The Ravenscraig Legacy Collection: A World of Magical Highland Romance

by Allie Mackay

  It did pain her that, until very recently, she’d burned to sell the castle to the highest bidder and never see a stone of the place again. Not a single stick of furniture or even a whirling dust mote.

  Now...

  She felt like a callous, shallow fool.

  As much as the truth seared her, she felt compelled to make sure Bran of Barra understood. Only then could she look in the mirror again. At the end of the day, despite her years in a very modern profession, she still remained an old-fashioned girl at heart.

  To her, honor was everything.

  So she steeled herself and looked the sexy Hebridean ghost in the eye. “Your castle stones are out there” – she, too, shot a quick glance at the bay – “because three ghostly cousins of yours threatened that they’d haunt me forever if I didn’t return them.”

  Bran of Barra blinked. “Three ghostly cousins?”

  Mindy nodded. “Cousins, kin, or whatever you wish to call them. Fact is, they’re Barra MacNeil chieftains who - I don’t know how else to say this - lived several centuries after your time.”

  “I see.”

  “You do?” Mindy placed her hands on the back of sofa, glad for its support.

  Bran of Barra started pacing, his sword – he was still wearing it – clacking softly against his hip as he strode back and forth in the Anchor’s tiny lounge.

  “I believe I know the three chieftains you mean.” He glanced at her as he passed the fireplace. “They visited my home some while ago. Their arrival was unexpected and startled a guest because, rather than coming to enjoy the revelries of my hall as most are wont to do, they were seen stomping about in an abovestairs passageway, fussing amongst themselves.”

  Mindy smiled. “That sounds like them. They do like to grumble.” Her heart caught again. “But I think they’re happy now. I saw them just as my ferry approached Barra. They were in a medieval-looking galley and racing back and forth near the opening to the bay, making a ruckus and-”

  “Aye, they will be Barra MacNeils!” Bran sounded himself again. “‘Tis a flourish they were giving you.” He beamed, pride glowing in his eyes. “Like as not, they were welcoming you to our bonnie isle.”

  “That’s what I thought.” The idea warmed Mindy.

  She would never have believed it, but she’d grown fond of the Long Gallery Threesome.

  “There is something I don’t understand.” Bran halted suddenly, stood rubbing his beard. “Where was my tower? And why did my chiefly cousins press you to return it?”

  Mindy hesitated. Not because she wasn’t willing to answer those two questions, but she knew they’d lead to more. She wasn’t keen on telling Bran about Hunter.

  So she resorted to her airline training and posed a question of her own. “You said that the three other ghosts were at your hall. How can that be if” – the implication made her uncomfortable – “at the time, your tower wasn’t standing?”

  “No’ standing?” His brows lifted. “Sweet lass, my tower has always stood as e’er. Nary a stone is changed nor a blade o’ grass-”

  “But how-”

  “Because” – his crooked smile flashed – “I will it so.”

  “You mean in your ghostly realm.”

  “Aye, just.” He nodded, looking pleased.

  Apparently tired of pacing, he dropped onto the sofa next to Gibbie, slinging an arm around the beast’s shoulders. “Now that you know, I’m for hearing where my home has been in your world? That it hasnae been where it should be, I already know. So speak true. I’ll know if you’re trying to cozen me.”

  Mindy’s first instinct was to do just that. Instead, she took a deep breath. “Your tower was in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. Near a town called New Hope. Wealthy MacNeils of a past century-”

  “Penn-seal-landia?” He jumped to his feet, his eyes round. “Sakes! ‘Tis worse than I thought.”

  Gibbie barked, sharing his distress.

  Bran of Barra shoved a hand through his hair, looking almost wild-eyed. “So I was right! I suspected you hailed from that wicked place. But I ne’er dreamed my tower would be-”

  “In Pennsylvania?” Mindy didn’t understand his concern. “It’s a very beautiful place. Bucks County, where I’m from, is especially nice. Not the same as here, but lovely. It’s sort of like the kind of rolling countryside you see in England-”

  “England?” He looked even more horrified.

  Mindy could have kicked herself.

  Not being a big fan of Braveheart, she’d forgotten that Scots of Bran of Barra’s day wouldn’t be too enamored of the English.

  Her gaffe was making the back of her neck hot.

  He looked so upset.

  “I’m sorry.” She took several calming breaths. “I fully agree with you that your home should never have been dismantled and-”

  “So my tower was taken apart?” Bran’s eyes narrowed. “And done deliberately?”

  Mindy nodded. “Some of your descendants went to America and settled in New Hope. They did very well. One of them” – she took another deep breath, wishing she could skip this part – “made a fortune in steel and railroads.

  “It’s believed that he never forgot his Scottish roots and so, when he became rich, he traveled here. He went to Barra and ordered your castle taken apart and transported to Pennsylvania, where he had it rebuilt, stone for stone.”

  “Gods o’ mercy!” Bran of Barra scrubbed his hands over his face. “How could a man of my own blood commit such a travesty?” He lowered his hands, shaking his head. “If he loved this isle, our good and bonnie Scotland, why didn’t he just come back here himself?”

  Mindy looked down and plucked at a loose thread on her sleeve.

  No way was she going to tell him that his New Hope descendant, however savvy in business, had been driven by pomp and greed. His head turned by the luxuries and conveniences of the New World. And, Mindy suspected, the oohs and ahhs he hoped to hear when people saw his Scottish castle on a Bucks County hill.

  Some people craved grandeur and attention.

  Mindy shivered, distaste and memories of Hunter making her stomach clench.

  Bran crossed the little room and grabbed her arms, peering down at her intently. “Why are you so pale? Were you- I mean, are you of this man’s line?”

  She blinked.

  It took her a moment to grasp what he was asking. She couldn’t think when he stood so close, his big, strong hands holding her tight.

  “No, I don’t have a drop of MacNeil blood.” She was so glad she didn’t.

  “That’s good, then.” He let go of her and stepped back, ran a hand through his hair again. “But I’d still hear how you’re associated with us?

  “Why” – he was eyeing her closely – “my three cousins put it to you to sort this for us.”

  “Their names are Silvanus, Roderick, and Geordie,” she began, hedging. “They-”

  “Good old Scots names.” Bran nodded sagely. “They’ll be fine men, then.”

  “I know they mean well.” Mindy tried not to squirm. “As for why they chose me, I suppose they knew I had the money to see the deed done.” She forced herself to hold his gaze. “They figured I disliked MacNeils enough to do whatever they wanted. They knew I wouldn’t like them haunting me for the rest of my life.”

  “Pah!” Bran shook his head. “That can’t be. There’s never been a female born who isn’t fond of MacNeils, especially Barra MacNeils.”

  “Exactly.” Mindy gave him her brightest smile. The reminder of the powerful appeal of MacNeil men brought her back to her senses.

  “You’ve hit on the very reason I had problems with them.” She set her hands on her hips. “Too many women are crazy about the men of your clan and-”

  “By thunder!” Bran slapped his forehead. “I’ve been a newt-brained gowk. Now I understand.” He looked at her, his eyes flashing. “A skirt-chasing MacNeil caught your fancy and then the lout stomped on your heart.

  “Och, lassie.” He hooked his thum
bs in his sword belt and rocked back on his heels. “It grieves me to say so, but all clans have their scoundrels, even MacNe-”

  “Can we please not talk about it?” Mindy glanced aside, not wanting to see the fire in his eye. Although hearing him refer to Hunter as a lout and a scoundrel was sweet balm to her soul.

  His indignation on her behalf was dangerous.

  She’d already pegged him as the kind of man a woman could depend on. He’d always have a ready shoulder and would glare daggers at anyone who looked cross-eyed at his lady. He’d use his sword if need be and – she was breathless to think it – he’d kiss a woman until her toes curled.

  What he’d do naked, his woman caught up in those strong, muscled arms, didn’t bear imagining.

  She gulped, her pulse running riot.

  It’d be so easy to go to him, slide her arms around his very real-feeling, masculine girth, and lean into him, telling him that, yes, she did desire him.

  Yes, she wanted – no, craved – his kisses.

  Fortunately, she had enough wits to know that giving in to such a passion would scald her in a worse way that Hunter could have done in a thousand years. In fact, she couldn’t even remember what the bastard looked like.

  She’d never forget Bran.

  Not even wanting to think about what that meant in terms of consequence and logistics, she pressed a hand to the small of her back. It ached suddenly, hurting almost as much as the throbbing at her temples. She needed to find a way to banish Bran before he crossed the room again and reached for her.

  That he might was certain.

  She saw it in his eyes. She felt the passion building inside him. Any moment he’d come for her. If she let him, life as she’d known it until now would end.

  She could fall in love.

  And that would lead to madness.

  Blessedly, her good sense rode to the rescue, and she suddenly knew just how to steer him in a very different direction.

  “What’s with you and the author at Hebridean House?” She spoke quickly. “Wee Hughie MacSporran. I saw your face when he came out of the sitting room, heard you call him a-”

  “Bluidy windbag?”

  “I think that was it, yes.”

  “You remember rightly.” Bran glanced at her, his eyes startlingly blue. “The bastard has more hot air in him than a peasant forced to exist on a diet o’ beans.”

  Mindy laughed.

  But she caught herself at once. She couldn’t recall the last time a man had made her laugh. And she knew instinctively that Bran of Barra, if they were a pair, would fill their days not just with wild, white-hot passion and meaning, but also with humor and fun the likes of which she knew would delight her all her days.

  She was also sure that he was fair. That he’d have a good reason for not liking the author.

  So she met Bran’s gaze, curious. “You have a colorful way with words. ‘A diet of beans.’ Is he really that bad?”

  “I’ll tell you this.” He looked at her, his voice hardening. “The man thinks too highly of himself. He-”

  “He did seem a bit arrogant.”

  “Arrogant?” His brows shot upwards. “He’s a preening peacock!”

  “Is that why you drew your sword?” Mindy’s heart hammered. This was about so much more than medieval weapons. “I’m curious. Did men in your day punish conceit with a swift swing of cold, hard steel?”

  He jutted his chin. “I meant only to give him a fright.”

  “But why?”

  “Because I dinnae like him.”

  Mindy frowned. “That’s not an answer.”

  “I know that fine.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “If you’d hear the truth, the puff-chested ox simply annoys me. He’s irritating like a pebble in my shoe.”

  He folded his arms, his mouth set in a firm, hard line.

  Under difference circumstances, Mindy would have laughed. Bran of Barra wasn’t exactly a modest man himself. As if he’d read her mind, he took a step forward, wagging a finger at her.

  “Hear this, Mindy-lass.” He kept up the finger wagging. “When I walk through Edinburgh, Glasgow, or where’er, men stand aside, clearing the way. They do so because I am Barra, no’ because I waved them away or because someone blasted a fanfare on a trumpet, warning folk to leap out of my path.

  “MacSporran is a trumpet blaster.” The finger wagging stopped. “Such braggarts go against everything a Highlander believes. If you’ve ne’er heard the saying” – he grinned – “‘tis the shallowest burn that makes the most noise.

  “We, the true men of Barra, live by that.”

  Looking pleased, he dusted his hands. “Next time I see the Highland Storyweaver, I might just jab him in the belly! Rid him of some excess wind.”

  He winked.

  Mindy found herself laughing.

  She couldn’t help it. Mercy, but she could lose her heart to this man.

  “For now,” he was saying, still looking righteous, “I’m thinking you need to learn the measure of a true Barrach. We’re a fine race of men, lass. There is much about us to be proud of.” His voice went all deep and Scottishy again, the smooth, rich tones chasing the laughter right out of her.

  Just the way he said about, so that it sounded like aboot, made him so irresistible she could hardly breathe. Her belly flutters returned and her heart skittered.

  Oh, yeah, Highlanders should carry licenses and wear warning labels. Danger, women of the world! Don’t come close or you’ll lose your heart. At the very least, close your ears – don’t listen when they start speaking.

  Too bad she already had!

  Mindy bit her lip and started backing away.

  He grinned and angled his head, the heat in his eyes almost singeing the air between them.

  “We’re no’ all like the blackguard who treated you poorly, Mindy-lass.”

  “I didn’t say that.” She scooted into the kitchen, wishing it was larger than two square feet tops.

  Bran of Barra stayed where he was, but he kept looking at her with incredible intensity.

  “You dinnae have to say the words, sweeting. They’re writ all o’er you, plain as day.

  “When they’re gone, or at least a bit faded, I’ll show you that I’m different.” He glanced at his dog and clicked his fingers, nodding once when Gibbie sprang down off the sofa and trotted over to him. “Till then, we’ll leave you to your night’s rest.”

  “No, wait...” Mindy started forward, expecting them both to vanish in a blink.

  But this time, Bran of Barra simply turned and walked to the door, letting himself and his dog out into the cold, damp night just as a real, flesh-and-blood man would do.

  And he’d looked so real as he went about it, that her heart broke.

  Wishing he were real, she ran to the window, hoping to see him standing on the road, waiting for her to come out and invite him back in.

  Perhaps – if there was such a thing as Highland magic – he’d be out there, just as she imagined.

  But when she looked, he was gone.

  The narrow road was empty.

  And the broken jetty across from the Anchor sloped down into the dark water. In the moonlight, she could see that its stones were crusted with limpet shells and glistening seaweed. But of a big, brawny man and his dog, there was no sign.

  Damn it anyway.

  ***

  What Mindy didn’t see was the tiny black-garbed woman standing near the deserted Village Hall just a short way down the road from the Anchor.

  Unaccustomed to modern trappings, the old woman adjusted her heavy jacket against the biting wind and then stooped to retie one of the red plaid laces on her sturdy black walking boots.

  When she straightened, she rubbed her knotty hands together and crossed the road to better peer across the bay at the dark little islet that had seen such a stir of activity in recent days.

  The piles of stone there made her cackle with glee.

  It was good to see folk undoing some of the ill
s that the Highlands had suffered now and then.

  Her own beloved Hebrides were most especially deserving!

  As was the young American lassie, she knew.

  She was also fond of Bran of Barra.

  He might bluster a bit, and, despite his claims, there wasn’t a modest bone in his great, strapping body. His heart was in the right place, though, and that was something she honored above all else.

  But helping the pair just might prove beyond even her powerful magic.

  Hoping it wouldn’t be so, she woman patted her frizzled white hair and glanced again at the red tartan laces on her boots.

  They were a fine touch, if she did say so herself.

  Even a crone like her enjoyed a bit o’ spiff.

  Pleased, she lifted her chin to the wind and returned her gaze to the little island in the bay. Soon there’d be more than just stout castle walls and cobbled baileys gracing the isle’s long-empty shores.

  It was time love and happiness reigned there as well.

  If she had any say in the matter, it would happen.

  Her magic would help.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mindy was in Hawaii.

  She could hear the pounding of the surf and the rattling of palm fronds in a tropical breeze. The sun’s toasty rays were a caress, warming her head to toe, and her supersized hibiscus-print beach towel was the softest, most comfortable she’d ever laid on. Best of all, she could smell fresh-roasted Kona coffee. The delicious aroma wafted on the air, tempting her…

  Calling her from the sweetest of dreams.

  But she wasn’t yet ready to waken.

  Sleep was good.

  Early morning zzz’s were her idea of heaven. Whoever prided themselves on being a lark, had never tasted the pleasures of life as an owl.

  So she flipped onto her stomach, content to enjoy the sun-drenched splendor of Kauai’s Poipu Beach just a few minutes longer.

  Too bad the soothing rattle of the palm fronds was beginning to sound like the patter of rain. And although she remained nice and warm, the sun’s baking heat was starting to feel suspiciously like layers of wool blankets and an extremely thick duvet.

  Mindy frowned.