings—each one focused on her. Until he convinced her otherwise, she remained engaged to another man. By rights, she was supposed to be off-limits.
No sooner had that thought formed than his legs, ignoring it completely, carried him toward Paisley, where he settled on the floor behind her. His traitorous jean-clad legs stretched out on either side of her rounded hips. She turned to see who dared sit so close. Her face showed both surprise and suspicion.
“Since none of these gentlemen saw fit to give ye their seat, the least I could do was provide ye with a wee bit of a backrest.” Would she go fer it?
She replied with a scowl and a shake of her pretty blonde head. His niece, on the other hand, warmed his heart with a smile. Little Colleen moved from Paisley’s lap to climb onto his back and sit on his shoulders. She wrapped her thin arms around his neck and bent to kiss his cheek.
“I love ye, Uncle Creigh.”
“I love ye too, me wee sweet bairn.”
He placed his hands on Paisley’s upper arms and drew her back against his chest. “Lean on me, lassie, while ye listen to me brother spin his yarns.”
Paisley pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose. “No. I’m good. Thanks.” She shifted her shoulders and sat ramrod straight, which amused him.
He wrapped a protective arm around Colleen’s back as he leaned forward to whisper in Paisley’s ear. “ ’Tis an apology I’d be owin’ ye, then. I was wrong fer what I said earlier about yer fiancé. I didna have the right to hurt yer feelings.”
She turned her head toward him, their lips nearly touching. Her sky-blue eyes regarded him behind those glasses that never stayed where they belonged. Long dark blonde lashes, like delicate feathers, fanned her cheeks when she blinked those mesmerizing eyes. Slowly her eyes darkened to the shade of heather on the Highlands in springtime. Heaven help him, he was gazing into the soul of his mate. He ground his back molars. She has a fiancé back in Virginia. I’ll do well to remember that—if I can.
Something about this lass enticed him, and her appeal was stronger than any other woman’s. For the first time in his life, he wanted something he could never have if she returned to America.
“I don’t know what to make of you, Creighton Matheson.” A wrinkle buckled between her eyebrows and he yearned to kiss it away.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her back against his groin, ignoring his cock’s immediate reaction. “Perhaps we need to work harder at becoming friends, then. We’ve gotten off to a rocky start. I didna mean to insult ye in any way.” No doubt he should remove his arm from her, but it felt too good holding her close. Perhaps if he kept talking, she wouldna notice. “What tale would ye like Ronan to tell next?”
“Well, on the way here from the airport, he said there was a story about how bears became extinct in Scotland.” As she spoke, her hand covered his and pried it from her waist.
For some reason, her movement pleased him. He never cared for a woman who was too easy to get. A man loved the chase, after all. “Ronan.” His gaze stayed locked on hers as he spoke. “Our American guest would like to hear the myth about the bears and the Vikings.” He slipped his arm around her again and snuggled that appealing arse of hers to his groin.
The room grew quiet as eyes turned toward them. A few eyebrows arched at Paisley’s proximity to him. None of them would dare say anything. Nay, none of them would dare remark on a woman obviously in the protection of his attentions.
Bryce removed his daughter from Creighton’s shoulders. “Aye, and do ye ken she can’t hear with yer breathin’ heavy into her ear like that?” A few smirks and giggles filled the large room.
No one, except his smart-mouthed baby brother, that is. “Mind yer manners, Bryce.”
Ronan was the experienced peacekeeper of the clan. “Aye, the Viking story.” He glanced around the room. “Who’s up for the hearin’ of our favorite l
egend?” Several voiced their approval and the wee ones clapped. Earnan, their great uncle, pounded his cane on the floor.
As the wind howled and icy rain pelted the windows, the fire crackled and popped behind Ronan. “Aye, ’tis no fit time to be out and about as night closes in around us. ’Tis best ye stay here in the walls of our ancient castle, drink yer tipple, and honor our ancestors with pride.” Ronan raised his glass in a mock toast as he spoke.
Creighton leaned over her shoulder to whisper in her ear. The sweet fruity essence of her smell wrapped itself around his senses. He inhaled deeply. He wanted to remember her scent forever.
She scowled at him over her shoulder. “Did you just sniff me?”
He fought to suppress a smile. “Aye, lassie, I did. What is that sweet perfume ye wear so well?”
“It’s body lotion. Cherry blossom. Now, stop invading my space.” Her arched eyebrow issued an order, or a challenge, and it stirred his loins even more than her nearness. He’d never cared much for timid women. Nay, spark and sass were more to his liking.
“Watch me brother as he weaves his spell. ’Tis an accomplished storyteller, he is. Taught by our uncle Graham, famed storyteller of our clan for decades. Likely Ronan will lay it on extra thick to impress ye.”
“Do you really think so?” She favored him with a small smile, and he wanted to kiss those luscious lips in the worst possible way—damn her fiancé.
His hand splayed across her from midriff to abdomen. “Aye, leannan.”
“Leannan?” Her forehead crinkled in question. “What does that mean?”
“It’s a Scottish term of endearment.” He gave a nonchalant shrug so he wouldna make her feel uncomfortable. “We have many we enjoy using.” He motioned toward his brother’s movements to deflect her attention. “Watch, now.”
No doubt seeking to mesmerize his audience, Ronan lit the candles on the mantel behind him. Bryce, familiar with the procedure, turned out the track lighting along the ancient beams running the length of the room, once the great hall of the castle. Shrouded in semidarkness, and backlit by candles and the roaring fire in the large, stone hearth, Ronan began.
