by Vonnie Davis
She fingered the supple material, touched by his caring gesture. “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of your scarf.”
“Ye dinna ken, lassie. ’Tis a scarf for ye. A present. A widow in our clan weaves the tartan and makes such things for clan members. I stopped by her place this afternoon.” He placed his hand at the small of her back and escorted her outside, holding the door for her as she passed through. “Our tartan looks good snuggled against yer neck. Although I’d rather it were me lips.”
A giggle erupted from Paisley. “You’re such a flirt.”
His lips twitched and humor danced in his dark eyes.
“But you can’t keep giving me things. You sent me flowers yesterday.”
Creighton wrapped an arm around her waist as they descended the stone steps to the driveway of the lodge. “I plan to woo ye.” He glanced away for a few seconds and tucked her closer to his side. “Openly declaring me feelings might be a mistake, but I’ve never been one to play games. Social graces aren’t me strong suit. What’s that American expression? What ye look at is what ye have?”
She glanced at Creighton out of the corner of her eye and chuckled. “I think you mean what you see is what you get.” God, he was so cute in his rugged Scottish way.
He inclined his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Aye, lassie. I do.”
This strong Scot smelled of pine and ginseng and … she sniffed again … strawberries, how odd.
Their boots crunched on the gravel as they strode toward the castle’s moat. The call of a bird rasped from nearby before it took flight, chestnut wings brilliant in the setting sun. A chilly gust glided across her cheeks, announcing a cool evening that approached like a silent, creeping animal. Scotland was slowly bringing out the fanciful part of her nature, something she’d fought to suppress back in the States, where people were so often prone to look down on a person, if he or she were different.
“Scotland has a way of calling to my intuitive, whimsical side.”
“Aye. There’s no other country like her.” Pride warmed Creighton’s words. “She’s rugged and strong, yet beautiful, full of myths and legends. What does the country say to ye, leannan?”
“She tells me to open my heart and soul to all the possibilities her beauty presents, to not be so rigid.” Paisley shot him a sideways glance. “But my practical, rigid nature is screaming at me to get my head on straight and find some purpose in life.”
A rabbit scurried to the left of them and stopped. His nose rose and twitched. She’s here. The American is here. He ran into the brush.
“What purpose does yer practical side seek?” Creighton’s words distracted her from thinking about the rabbit’s words.
“I just resigned from my job while I was upstairs.”
Creighton stopped. “Oh?” His fingertips pushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “Dare I hope ye plan on moving to Iverson Loch permanently?”
“That’s what Gram wants. I guess it’s what I want too.” She raised her hands and let them drop to her sides. “I don’t know. This trip has changed my life, and I’m struggling to handle it. In many ways, I’m a creature of habit. Altering everything I’ve become accustomed to scares me. I just couldn’t work for Alex any longer, now that the engagement is over. Agreeing to marry him was a colossal mistake.”
His dark eyes bore into hers. “Ye didna love him, then?”
She shook her head. “I thought I did, but when he started pushing me to capitalize on my—” She snapped her mouth shut and studied the tops of her boots. She’d nearly divulged her secret. Surely Creighton would think her a whack job if he discovered she could converse with animals.
He stepped closer and their thighs touched.
Desire swirled in her stomach then dipped low. His hand cupped her cheek and she turned into its warmth.
“Capitalize on yer what, sweetheart?”
Could she share? What would he think of her if she did? If he truly wanted to woo her, as he claimed, she owed him the honesty of what she was. “I’m afraid to tell you.” She focused on the force of his dark eyes and stole a little strength from them. “I have an ability that is very rare. It’s something I don’t like to talk about. Only a few people know what I can do.”
With his gaze locked on hers, his fingers coiled around her wrist. Slowly, he brought her hand to his lips, where he pressed a kiss to her palm. Her knees weakened and she clenched his coat tightly with her other hand to keep from dissolving into a puddle of feminine goo. Dear God, the clout of his nearness practically pilfered the breath from her lungs.
“Tell me. Tell me the entirety of what troubles ye. Surely ye know I would never turn me back on ye. Not fer any reason. Fer the moment I set eyes on ye, my soul came alive.” He wrapped his long arms around her and pulled her close, his lips kissing first one corner of her mouth and then the other. “Ye own my heart, beloved. Ye and no one else. Canna ye tell ye are me obsession?”
Oh my God.
The man was so intense, he scared her. In many ways, he was a stranger. In others, he seemed like someone she’d known forever. She tried to step away from him, but his hold on her tightened.
“You shouldn’t say such things to me. We barely know each other.” Her attraction to him was both strong and sweet, and she feared it. She’d never imagined herself worthy of the kind of devotion this Scot seemed willing to bestow upon her. This was all so new, so overwhelming after Alex repeatedly told her she lacked the femininity to beguile a man. His remark that she was too bookish to be desirable was something that hovered over her like a sullen storm cloud hanging low in the sky. Were Creighton’s feelings real, or was he playing her for a fool? She pressed her palms to his chest. “I won’t be toyed with or used for however long I’m here.”
Creighton’s eyes hardened. His expression turned feral. A low growl rumbled. “Used? Used, is it?” He thrust the fingers of one hand through her hair, wrapped them in the strands at the back of her head and tugged, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Do ye think the laird of the Mathesons would lower himself to use a woman? To declare his intentions for any female he dinna respect and adore?”
His lips hovered near hers, his breath minty with a tang of blueberry tea. His dark eyes hooded with craving. When his thick lips swooped down to lay siege and possess … dear God, when they made passionate contact with hers … all rational thought took flight on winged feet. Need, anger, or maybe both vibrated from him while every hormone within her body chanted his name. His lips conquered while his teeth nipped and his tongue soothed.
He pulled back once to angle her head. “Aye, I’ll toy with ye, lassie. Ye can be sure of that.” His grip on her tightened. “And when I’m through, ye’ll bloody well know ye belong to me. Me and no one else.”
She gasped at the passion pouring out of him before he plundered her mouth again.
His other hand cupped her bottom and pulled her against his erection.
She ground against him, compelled by the sheer size and hardness of his desire, and relished both the pleasure and the sweet pain of being so close to a climax—and yet so far.
When she trembled with need for him, he pulled back and covered her face with gentle kisses. “From the moment I set eyes on ye, I’ve tried to come to grips with loving ye.”
“You … you don’t mean that.”
“Look in me eyes and see the truth of me words. There’s nothing ye can say to me that would change how I feel.” He kissed her jaw and his teeth grazed the column of her throat. “Nothing.”
Tears tumbled from her eyes. If he laughed at her, she’d have to deal with it. Maybe it was time to be more open about what she could do. “I … I can communicate with animals.” She swallowed and gauged his reaction. There was none. “Did you understand what I said? I can hear animals speak. We can communicate in a kind of telepathic way.”
“ ’Tis a gift and a curse ye’ve been given, then. Many people have scorned ye, have they not?” He kissed her forehead. “Never
me. Nay, never me.”
Déjà vu swept over her. “I’ve heard you say those very words before. When?” That annoying headache she’d had off and on all day returned. She touched her fingertips to her temple. “Why do I feel like I’ve forgotten things?”
He cupped her face in his large hands. “Now ’tis time fer me to share secrets with ye and confess.” His dark, thick eyebrows furrowed in concern. “I only hope what I’ve done willna upset ye. I did it fer yer own good, fer yer peace of mind. I did it out of love.”
Cold dread seized her heart. What was he talking about? He’d shown no reaction whatsoever to her confession, almost as if he already knew. She shivered in her down coat.
“Are ye cold? We can go back if ye like.” He squinted as some gnats flew around his face.
“No. I’m not moving from this spot until you tell me what it is you have to say.”
The gnats circled Creighton’s neck and he waved them away with his hand. “Ye are not the only one with a gift or an unusual heritage. I have many. Mine are scarier than yours. I hope you’ll be able to—” Larger bugs joined the gnats swirling around his head. He took her elbow. “Let’s move away from this spot. I’ll have to tell Bryce to spray this area to get rid of all these feckin’ insects.” He slapped his neck. “Is it my imagination or are they only coming after me?”
Paisley fought the urge to laugh. Not a single gnat buzzed around her. “Maybe it’s that fruity cologne you put on when you changed into your kilt. I didn’t smell it on you earlier.”
A scowl marred his handsome face and his eyes widened. “Una and her fukin’ love potion. Bloody hell! Never trust a one-toothed witch.”
They walked closer to the moat while questions played leapfrog in her mind. Love potions? Witches? Scary secrets? She stilled and moved in front of him. “What secrets do you have? You act as if mine is no big deal. Why is that? Do you really believe in witches?”
“Aye. Ghosts, witches, animal communicators. I believe in all of them.” He slapped his neck again. “Now, love potions, I’m not so sure I believe in their worth. I think maybe Una got her recipe wrong.” He jumped back and batted at his crotch. “Sweet Jesus, they’re eating the hair off me fukin’ balls. Meet me in me office in fifteen minutes. I need a shower to get this stuff off me.” He jogged toward the lodge, the bugs and gnats swirling around him. At one point, he yelped.
Pew! That human has an odor problem.
Paisley pivoted in the direction of the voice.
A deer with a wide rack stood regally at the edge of the woods. Head high, he slowly ambled toward her. You’re her. The gifted one all the animals have been talking about.
Yes. I’m her. Don’t be afraid. I would never hurt you.
The deer stopped three feet from her and dipped his head once, almost in silent tribute. So I’m told. He swung his head toward the lodge. He told me about you early this morning when his bear was out for his run. It wasn’t the first time he’s mentioned you, either.
What are you talking about? Who is he? Who has a bear?
Not who has a bear. Nearly every human here is a bear, two beings in one body. I’m talking about the leader, the head of the bear sleuth who was just with you. Why did he smell so sweet?
What in the hell was the animal talking about? Creighton was both man and bear? He mentioned a love potion.
Ah, Una has been brewing ancient recipes again. The deer nodded. That explains it.
A white owl circled overhead three times before landing on the deer’s back. His beady eyes, first black and then changing to an orangey hue, bore into hers. The entire kingdom at Mathe Bay is glad ye’ve finally come. They sent us to welcome ye. The owl’s head swiveled so it could keep its eyes on Paisley as the deer turned and trotted into the brush, where it was quickly camouflaged by bare branches and pines. I kept ye safe in the storm on yer arrival. I am yer protector, just as I am the bears’. Wings flapped and the owl hooted from a nearby tree. We’ve welcomed her. We’ve welcomed her.
A shiver shuttered through Paisley’s system. “So much for a relaxing stroll before dinner. Wait ’til I tell Gram about this. We’ve landed smack dab in the middle of the Scottish Twilight Zone.”
Chapter Fifteen
Creighton tugged on a pair of black boxers and winced when the knit fabric met and chafed Big Barney and the twins. He’d scrubbed them nearly raw in the shower. Someone knocked at his door. “Yeah.” He was in too foul a mood to disguise his annoyance.
“Don’t ye bark at yer mum like that. I’ve only come to deliver a message. Una just called. She said she forgot to tell ye not to wear the potion if ye were going outside. What potion did ye get from her? Are ye feeling poorly, son?”
He stretched the boxer’s band of elastic away from his body, holding a fistful of ointment in his other hand. “No, mum, I’m fine.” Me cock and balls are effing bit to hell, but I’m fine.
“Okay, then. Dinner in forty minutes. Ye know how I dislike people coming tardy to me table.”
He rolled his eyes. As if he hadn’t been raised with his mum’s insistence on schedules all of his life. “Thank ye. I willna be tardy.”
A few minutes later, he stepped into his office, expecting to find Paisley. She wasn’t there. He glanced out the window overlooking the driveway to the lodge. A blonde-haired figure in black stood on the bridge over the moat. She’s upset. Go to her. She needs us.
Creighton shoved his arms into his leather jacket as he ran across the gravel toward the moat. He winced at the movement. His groin was still raw, ball balm or no. He’d put on his oldest, softest pair of jeans and they still scratched like barbed wire against his skin. What he really needed most was something to ease his wounded ego. The lass must think him a buffoon for the way he acted earlier, swatting at his neck and feckin’ balls like a mad man. He’d have to deal with that blow to his male pride. Projecting a macho image was hard when bugs and gnats were practically eating him alive. This was one story he’d not share with his brothers.
He slowed at the beginning of the bridge. Paisley leaned with her palms on a stone edging the bridge. As he approached, she glanced his way, her face pinched with an emotion he couldn’t identify. With dinnertime fast approaching, there was no way he could tell her his secrets. This important conversation would have to wait until later.
“Paisley, I thought to find ye in my office. ’Tis getting chilly out here.”
She folded her arms and pivoted toward him. “I want some damn answers.”
Aye, his lady was well and truly pissed. “I’m sorry I ran off like that. I’m sure I looked like a fool.”
“You looked like a man possessed, but those aren’t the answers I want.”
He stood in front of her. “Ye see, Una, the woman who wove yer scarf, is also a witch, a maker of potions and poultices.”
Her eyes narrowed. “A witch?”
“Aye.” He reached to sweep a strand of hair from her cheek and she jerked back. His heart crumbled a little. What was the cause of her reaction? “ ’Tis not such a stretch, is it? Ye can hear animals speak and Una is in communication with the spirits around us.”
She shifted her shoulders. “No, I suppose not. You mentioned a potion.”
“Aye. A love potion. Without my prior approval, she mixed a jar of love potion and told me to rub the liquid on me neck and groin.”
Paisley’s jaw dropped.
“She neglected to tell me not to use it if I was going outside. The bugs and gnats nearly chewed the skin off me body.”
Her hands went to her hips and her stormy blue eyes narrowed. “Why did you think you needed such a thing? I haven’t exactly been immune to your advances. Do you think you’re not man enough for a woman?” She pushed her glasses up her nose, a gesture he’d come to adore. Hell, the lass had him so besotted, he’d even come to love those ugly owlish spectacles. “Or are you harboring some bizarre secret you fear I’ll never be able to accept?”
Pride warred with guilt. “I’m man enough
fer any woman, but there’s only one woman I desire. I suppose I am hesitant to tell ye what I am.”
“Life has a way of making a person ask questions. I’ve been standing here trying to open my mind to all the possibilities around me. I think I’ve been so focused on keeping my gift a secret I blocked the conduit to all the potentialities of our metaphysical world.” She flicked her hand through the air. “Like witches, ghosts, and curses.” Her blonde head tilted. “Even shape-shifters.”
His mouth went dry and his stomach cramped. Christ, she knows. How did she find out? His inner bear assured him he hadn’t exposed himself.
“When was the last time you spoke to a stag with twelve points on his rack, Creighton?”
He closed his eyes. Hornsby, ye’ve got a bloody big mouth.
“Well?” She squared her shoulders as if readying for battle. God, the woman was glorious when she was pissed. Golden strands glowed in the orange rays of the setting sun. Sky-blue eyes were transformed by anger to the indigo of Mathe Bay in the midst of a tempest. And attitude? Dear God, the Scottish attitude that shimmered off her blinded like the most exquisite of diamonds. Whether she came to love him or not, he’d love her forever and a day.
“Too chicken to talk, huh?” Her chin jutted in challenge.
He stepped closer. “Ye go too far, leannan.” The temper of his bruised pride reared its arrogant head. He had the strongest urge to tug her to him and prove to her how bravery was an innate part of his nature—and how much he needed her for his next breath.
“Okay, then. Suppose we indulge in some idle chitchat while you work up the courage to tell me why there are blank spots in my memory and why a deer and an owl insist you are both bear and man?” She poked the toe of her boot against the ancient rocks lining the edge of the bridge. “Do you know what I was doing before you came? I was allowing the history of these grey rocks to seep into my soul. They whisper of tragedy.” She stooped to lay a hand on a flat-topped boulder. “They almost weep with it.”
“Here is where an ancestor leaped to his death after he lost his leannan. They’d been married for eight years when she died in childbirth, she and the wee bairn.”
