The Ravenscraig Legacy Collection: A World of Magical Highland Romance

by Allie Mackay

  She’d spent hours in the pub.

  But it’d been worth every minute to learn so much about the sword that – she was sure – belonged to the man who, with neck nuzzles and wicked, smoldering smiles, had thawed all the ice that had been inside her. Already, he’d taught her so much about passion and need.

  She wouldn’t think of specifics.

  The thigh incident was too fresh a wound to jab.

  It was enough that they’d enjoyed a few moments of incredible bliss. The kind of total, take-your-breath-away, sensual exhilaration she never would have believed existed outside romance novels.

  Bran of Barra had shown her the truth.

  And he’d done more than awaken her physical desires. He’d touched her soul, revealing hidden parts of her that she could no longer deny, and didn’t want to. He’d made her a rain dancer, an appreciator of wood-and-peat smoke on chill, damp air. Through him, she’d learned it was indeed possible to ‘fall into someone’s eyes,’ losing yourself forever, and happily so.

  She knew she loved him.

  She also loved his home. His wasn’t a steely, impersonal world of glass and concrete. Teeming cities with hurrying people who looked like their faces would crack if they smiled. Or suburbs filled with cookie cutter, lookalike bungalows, each one the same and all without character.

  Bran’s world was a place where the past walked hand in hand with the present and tradition mattered. Showing her the wonder of Barra and the whole magnificent sweep of his Hebrides – opening her eyes so she could truly see – was just one more gift he’d given her.

  She wanted to give him so much more.

  The Gaelic heritage center was just the beginning. She knew it would please him to see his home at the heart of such a good cause, benefiting the community. Owned and run by the people of Barra instead of a large national organization like the National Trust for Scotland.

  Even worse would have been her original plans – to see the castle turned into a hotel or youth hostel.

  Margo’s suggestion, to open a parapsychology study center, would have been a complete disaster. Though she knew her sister would have pleaded otherwise if she’d been able to fly over as planned.

  Mindy’s heart squeezed. She did miss her sister and truly had hoped to see her.

  Sadly, Margo’s boss, Patience Peasgood, had slipped while jumping on her grandchildren’s trampoline. She’d injured her knee so badly that she’d needed surgery. Her absence left Ye Olde Pagan Times firmly in Margo’s hands.

  Mindy pulled her jacket tighter against the cold and walked faster.

  She did wish that Margo could’ve seen the tower’s restoration. And she hoped, loving Scotland as Margo did, that she’d come around and agree that the Gaelic heritage center was the best solution. Bran’s tower would belong to Barra. She’d make sure that would never change. Ideas were coming fast and furiously now. Jock MacGugan would be keen to help run such a center. If not, he surely knew someone equally qualified. His friend Sandy Budge, who took care of the island finances, could set up the trust.

  It would all be wonderful.

  And she wanted to tell Bran, see the pride and pleasure light his eyes when he heard the news.

  Not that she could, not now.

  The kitchen encounter had been goodbye.

  And she didn’t think so because she hadn’t seen him since then. Or even because of the things he’d said before he’d disappeared. She knew it with a sudden, fierce pain that ripped her heart and made her ache so badly she was surprised she was still upright, walking down the road.

  She was breaking.

  Without him, her heart was a dark and empty place. The pain of his loss overwhelmed her, made worse by the knowledge that no matter how much time and distance separated them, regardless of the impossibility of a practical relationship, her feelings for him were true. And she knew they’d never dim. Her longing and memories would accompany her everywhere, a constant reminder of what she’d wanted so badly but couldn’t claim for her own.

  The passion and love she’d enjoyed so briefly.

  “Damn!” She kicked a pebble and reached to turn up her jacket collar.

  It was glacial.

  Icy wind shrieked down from the hills that rose behind the village, the strong gusts howling round the eaves of the cottages and echoing across the water. The sound was lonely and keening, and made her shiver.

  “Yeah, right.” She hunched her shoulders against the cold and kept marching home to the Anchor. She didn’t fool herself for a moment.

  She was shaking because of Bran.

  Not the weird howl of the wind.

  It was Bran, all about him. She missed the warm intimacy of his embrace. The thrill of his powerful arms tightening around her, drawing her close. How one intense look or just breathing in his earthy male scent could melt her. What it did to her when she felt the soft brush of his beard. Even the lightest touch of his lips against hers sent her spiraling into ecstasy. No one had ever excited her more.

  Not like he did.

  And that was only a fraction of it.

  She ached for the taste and feel of him. The pulse-pounding excitement that swept her each time he appeared. She yearned to see his twinkling blue eyes take on a gleam and hear him say Mindy-lass in his deep, buttery-rich burr. Let his warm laughter wash over her, catching how it rumbled deep in his chest. She wanted all of that. Especially to relive how just being near him could make the air around them thicken with crackling desire and – she had to say it – such a powerful sense of rightness.

  As if they were indeed destined to mate.

  Stop right now, Menlove.

  All you’re destined to do is board a plane back to Newark.

  “Oh, Bran…” She whispered his name, ignoring how her voice hitched as she kicked another pebble.

  Speaking to Wee Hughie about the Heartbreaker had set her spirits soaring. Something had told her the sword was the key. Yet when she’d left the Isleman’s Pride, the road had stretched empty.

  It’d been a void that hit her harder than the cold.

  She bit her lip and drew her jacket even closer. She wished she’d dressed in layers, or worn thermal underwear. But in her heart, she doubted such measures would have made a difference.

  If Bran continued to stay away from her – and she feared he would – she’d never be truly warm again.

  Determined to wrench herself into a better mindset, she glanced at the bay, trying to imagine the tower as a Gaelic heritage center. She couldn’t see the castle – too much billowing mist stretched between the shore and the islet – but she did spot Jock’s boat tied to a bollard.

  It was empty, the fisherman nowhere in sight.

  But a movement on the water caught her eye and she thought she saw the square sail of the Long Gallery Threesome’s galley speeding across the waves. Yet when she blinked and looked again, it was only a patch of low, fast-moving clouds, blown by the wind.

  Even so, her heart raced.

  She was sure someone was watching her.

  Whipping around, she peered through the mist, looking back the way she’d come. She half expected – no, she hoped – to see Bran striding toward her, his face lit with a smile and his arms opened wide.

  But, of course, he wasn’t there.

  Nothing was, except the fog and encroaching darkness.

  Even so, when she started on her way again, the sense of being observed intensified with each step. It prickled her nape and sent chills tripping along her skin. She resisted the urge to toss another glance over her shoulder.

  She did quicken her pace. It was then, as she neared the Village Hall, that she realized where the odd feeling was coming from.

  Someone was staring at her.

  It was the dog from the pub.

  It was Gibbie.

  Mindy’s heart leapt. Stinging heat burned her eyes. She’d known the pub dog was Gibbie! Now, he was sitting in the shelter of the glass doors of the closed community center, waiting f
or her. And – she had to knuckle her eyes, swipe the dampness from her cheeks – she hadn’t heard the keening of the wind.

  The pitiful noise had been the old dog’s howls.

  As if to prove it, he tipped back his head and gave a long, piercing yeeowwwl. It was a sound to split eardrums, attract attention, and break the heart of anyone who loved dogs.

  Mindy did.

  She was especially fond of this dog.

  “Gibbie!” She started toward him. But he bolted away, charging past her to dash down the road in the direction of the harbor. Her breath caught and she began to shake all over again.

  Dogs ran like that only when they were making for their masters.

  “Oh, God!” Mindy pressed a hand to her chest, her heart thundering.

  She spun around just in time to see Gibbie disappear into the darkness. When happy barks and a Bran’s deep, rich laugh came from inside the swirling, impenetrable mist, she could have whooped louder than the Long Gallery Threesome had done at the pub.

  “Bran!” She shouted, not caring who heard.

  Then she ran, tearing down the road so fast that a stitch jabbed her side. She kept on, nearly falling when she slipped on the slick pavement and her feet almost went flying out from under her.

  “Mindy-lass.” Bran caught her, sweeping her up into his arms and pulling her hard against him. “I’d sworn no’ to come, thought it best to stay away.” He pressed his lips to her hair, raining kisses from her temple to her ear, nuzzling and nibbling her neck. “But I had to see you.”

  Beside them, Gibbie barked. He ran circles around them, tail wagging.

  Mindy thought her heart would burst. “I saw Gibbie in the pub. Then again at the Village Hall.”

  Bran leaned back to grin at her. “Who do you think sent him?”

  “Oh, Bran.” She twined her arms around his neck, so happy she half-feared she’d jump out of her skin.

  “I’ve been mad with missing you.” She clung to him, rubbing her face against his plaid. Its wool was rough against her skin and she’d never felt anything more wonderful. Her entire body was shaking, inside and out, but she didn’t care. He smelled of woodsmoke and the cold, frosty night.

  She wanted to drink him in.

  He looked ready to toss her over his shoulder and carry her off to his turret.

  She wished he would!

  “I didn’t think I’d see you again.” She couldn’t believe he was here. “I thought-”

  “You thought wrong.” He smoothed her cheek with his warm, calloused hand. “I knew I’d see you. Nothing could have kept me away.”

  His eyes blazed hotly. “I have to kiss you now. Afterward...” His voice was low and deep, its Scottishness pouring over her, claiming and exciting her. The last word hung in the air, shimmering with promise. He pulled her closer against him and slanted his mouth over hers, plunging his tongue between her lips to kiss her ravenously.

  The world dipped and spun.

  Castlebay and its cottages and harbor vanished, leaving only the fiery heat between them. The way her blood raced and every inch of her came alive with pleasure. Need consumed her. The hot and urgent kiss she didn’t want to ever end.

  “O-o-oh!” She reeled, her sigh lost in the blended breath of their kiss. She opened her mouth wide beneath his, needing the raging intimacy, the excitement of his tongue swirling and tangling with hers.

  She gripped his neck, digging her fingers in his hair. The strands felt cool and thick, smooth to the touch. She thrust her other hand inside his plaid, needing to feel his skin, the rock-hard muscles and crisp dusting of chest hair that had been the stuff of her dreams. Fantasies about touching him had kept her awake at night, making her tingle and burn, aching to caress and explore him.

  Then, without her even realizing they’d moved, he was setting her down on the edge of the quay, very near Jock’s little boat. Except that she saw now that it wasn’t Jock’s boat at all, but an even smaller one.

  It was a rowboat.

  But it was unlike any she’d ever seen, resembling a cockleshell with oars. She stared at it, comprehending. It was medieval. She’d read somewhere – or maybe seen on a TV documentary - that such a teacup-on-water was called a coracle. She could think of only one reason for it to be here.

  Mindy swallowed.

  Bran grinned, looking delighted.

  “You can’t mean for us to get in that.” All the pleasure that had been sizzling inside Mindy congealed into a cold, tight ball of dread.

  Bran gripped her arms with his big, strong hands. “I needed days to summon the energy to sift the boat here. Now that it’s bobbing in the water before us, do you think I’d let it sink beneath you?”

  Gibbie hopped into the tiny boat, proving his own faith.

  Mindy wasn’t reassured.

  “Ahhh…” She looked from the dog to Bran, then at the bay. The water that, only minutes before, appeared mildly choppy now heaved and plunged.

  “Sweet lass, I want to show you my home.” Bran swept an arm around her, pulling her close. “The grandeur of my tower-”

  “Your tower bedchamber,” Mindy finished for him, not missing the implication.

  He wanted to make love to her.

  No, he’d just told her he was going to. That fine difference sent a whirl of flutters through her stomach and places lower. Anticipation flared inside her. Everything she’d desired stood within her reach. She felt light-headed, almost giddy.

  But the cold, hard knot of coracle-fear wouldn’t be budged.

  “Your tower bedchamber,” she repeated, breathless.

  “Aye, my privy quarters – and you know why I wish to take you there.” Bran spoke as if she couldn’t possibly have any objections. He released her to make a broad, expansive gesture, taking in the bay and his islet with its tower and curtain walls. “I also wish you to see my home before it becomes a Gaelic heritage center.”

  His grin said how pleased he was about her plans.

  “How did you know?” Mindy stared at him, the cockleshell forgotten. She flashed a glance at Gibbie. “Surely he couldn’t have-”

  “Told me of your talk with a certain preening peacock scribe?” Bran planted his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Gibbie is a fine beast – the best – but the powers of speech are no’ one of his talents.”

  He laughed. “It was thon three chieftain friends of yours who told me.” He glanced at the water where, just beyond the opening of the bay, a tiny yellow light and a large square sail could be made out, if one squinted and peered deeply into the night.

  Mindy blinked. “You met them?”

  Bran followed her gaze. “This is my Barra, lass. No one comes here without my knowledge. No’ even other chiefs of my own proud race!

  “To be sure, I spoke with them.” He leaned down to kiss her brow. “It’s in their interest, as it is my own, that this ends well. Though, just now, I happen to know they’re off to visit friends they haven’t seen in centuries.”

  Mindy looked after them, confused. “But-”

  “Their business with you is done.” He slid an arm around her, squeezing her close as the galley sped across the dark water of the open sea. “Perhaps someday we’ll see them again. There truly is magic in Scotland, you know!”

  He glanced down at her, smiling. The sword at his hip gleamed blue. “The scribe told you of my Heartbreaker, did he no’?”

  Mindy nodded. She could feel warmth streaming off the sword’s enchanted hilt. “I understand now why-”

  He pressed a finger to her lips. “Wee Hughie MacSporran isnae as all-knowing as he’d like to think. Just so there arenae any doubts in your mind” – he replaced his finger with his lips, giving her a hard, swift kiss – “the Heartbreaker only lets MacNeil men know where the woman of our heart is waiting for us.

  “The sword’s magic doesnae choose that woman. Our own hearts do that.”

  “Oh, Bran!” Mindy blinked hard. She swallowed against the hot thickness in her throat. “I
love you so.”

  “I know that well!” He grinned again. “And you’re about to see firsthand how a Barra chieftain shows his woman how much he loves her.”

  On the words, he swept her up in his arms again, depositing her into the coracle with Gibbie. Then he was in the boat beside her, taking the oars and rowing them swiftly out to his islet. Lights shone in the square keep’s narrow slit windows. Mindy’s breath caught – she knew she was seeing the flickering orange-red flames of medieval torches. Authentic, real, and boggling her mind.

  Another torch appeared to hang on an iron bracket on the seaward wall near a small, sloping jetty, complete with stone steps and even a rail.

  The light from that torch – the one at the jetty – shimmered brightly on the water.

  And then they were there.

  Gibbie sprang out of the coracle first. Bran followed as quickly and then turned to lift Mindy ashore. The tower loomed dark and solid before them. And it no longer even resembled the Folly she knew from Bucks County. Before her stood a magnificent stronghold that was not of her century.

  She looked up at Bran, awe and wonder taking her breath.

  “This is your Barra, isn’t it?”

  “You know it is.”

  “But how-”

  “Have you ne’er heard that love is the most powerful force on earth?” He grabbed her hand, was already leading up the short and steep path to a massive, iron-studded door set deep into the curtain wall.

  “Come, lass, it is time.” He pushed open the door and pulled her with him into the night-darkened bailey.

  But it wasn’t really dark.

  Here, torches blazed in archways and from high above them, on what she knew had to the parapets along the seaward walling. The light was soft and luminous, shining in golden pools on the damp cobbles of the bailey.

  The effect was magical – like the illustrations in a children’s fairytale book, only come to life.

  This was real.

  Not the work of a talented artist with a vivid imagination. She was looking at a wonder; experiencing a privilege beyond all her wildest dreams.