The Mammoth Book of Scottish Romance

by Trisha Telep

“They’re your looms, now. She left them to you when she died. She was so proud of your talent with weaving.” He sighed. “I was never as good to that woman as I should have been.”

  He’d married late, and they’d only had one child, her father. As far as Tara could tell it had been a happy marriage but, of course, there’d always been the shadow of his youthful fling with Gran Douglas hanging over whatever relationship he’d had. She was determined that her ruined romance with Alistair wasn’t going to throw the same dark shadows over her love life – though so far she hadn’t formed any attachments serious enough to matter.

  She was not going to consider that her feelings for Alistair might have anything to do with her current lack of intense interest in any other male. She did consider just how tired she was as she followed her grandfather up two flights of stairs to the loft under the roof.

  She loved the view of Tor Rock and the wild coast beyond from the high loft windows. She hurried over to take a look before the last of the light of the long summer day faded. She was oddly disappointed. The Tor didn’t seem as high and grand as she remembered. And was the sea somehow encroaching?

  She looked back at her grandfather. He was watching her pensively. “Is the ocean eating away the coastline?”

  “Things are changing around here, lass.”

  Tara’s heart jumped with worry. “Things never change on the Crag.”

  Saying it could make it so, couldn’t it? Magic worked on Wolf Crag, after all.

  He snorted. “They’re building a golf course.”

  Which was all he’d say on the matter. He kissed her on the forehead and bid her good night.

  She did not have a good night. She dreamed of curses and prophecies – and there was an incubus dream where her body twined and tangled with Alistair’s that woke her up panting and sweating and filled with carnal aching.

  “Damn the man!” she muttered as she got out of bed. And she didn’t care that she was blaming Fang Douglas for something that wasn’t his fault.

  She flung open the window and took deep, bracing breaths of the cool morning air. Unsurprisingly, it was rainy, with mist obscuring the distance between the house and the Tor. The smell of frying eggs drew her attention away from the landscape.

  Once she’d dressed and headed down to the kitchen, she’d also got her mind and libido off of Alistair Douglas.

  Who was standing by the stove.

  “What the devil are you doing here, Fang Douglas?” she demanded as she marched up to him.

  He turned to her with a grin. “Making breakfast.”

  “I told you I was turning the place into a B&B,” Granda said from a seat at the kitchen table. “I rent Fang a bed, but he insists on providing the breakfast.”

  “But––” She gestured, vaguely in the direction of the Douglas property. “What about the manor house?”

  “I’m renovating and renting it out.” Alistair stepped closer to her, making her very aware of his masculine presence. “The place is too big to live in alone. Now, if I had a wife and some bairns to fill the house up––”

  “Oh, leave off!” she complained.

  Annoyance didn’t stop a hot thrill going through her. A domestic picture of them together, as man, wife and parents filled her head. Combining that with last night’s dream––

  “Bother,” she grumbled. Tara put her hands on her hips, facing Alistair belligerently.

  “How do you like your eggs?” he asked. The look in his eyes told her he knew exactly what she’d been thinking – wishing.

  “You weren’t on the ferry. How did you get here? And you know very well how I like my eggs.”

  “Over easy, it is. I flew in with Andy McCabe last night.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  He had told her about the new island air service. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d saved her life, and started her thinking about an overdue visit home. Alistair wasn’t being trouble – but her nerves screamed a danger warning that grew stronger with every moment near him. He wasn’t up to anything, had no reason to be, but …

  “I’m going for a walk,” Tara said, and escaped out the back door before another word was spoken. She could feel Fang looking after her as she went.

  Theo was in the garden, in satyr form and wearing boxer underwear. He was sitting on a low, moss-dotted wall, sipping a mug of tea. She joined him when he gestured her over. When she took a seat he looked around furtively.

  This was her cue. “All right. What’s really going on?”

  “We’re doomed,” he said. “The curse is coming to pass.”

  Tara folded her hands in her lap, not in the least disconcerted. “Which one this time?”

  “The one about Adam’s children leaving the border of faerie.”

  “I don’t think I’ve heard of that one.”

  “We keep it quiet around humans. Knowledge of some things is forbidden to those it would give power to. But when the time comes––”

  “Right. The curse has something to do with humans leaving Wolf Crag, is that it?”

  The satyr nodded solemnly. “There’s a balance necessary between the mortal lands and the lands of the fae. You are of the rock, we are of the mist. For those of the mist to dwell in the land of rock, there must be a strong presence of the people of rock to believe in the place where we dwell. Once the balance shifts to more of us than Adam’s children in a place, the place begins to retreat into the world of fae.” He put his mug down on the wall and gave her a disgusted look. “Frankly, we like it right here in the mortal world.” Theo heaved a great sigh and walked away, shaking his shaggy grey, horned head.

  Tara sat on the wall looking at the garden for a while. She was perfectly calm on the outside, seething on the inside. After a while she got up and began walking towards Tor Rock.

  “We’ll see about this,” she murmured.

  “Tara! Tara, where are you off to?”

  She’d gone quite a distance across the sheep pastures when Alistair called to her, but his deep voiced was pitched to carry. She ignored him and kept going. She’d reached the base of the steep hill when the wolf loped up beside her.

  “Put on some pants,” she told Alistair when the wolf transformed into a gloriously gorgeous naked man.

  She walked on.

  He must have had them tied around his neck, because when he caught up with her in a few seconds he was wearing black sweatpants.

  He grabbed her arm, and pulled her to face him. “What’s wrong, love?”

  “Love? Don’t you use that word to me, Fang Douglas!”

  Her shout was so angry and adamant that he took a shocked step back. But in an instant his own temper flared to match hers. A faint red glow lit deep in his blue eyes. “How many times do I have to apologise to you?”

  “Since you haven’t apologised even once yet, I don’t know!”

  Shock returned. “What are you talking about? Of course I’ve—’’ His gaze went unfocused, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe I never said anything, but you have to know––”

  “No, I don’t!”

  Tara’s heart was breaking all over again, and she wasn’t going to stand here and let it happen in front of Alistair Douglas. She wasn’t going to let him know how bad it still was – she hadn’t known herself until just now. Now – her heart was being flayed to pieces by shards of broken glass.

  She began climbing the crooked path up from the base of Tor Rock. If he followed she couldn’t hear over the rumble of landslides and roar of the wind. Besides, werewolves moved quietly, even in human form. Also, Tara was cursing loudly inside her own head.

  When she stopped abruptly to avoid a boulder rolling across the path, Alistair bumped hard into her back. She was knocked forwards, but his hands came around her waist to keep her from falling. He didn’t let go, but turned her to face him.

  “We need to talk, Tara.”

  There was nothing but sadness and sincerity in his deep voice and blue eyes. She didn’t believe a bit of it
, though her heart wanted to.

  “Plus, we should get away from Tor Rock,” he added. “It’s not safe here.”

  Safer than having his arms around her. “Please let go of me,” she said.

  He didn’t. Instead, he pulled her back down the path and into a stand of trees surrounding a bubbling spring at the base of the hill. A stream threaded away from the spring across Thomas land. Locally, it was known as the Roman Spring, and there were complaints about filmmakers stealing the name for movie titles from older generations of the family.

  He swung her up on the huge worn boulder which had always been used as a bench and moved in very close. He stood between her legs, with his hands on her shoulders. The warmth of his skin permeated her. His closeness tried to overwhelm her.

  “We are now going to have the talk we should have had a decade ago,” he told her.

  “A talk you seem to think we’d already had,” she snapped back. “It’s too late now.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve been sorry I hurt you every day for the last dozen years. I ran away from you, I did you wrong––”

  “You slept with every woman you met off the island.”

  He nodded. “Aye. I did. For a while. I didn’t try to hide it from you. I didn’t sneak around and pretend I wasn’t a complete bastard. I am so sorry about the time you walked in on my flat in Glasgow.”

  “Two women!” she shouted. “You were in bed with two women! And you laughed when you saw me standing there. You didn’t try to explain. You didn’t come after me when I ran out.”

  “I was in no condition to run after you!” he shouted back. “There was no reason to try to make excuses for what was obvious! I’m sorry if I laughed – I don’t remember laughing.”

  “I’ve heard that laugh in my nightmares for years!”

  He winced. “Damn it, Tara, I’m sorry!” He stroked her cheek. “I’ve missed you. Missed you and wanted you … but I did what I did and all I can do is ask you for a chance to start over. We’re fated to be together, love, don’t you remember that?”

  She caught herself leaning into his cupped hand and jerked away. “Fated? Then why did you––?”

  “Because we were fated to be together! I fought fate,” he told her. “When I left the island all I wanted to do for a while was run away from everything – and everyone – Wolf Crag represented. I wanted my freedom. I wanted to find out who I was. I wanted to make my own choices and decisions and to hell with magic and fate and all the nonsense that I’d had fed to me from birth.”

  “Our love was nonsense?”

  He gave a tight nod. “Yes, it was. For a while. I went looking for something better – because I was a young idiot. I never found anyone I cared for more than you. I stopped looking soon enough. By the time I knew you were the only love of my life the damage had been done. I accepted that the curse of a Douglas and Thomas had taken over my life.”

  “Oh, I see. You didn’t believe in fate, but you believe in the curse?”

  He stroked his hands down her arms. “What I believe now is that we can start again. When we met again in Glasgow, I knew that if we both went home, I’d have a chance to make everything up to you – here, where we belong.”

  She wanted to believe it – especially when he was so close to her, especially with his hands touching her so sensually, so gently. Need raced through her, but Tara wasn’t going to fall for it just because she’d never stopped wanting him.

  “Liar!” she said at last. “The Crag’s dying without people. You tricked me into coming back!”

  “The devil with Wolf Crag! I need you!”

  “Don’t talk of the devil, you fool!”

  “I need you,” he repeated. “I love you. I want you. I tricked you, all right. I admit I exaggerated about your granda. I teased you to come and see the changes in the place. I reminded you of home. But I wanted you here to be with me.”

  His sincerity touched her deep in her soul. His hands stirred her other senses. She couldn’t stop her fingers from touching his stubbled cheek, tracing his lips. She wanted to believe him. She fought not to believe him.

  Then it didn’t matter, because the earth started shaking so hard it knocked her off the boulder, and Alistair came down with her. They tangled together as the world bucked and rolled beneath them. Daylight turned to twilight, and a thick blue mist began to boil through the trees. The spring began to hiss and steam.

  The world was coming to an end. Tara didn’t doubt that for a moment.

  Funny thing though – she wasn’t scared.

  She pulled Alistair’s mouth to hers and kissed him. Desire roared through them. Her hands tugged at the waist of his sweatpants. Then cupped his bare ass. He growled in response. She arched against him as his hands found her breasts.

  There was no way the world was ending before she’d had her way with her werewolf love one last time. One new time – as a woman, not a girl. She needed him now in ways her mind fogged with teenage lust could never have imagined. But, this being the end of the world, she’d settle for a quick, hard shag.

  Alistair came up from a deep, hard kiss. “No! Wait!”

  “What?” she shouted back.

  The earth was still bouncing them around with bruising force. A freight train roar filled the air. The mist drew closer, grew darker. This was no time to talk!

  He held her face in his hands, made her look him in the eye. “Say it!” he demanded. “Tell me!”

  “Of course I love you!” she told him. She’d never spoken words more intensely in her life. Or more truthful. “I’ve always loved you. Always will. You’re my fate. Now kiss me.”

  He did.

  Tara forgot the chaos around them completely. She lost herself in every kiss, caress and thrust. He moved inside her and she moved to meet him. They reached the shattering point together and she didn’t care one bit if the world ended then and there.

  Only, it didn’t.

  Once she came down from the soaring pleasure she became aware that they were surrounded by stillness. By silence except for their ragged breaths. All she could feel was Alistair’s racing heartbeat against her chest.

  All she heard was his rough whisper in her ear, “Did the world just stop moving for you, too?”

  Tara couldn’t stop the laugh, and he laughed with her. They held each other, hugged and kissed for a while. It was wonderful – to be alive, to be together, to be naked and entwined and holding on to each other. The past didn’t fade away, but the pain of it was overridden by hope for the future.

  “The world didn’t end,” she said eventually. “At least, the Crag’s still here.” She looked over Alistair’s naked shoulder. “Does Tor Rock look normal to you?”

  He rolled off her and helped her to stand before glancing up at the sheer cliff behind them. “It looks as obviously phallic as ever,” he judged.

  “The mist is gone,” Tara said.

  Alistair rubbed his jaw. “I’m thinking the curse has been lifted.” He hugged her tightly, then lifted her in the air and swung her around. “Tara, we did it!”

  “So we did,” she said with a sex-drunk grin when he put her down. “Let’s do it again.” She tried to drag him back to the ground.

  But Alistair wouldn’t budge, and he was serious. Damn.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked.

  “We broke the curse! You and I making love, broke the curse.”

  He’d tried not to believe in fate, now he was believing in curses. “Which curse? The one about the island disappearing?”

  “Of course.”

  “But, I thought that had to do with humans leaving the Crag. What’s that got to do with a Douglas and a Thomas having sex?”

  “Being in love,” he corrected.

  “That too.”

  He ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “Don’t you recall the prophecy, the one about the Weaver and the Wolf? We learned it in school.”

  The curriculum on Wolf Crag was a bit different than w
hat students learned on the mainland. “Weaver and Wolf does sound familiar. How did it go? When the Weaver and the Wolf hearts be at peace and as one something something vanishing something banished something the Crag as solid as love will be. You think that prophecy is about us?”

  “You’re a weaver. I’m a werewolf. The world didn’t end. Let’s not try to analyze it any more than that, shall we?”

  She took his point.

  He took her hands in his. “My world’s solid as long as you love me.”

  She pulled his head down for a kiss. “Then I believe Wolf Crag is going to be here for a good long time.”

  Beloved Beast

  Lois Greiman

  Swift Torree smiled as she swung her beaded reticule in time to her lively stride. It was a braw day in New Town. The bluebells were just beginning to bloom, the apple blossoms smelled like a wee bit of heaven, and the sun had made a rare spring appearance, sparkling on Edinburgh like firelight on brilliants. Stilling her tiny purse so as to avoid striking any oncoming pedestrians, she tucked it tight between her arm and her well-dressed ribcage. Today she wore a walking gown of pink muslin decorated with intricate embroidered flowers she had stitched herself. It was, after all, the details that separated the middling pickpocket from the truly gifted. And she was gifted.

  Her pert little sleeves were capped at her shoulders, then hugged her arms all the way to her knuckles, making it frightfully simple to slip recently purloined items from her hand into hiding. Her straw chapeau was wide-brimmed enough to conceal her face, and her undergarments were nonexistent; she was all for keeping up appearances, but why bother with frills no mark would ever have a chance to appreciate.

  Besides it was a warm April day and …

  Ho there. A likely looking couple had just turned the corner on to Princes Street and was strolling towards her. The woman was small, plump and cute as a kitten. The man was tall and fit, which was rather a disappointment, for though Swift’s name was aptly given, it spoke more of her dexterity than fleetness of foot. Just then, however, the gentleman glanced into the lady’s upturned face, and in that instant Swift recognized his expression: adoration. Fascination. And maybe … if her luck held … maybe a smidgen of obsession.