by Donna Grant
“We’re glad to have you. Anyone connected to Ms. Fletcher … er … Mrs. MacKenna, is a friend of ours. Sorry. I’m still getting used to the fact that Saffron is married.”
“Aye. To a verra good friend of mine. Saffron knows how interested I am in the history of my land, and when she told me about the dig, I wasna about to let the opportunity pass.” Arran wondered if he’d layered on the lie a little too thick, but Andy just nodded as if he understood.
“You either love archeology or you don’t.” Andy shoved his glasses up his nose again and jabbed the pencil behind his ear. “Everyone seems to think it’ll be like the Indiana Jones movies.”
Arran just chuckled along with Andy since he hadn’t watched those movies and had no idea what Andy was referring to.
“Can you point me to Dr. Ronnie Reid? I’d like to get acquainted,” Arran said.
There was a loud pop followed by static and someone’s disembodied voice yelling Andy’s name. Andy jumped and reached for the walkie-talkie strapped to his waist.
“Dr. Reid is there,” Andy pointed over his shoulder before he clicked the walkie-talkie and began a conversation while walking away.
Summarily dismissed, Arran let his gaze wander the site. Since he didn’t know what Dr. Reid looked like, he began to search for someone who appeared to be in charge.
His gaze paused when he found himself looking at the nicest bum he’d seen in a long time. The woman wore tight, faded jeans that looked well worn, as if they were her favorite.
The wind paused, allowing the back of her tan jacket to fall into place, instantly hiding her backside from his view. Arran frowned. He’d liked what he’d seen, though he wasn’t there to flirt.
Just before he looked away, the man beside the woman caught his attention. The man was older, his full beard more gray than black. A wide-brimmed, khaki-colored hat rested upon his head. He was speaking while the woman nodded her head of wheat-colored hair pulled back in a low, loose bun.
Arran knew he’d found Dr. Reid. Without hesitation he walked to the duo. His curiosity about what the woman looked like caused him to change course so that he came up from her right side instead of from behind her.
His gaze slid over her at his leisure, and it was too bad he couldn’t give her the attention he wanted to. Her face was a golden bronze from her time in the sun. Her boots were muddied and as well worn as her jeans, proving she didn’t mind getting dirty.
The long-sleeve plaid shirt he glimpsed under her jacket was tucked into her jeans and showed off her breasts. But it was the gold chain with the trinity knot dangling just above her cleavage that intrigued him.
It wasn’t just any piece of jewelry. It was ancient, and Arran would bet his immortality that she had unearthed it herself on some dig.
Where, he’d like to know.
There was another crackle of magic, and for an instant Arran thought it might come from the woman. It could be coming from the pendant, yet he wasn’t taking any chances.
The magic was mie magic, or good magic. The mies were the ones who used the magic nature gave them to heal and to help things grow. They were the ones who had counseled the leaders of the clans, the ones who had educated the young.
Had he felt drough magic, black magic, he would have sought the source immediately and ended it. Because droughs were evil. They gave their souls to Satan in order to use black magic.
The feel of their magic was cloying, sickening, whereas the feel of mie magic was calming to a Warrior.
As far as he knew, only Warriors could sense or feel the magic of the Druids. It had saved his brethren more times than he wanted to count.
The woman glanced at him, her hazel eyes barely giving him a second’s notice as she went back to her conversation.
A smile pulled at Arran’s lips. It was too bad he didn’t have time to pursue the woman, because he loved a good challenge, and that’s exactly what she’d be.
“Dr. Reid,” Arran said to the older man as he walked up.
Except it wasn’t the man who answered, “Yes?”
Arran looked at the woman to his left and narrowed his gaze. He jerked his gaze back to the man. “Ronnie Reid?”
There was a long suffering sigh before he heard, “Right here, imbecile,” to his left.
Arran’s eyes jerked to the woman. “You?”
“Yes,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Why is everyone so surprised?”
“Maybe because you use ‘Ronnie’ as your name.”
The older man chuckled, but kept quiet when Ronnie sent him a scorching glare.
“Listen, I don’t know who you are, but let’s get this straight once and for all. I’m Dr. Veronica Reid, also known as Ronnie. Understood?”
“There’s no need to get riled, lass,” Arran said to calm her. By the way her hazel eyes blazed, he knew he’d said the wrong thing.
“Really? No need?” Ronnie asked, her American accent getting higher the more irritated she got. “How would you like everyone questioning who you were?”
“Ronnie,” the man said as he tried—and failed—to hide his smile. “Give him a break. He can’t know you’ve had a bad day.”
Ronnie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she looked at Arran again, all her anger was gone. “Forgive me. As Pete so wisely put it, you can’t know about the day I’ve had. I had no right to get riled, as you put it.”
“No harm done. I’m Arran MacCarrick.”
She winced when she heard his name. “Saffron said you were coming. I know first impressions are important, Mr. MacCarrick, but I hope you’ll forget mine.”
Arran had no such plans, but he didn’t tell her that. Besides, he liked what he’d seen. Maybe a little too much. But the fact she was Dr. Reid definitely put the brakes on any kind of flirting he might have thought of doing.
“Doona think twice about it, Dr. Reid.”
“Please,” she said as she held out her hand. “Call me Ronnie. Any friend of Saffron’s is a friend of mine.”
Arran took her small hand in his. As soon as he was alone he was going to call Saffron and let her know her little jest about keeping Ronnie’s identity as a female a secret hadn’t been a funny one.
He’d wondered why she had intentionally left out what Ronnie had looked like. At first he thought she was just preoccupied with the baby, but now he knew the real cause.
Yet, for all the reasons he was irritated with Saffron, Arran was more than pleased with what he saw of Ronnie.
Her wheat-colored hair and hazel eyes stood out against the dark bronze of her skin. She wore no make-up, but then again she didn’t need it. She had perfect skin, marred only by a small scar on her chin.
With almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, pert nose, and wide, full lips, there wasn’t anything about Ronnie that wasn’t feminine and altogether too alluring.
She was the kind of woman who would look great whether dressed in a formal gown, or as she was with jeans, shirt, and coat dusted with dirt and mud.
She was the kind of woman Arran liked. The kind that he’d never been able to find.
The irony didn’t go unnoticed by him. “Call me Arran, please.”
“I’m Pete Thornton.”
Arran reluctantly released Ronnie’s hand and shook Pete’s. “How do you factor in this dig?”
Pete looked at Ronnie and they both laughed, but it was Pete who answered. “I was Ronnie’s professor at Stanford. She had a love for archeology I’d never seen before. And her knack for finding things is unparalleled.”
“Is that so?” Arran grew more intrigued about Ronnie Reid the more he discovered about her.
“Enough, Pete,” Ronnie said with a smile. “You know sometimes we get lucky in our digs, and sometimes we don’t.”
“Ah, but you’re luckier than most.”
“Come, I’ll show you to your tent,” Ronnie said to Arran.
With a wave to Pete, Arran followed her as they walked across the roped-off area that allowed them to
dig, while keeping others out.
Thousands of conversations, shouts, the sound of shovels plunging into the ground, and even that of hammers striking rocks filled the air.
As if reading his mind, Ronnie smiled. “No one ever realizes how loud dig sites can be.”
“Aye. I wasna expecting this. The noise, nor the sheer amount of people.”
“We could use about a dozen more. So this is your first archeological dig?”
“It is. I willna be a hindrance though.”
Arran didn’t miss the way she looked him up and down once they reached the set of tents that stood in a semi-circle in front of dozens of caravans.
“No, I don’t expect you will be. Why my dig though?”
“It’s my country. I want to see what the past holds.”
She gave a small nod of acceptance. “This is your tent. You’ll be sharing it with Pete for a few nights before he returns to the States for business.”
Arran ducked into tent through the zippered opening. He saw two cots, one on either side. It wasn’t optimal since he’d have to share, but it could have been worse.
“This will do fine,” he said over his shoulder before he tossed his two bags on the freshly-made cot.
Ronnie tried not to look at his ass, she really did. But she’d never seen a man fill out a pair of jeans the way Arran MacCarrick did.
In one word, he was yummy.
From his wide shoulders and muscular chest, to the way that chest narrowed, to jeans resting low on slim hips and encasing long legs. Ronnie would bet that beneath that black tee were abs so defined she’d be able to count every single one of them.
The newest member of her team was friendly enough, but she didn’t miss the way his gaze moved around the site as if trying to study everything without being seen.
Saffron had funded many of Ronnie’s digs, so Ronnie wasn’t about to say no to Saffron when she asked if a friend could help on the site. Yet now Ronnie had the urge to call Saffron and learn all she could about the man.
It wasn’t just his rugged good looks that set her off-kilter. It was the gleam in his golden eyes, the way he stood, as if he was ready for battle.
Which was silly, because there was nothing to fight.
Ronnie chuckled to herself.
“What is it?” Arran asked when he straightened.
She shook her head and grinned. “Every time I come to Scotland I find myself thinking I’ll see men with swords strapped to them, ready for battle.”
He didn’t laugh as she had expected. Instead, he gazed at her with his amazing golden eyes, an intensity about them that made it difficult for her to draw breath.
Dark brows slashed over those eyes amid a high forehead. A wealth of hair so dark a brown that it almost appeared black was kept long and hung around just to his shoulder. He had impossibly long, thick eyelashes, and the dark stubble on his chiseled cheeks and square jaw only added to his appeal.
Then there were his wide lips, which were fuller than a man’s ought to be. They made her think of kissing, of long, sensual kisses where she’d forget everything but the man touching her.
As a total package, Arran was the kind of man who drew heads wherever he went. Women wanted him, and men wanted to be him.
Ronnie knew what came with having a man like Arran around. Every instinct told her to have him leave, but she needed extra hands around. And she couldn’t refuse Saffron’s request.
“You’re no’ off the mark,” he finally said, drawing her out of her thoughts. “My land has seen countless battles as men fought to rule us.”
“You speak as if you’ve lived here from the beginning of time.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I have, in a past life.”
Ronnie normally dismissed such inane sayings, but somehow, she believed it when Arran said it. Maybe not that he’d lived another life, but that he was much more than he appeared to be.
He was dangerous. Of that she was sure.
Dangerous to her psyche. Dangerous to her capacity to forget him as she had done so many other men.
He was captivating, charming, and entirely too interesting.
“Why do I get the feeling, lass, that you doona want me here?” Arran asked.
“Because men like you—”
“Men like me?” he interrupted.
“Yes, good-looking men who come to the digs distract the women. They flirt and get involved instead of focusing on the dig. People can get injured, artifacts lost, broken or even stolen, and any number of things when people aren’t concentrating on their tasks.”
“So, you think I’m handsome,” he said with a crooked grin.
Ronnie sighed and rolled her eyes. She had the urge to return his smile, but she had learned her lesson long ago with such dangerous, gorgeous men.
“What I think is beside the point. You’re here because Saffron requested it. I know her. There’s a reason you’re here, and if you’re her friend, I just want to ask that you remember that when the women begin to take notice of you.”
His smile disappeared and his gaze narrowed on her. “I know my duty. You willna have a problem with me sniffing around any of the women. I canno’ help if they come to me, but I give you my word I will dissuade them.”
This Ronnie hadn’t expected. “Uh … thank you.”
“I’m many things, Ronnie, but I wouldna think of compromising this dig, or you.”
She shifted from foot to foot feeling like an ass for saying all those things to him. “I just needed you to understand.”
“And you did, lass. Doona fret over it anymore. My hide is thicker than most, so it’ll take more than your honest words to rile me.”
“I’d almost like to see that,” she said with a grin. Though as soon as the words were out she wasn’t sure where they had come from.
She cleared her throat. “Why don’t you take the rest of the evening to look around? We’re wrapping things up for the night, and Andy and Pete are around if you need anything. First thing in the morning, I’ll give you your duties.”
“Sounds good. Only, you might want to think of covering that,” Arran said as he pointed to the twelve-foot-by-four-foot section that was being excavated. “There’s about to be a downpour.”
“They said not until sometime tomorrow.”
“Scottish weather is as fickle as I’ve seen. You canno’ trust what weathermen say. You have to learn to read the weather yourself, lass.”
Ronnie looked at the section. They’d dug just four inches, but already they had found bits of broken pottery. If it rained, there was no telling what would get washed away.
Yet, if they covered it now, it would put them behind schedule.
The other six sections they had been digging on for over a month were already covered to shield ninety percent of the rain.
Ronnie glanced at the sky before she looked at the new section. There was something important underneath all that dirt. She knew it in her soul.
She felt it.
It wasn’t something she told anyone, but that same feeling was what had led her to so many finds on her past digs.
“Andy,” she called. “Cover the new section ASAP. Rain is coming!”
Andy gave a nod, and instantly the diggers moved while others hurried to cover the section. Ronnie was surprised when Arran rushed to help.
So surprised that it took her a moment before she followed suit. As they all struggled with the bright blue tarp the wind howled around them, trying its best to jerk the canvas out of their hands.
It wasn’t until the tarp was staked securely in the ground that Ronnie looked up. And found golden eyes watching her.
A heartbeat later, the first fat raindrop landed on her cheek. Before she could gain her feet the heavens had unleashed a rainstorm like none she had ever seen.
While everyone rushed to get out of the driving rain, Ronnie checked the stakes one more time before she moved on to the other tent-like structures that had been erected over the sites.
The rain soaked through her jeans, but her jacket, which was waterproof, helped to keep her upper body mostly dry. The way the wind lashed the rain couldn’t stop all of it.
And the droplets running down her face and head and into the neck of her shirt were quickly drenching her.
As she checked on the ropes of one structure covering a dig, another came loose and began to flap wildly in the wind.
Ronnie jumped for it, but it seemed to flap higher, as if teasing her. Suddenly, a shadow loomed behind her as a large hand grabbed the rope.
She jerked around to find Arran. He blinked the rain out of his eyes, and with a nod, knelt to retie the knot. She didn’t watch him or the way the wet tee clung to his back so his muscles moved and bunched as he worked.
At least she tried not to notice.
It was difficult when he so big. She wasn’t a tiny person, but he made her feel that way.
With both of them checking the rest of the structures, Ronnie was done in half the time. She motioned Arran to follow her as she ran to her tent, her boots splashing water with each step.
It wasn’t until she was inside her shelter and had turned to watch Arran dip his wet head to step inside that she wondered what had compelled her to invite him in.
No matter how handsome he was, dangerous was dangerous. Despite how much she argued with herself, she was intrigued by Arran.
It was a precarious and perilous game she played, but she was confident she wouldn’t make the same mistakes she’d made before.
That was, until Arran’s golden eyes fastened on her, then dropped to her breasts, which were outlined by her impossibly wet shirt and tank.…
ST. MARTIN’S PAPERBACKS TITLES BY
DONNA GRANT
THE DARK SWORD SERIES
Dangerous Highlander
Forbidden Highlander
Wicked Highlander
Untamed Highlander
Shadow Highlander
Darkest Highlander
THE DARK WARRIOR SERIES
Midnight’s Master
