Highland Charm: First Fantasies

by April Holthaus

  It seemed Caitrina intended to help. Perhaps it was for the best since she already worked for the inn.

  “Mairi, are you positive you don’t mind my borrowing Caitrina?”

  “Of course not, dear. It will be to our benefit to have the garden beautiful again. And you will have a reason to stay with us.” Mairi switched her gaze to Caitrina. “Now, lass, what did you bring us in that basket?”

  * * *

  Later in the evening, the music from the stereo speakers escalated to a crescendo. Laurie jerked her gaze away from where she stared at the wall. She stilled the rapid jouncing of her leg. God, a restless edge rode her tonight.

  She fanned herself. Too warm from the fire, her living room became oppressive. She poured another glass of wine and walked into the garden. Mist embraced the night. Although the cottage windows cast filtered light, most of the garden lay in shadow. Lovely.

  A tinkling noise startled her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. An out-of-place exotic fragrance scented the air.

  Sensing movement at the rear of the garden, she set her wine glass on the concrete bench and strode toward the gate.

  The previously closed gate hung open.

  An impressively tall, breathtakingly gorgeous man—wrapped in what could only be described as a large plaid blanket—stood in the woods just beyond the garden gate.

  Laurie’s gaze locked on the man’s face. Her mouth went dry. Words lodged in a tight throat. Who was this man? He seemed familiar.

  Impossible. He was fearsome. Built like a romance cover model.

  “Go to him,” a compulsion whispered within her mind. She stepped forward. No. This can’t be right. Unable to resist, she took another small step, but stopped short. What is this? A barrier, invisible—seemingly made from some shrink-wrap like material, stretched taut—blocked the way through the gate.

  She pressed a palm against the barrier. A vibrant pink light twirled around her tingling fingers and Laurie drew them away. The color dissipated.

  What on earth was going on?

  Laurie glanced through the gate.

  Gazes colliding, the man’s dark eyes pierced her soul. Every passion visible.

  Unable to turn away, she stood motionless. A jolt of energy—as if shot with lightning—raced through her. Almost immediately, the energy seeped away. A boneless sensation buckled her knees. Laurie groped for something solid to hold onto and grabbed the gate.

  The barrier had disappeared! So had the man.

  Simply vanished.

  This day was getting weirder by the minute. Behind her, the golden glow from the cottage windows seemed normal. She touched the cold metal grille again. Still no barrier. Still no man. A violent churning in her belly warned, “Run and lock the doors.” Yet Laurie did neither. She stepped through the gate and walked to the edge of the woods where the path headed off into darkness.

  “Hey, is anyone there?”

  Silence.

  She rubbed tingling fingers on her pant legs and scanned the shadows.

  The man was gone.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Fir-wood, Scottish Highlands, 1509

  Patrick stared at the spot where his father and stepmother had gone missing. Had his eyes deceived him? Had a petite woman stood there dressed in a lad’s garments?

  A strange light from a mysterious cottage had shone on the woman’s pale cheek. Enchanted by expressive blue eyes, he’d frozen in fascination. Gold hair caressed her shoulders, making him want to stroke the silky tresses. He flexed his fingers. Was he a smitten fool? He shouldn’t think about those lush pink lips and what he wanted to do with his mouth.

  The cottage was gone now. A half-moon lit the mound where it had stood with an eerie glow. He hadn’t meant to walk so far this night. But walking had become his evening ritual ever since he lost his parents. After three years, his pain had become a restless ache. Unlike others, he had faith one day he’d find them. He believed his parents were alive.

  To assuage the ache in his heart, he walked.

  Only on this foggy evening, he’d wandered farther than intended, ending up in the Fir-wood, standing before the retched faerie hill. He rubbed his tired eyes. The last thing he’d expected to see was a beautiful lass in the mist of a garden he knew didn’t exist—a woman and a garden that both vanished from in front of him. He’d felt an odd oomph in his chest when their gazes met, then she was gone.

  He was no simpleton. He wasn’t imagining things. Something was seriously amiss. Munn. That had to be the explanation. The wee man was creating havoc again. Patrick wouldn’t stand for it. He ran back through the wood toward the castle, determined to put an end to the mischief.

  By the time he entered the courtyard, his chest burned from anger. Not watching where he walked, he tripped on a loose stone and collided with his cousin Stephen.

  The blond warrior was his childhood friend, his henchman and personal guard. They had fostered together. No one knew him better, except perhaps for Patrick’s young half-sister, Elspeth.

  “Where have you been?” Stephen asked. “I was about to send out a search party.”

  “That would have been a damn fool thing to do in the dark.”

  “Would it now?” Stephen smiled. “Were you with a lass?”

  “Never mind you that.” Patrick tightened his lips and glared at his kinsman. “Where is Munn?”

  That only served to broaden Stephen’s grin. “I saw him earlier in the hall with Elspeth.”

  Whirling in the direction of the stairs, Patrick strode off.

  Stephen’s footsteps thudded behind him. “Whatever is the matter with you? You look as if you ate something spoilt.”

  Patrick took the narrow stairs two at a time, uncaring that his shoulders banged against stone. He burst into the hall and stilled.

  The Brunaidh, whose duty it was to watch over Clan MacLachlan, sat on a stool near the fire, reciting rhymes for Elspeth. He waved his arms as he spoke. Dressed for foolery, the brownie wore baggy brown leather trews and a knee length leine of fine woolen cloth secured at the waist by a thick leather belt adorned with bronze. Around his shoulders, he wore a green brat held in place by a bronze brooch with a large clear crystal in the center. He tapped his feet in rhythm to the cadence of his voice. On those wee feet, he wore green boots with toes that pointed upward.

  “Munn!” Patrick bellowed.

  The little man twisted around, his whisker-covered face scrunched more than usual. Panic flashed in blue-green eyes, and he jumped to a full three-foot height. His bent nose twitched and he grasped hold of the funny-looking pointed green cap he always wore.

  Anticipating the brownie’s attempt to escape, Patrick took hold of him. “Not so fast, wee imp. What mischief have you been about this night?”

  “Nae.” Munn’s whole body shook. “Not I.”

  “Then what caused a strange lass to appear to me in the Fir-wood and to vanish as quick?”

  The brownie’s eyes grew big and round, his surprise obvious. Patrick had the sense to put him down and step back. Just in time. In a blink, the little man disappeared.

  Patrick scrubbed a hand over his face. More questions plagued him than before.

  * * *

  Munn’s essence flowed through the wood, searching for the taint of magic. Soft giggles sang along with the rustle of blowing leaves, alerting him to the lost bairns who lived in the trees.

  He didn’t have time to play their games tonight. He needed to find out what kind of spell caused the chief’s vision. Why had it been cast? And who did the casting?

  No one else could perform the task. It was up to him to discover the truth. Munn sucked in a chest full of air, pleased with his importance.

  As he rushed along the trail, the sound of young voices faded behind him.

  The night grew late. A dense fog crept across the moor and through the wood. No mortal man was about. No human saw him appear at the edge of the Fir-wood. He hid behind the old hut and waited. When sure no magic us
ers lingered in the area, he approached the grassy mound.

  He didn’t know how the faerie knoll worked its magic. ’Twas a secret held dear by the Sithichean—the ancient faeries of the Highlands.

  The vaporous mist wrapped around him, pressed against him, suffocated him. He inhaled deeply then recoiled, recognizing the exotic oriental scent, the fragrance of peony and freesia and sandalwood. That infuriating sithiche must have come out of hiding. She must be who spun the magic.

  He searched for other traces, but found naught. The faerie did well to cover her trail.

  Munn rubbed his aching temples. What trouble did she conjure this night?

  He must warn the chief. Focusing on his destination, he summoned the travel spell, but anger blocked his magic. Munn kicked the dirt at his feet. He paced the knoll and cursed the fae.

  Their interference would surely prove disastrous.

  He concentrated on his breathing, spinning in frantic circles, until the pressure released and he melted into the mist.

  * * *

  Patrick stood before the fire in his chamber, sipping his finest claret. He swirled the ruby liquid in the cup, speculating the intent of the vision he’d seen in the Fir-wood. He didn’t have visions. That was Elspeth’s proclivity. His mind unsettled, he stared into the flames. Even the gold and blue dancing lights conspired against him, reminding him of the golden lass with the sparkling sapphire eyes.

  Her expression of longing would haunt him through the night. The same need blazed within his chest. Would she have let him envelope her in a protective embrace? Kiss her fine lips?

  The thought made him hard. “Ach, well…”

  Who could she be? Where did she come from?

  She wasn’t one of the villagers. That was for certain. Could she be one of their kin? Nae. That wouldn’t explain the mysterious vanishing garden and cottage.

  Seeing the woman where his parents disappeared gave him pause. Could she be a witch? One of the fae? He stilled, shivered, feeling as if a banshee walked through him.

  A rustling sound disturbed his thoughts when Munn whirled into the chamber, hopping around, ranting unintelligibly. Patrick seized the little man by his tunic, and shook him until he ceased his tirade.

  With an angry scowl on his weathered, brown face, the little man wagged his finger. “I ken who caused the mischief. ’Twas Caitrina.”

  “Witch?”

  “Nae witch, sithiche. Mischievous female sprite set upon us by the old Earl of Argyll himself afore he died.” Munn turned and spit on the stone floor. “Guardian of your father’s lady-wife.”

  Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Why dinnae I ken who she is?”

  “Ach, ’twas your father’s wish to keep it secret.” The brownie’s voice lowered to a whisper. “When I learned about your stepmother’s guardian, I grew angry. You were a bairn, too young to ken. We matched spells, Caitrina and me. Me more powerful.” Munn puffed out his chest.

  “Go on,” Patrick urged.

  “We created a terrible tempest, heavy rain, thunder and lightning over the mountains, we did. Tremendous rage escaped the otherworld. Your father and stepmother were rowing back from the village. They got caught in mayhem. Chief verra mad. Command us to stop. Nae more spell battles. Caitrina’s comings and goings kept secret from all.”

  “Hmmm.” Patrick drained the last of the wine in his cup and filled it again from the jug on the table. “What do you think this sithiche is about? Why would she conjure such a vision?”

  Why now?

  Crinkling his face, adding wrinkles upon wrinkles, Munn made a show of thinking. After several moments, he broke out in a puckish grin.

  “You like bonnie lasses.” He twirled around, spun in a circle, disappeared.

  Damned brownie.

  Patrick slumped into the chair beside the hearth and stared into the flames. The fire burned down until nothing remained but cold gray ash. Yet his musing hadn’t produced the answers he sought. When he finally fell into bed, a restless sleep held him within its grasp, dreams filled with enchanting sapphire eyes, a petite curvy figure and silky golden-blond tresses.

  In the middle of the night, he woke in a rush. Fear tightened his chest, and his heartbeat raced as if he’d run up a mountain trail with an enemy in pursuit.

  After a tense moment, his surroundings came into focus. He sank back into the mattress. He needed to be more careful of what he consumed before retiring. Patrick swallowed, trying to ease the dread. In the terror dream, he failed to keep the woman safe from danger.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Present Day, North Carolina

  Laurie rubbed the furrow lining her forehead and slumped into the sofa cushions. Gah, she must be going crazy. She poured herself another glass of wine and took several quick sips.

  Was she hallucinating?

  Even with the poor lighting, she found the man fabulously attractive. Scrumptious. He could have walked out of the steamiest romance novel. Intense, dark eyes—if only it had been light enough to see the color—set in a face only the Celtic gods could have molded. The sexy cleft in his chin made her mouth go instantly dry. The mere thought of him left her breathless and achy with need.

  Had she really reached out to a stranger? How stupid. What if he was a nutcase?

  She flicked her gaze to the dark windows then the locked front door. The house was secure.

  A psycho? She hoped not. The man seemed familiar. She felt as though she'd met him before. Though where could that have been?

  The adrenaline kick waned, taking her energy with it. She yawned and finished the wine. Maybe there was no danger. The man might be one of Iain’s unusual friends dressed in a reenactment costume.

  Nothing more? Well, there was the pink light to consider and the weird barrier at the gate.

  Imagination. Mentally shaking herself, she prepared for bed.

  Unable to fall asleep, she lay beneath the covers and stared at the spinning ceiling fan, replaying the evening’s events in her mind. The more she thought about it, the surer she was the whole affair was nothing more than a figment of a way-too-overactive imagination. With time, she succumbed to physical and emotional exhaustion.

  A perfectly placed kiss at the nape of her neck caused her sex to clench. The cool, silky sheets did nothing to relieve the heat. He lay behind, her bare back pressed tight against a broad chest, each individual chest hair teasing sensitive skin, sending tiny shock waves along her spine.

  “Ah, you’ve returned.” She squirmed, and her dream lover groaned.

  “Careful, lass. I wish to last the night.” He laved a shoulder and nipped the skin.

  He whispered words in a language she didn’t know, yet understood in a place deep within her heart. Words of romance and promises of exquisite pleasure. Wave after wave of yearning spiraled through her, straight to the center of her soul.

  Turning her to face him, he captured her in a tender embrace. His teeth toyed with an earlobe, and she dug her nails into the flesh on his back. He released a primal growl then continued kissing the way around her neck to the hollow of her throat. A velvety tongue played havoc with her senses. Every nerve ending tingled with pleasure.

  With a shockingly rough touch, he caught a breast in his palm, and rubbed the tender nipple with a calloused thumb. Taking the hardened tip into his mouth, he sucked the flesh into a tight sensitized nub. My, God. All thought scattered.

  “You’re killing me.”

  “Nae. Loving you.”

  He placed his palm intimately against her. She inhaled his manly scent—pine and fresh air. No cologne could be as enticing. Repositioning their bodies, he pressed his erection against her softness and thrust. Her gasp was swallowed in an open-mouthed kiss.

  More. She wanted more.

  She grasped his hips and tugged, drawing him deeper into her body and into a rhythmic dance. He took her to places she’d never imagined. To heights—

  The alarm pierced Laurie’s fantasy. She reached over to the nightstand and slamm
ed her hand against the off button. Urgh! Another sex dream and they hadn’t finished.

  Still hot. Still wet. She pinched a pebbled nipple with one hand and slid two fingers from the other between her thighs. She panted, arched her back, and rode her release with a scream.

  When euphoria wore off and embarrassment settled in, she threw off the covers and jumped out of bed. She sniffed the air, catching a hint of that same exotic perfume from the room at the inn where she’d first dreamed of the man. Strange.

  And another strange thing—her dream lover looked like the man in the woods last night. Had he really been there or had a vivid imagination created him after her earlier dream?

  So many questions with no easy answers.

  * * *

  Two weeks passed, Laurie almost believed she hadn’t seen a man. But...

  Dammit there were other things to think about today.

  She set aside the garden design she drew on graph paper the previous night and poured a mug of coffee. Dressed in an oversized t-shirt and a worn-out pair of jeans with a tear in one knee, she headed to the garden, wondering what new plant might be poking through the soil today. It seemed like every day something new showed its face to the sun. Today, Caitrina was taking her to visit garden centers. Laurie couldn’t wait.

  Once she’d gotten to know Caitrina better, Laurie realized her initial gruff disposition was a facade. She was sweet underneath and they were becoming good friends.

  Laurie savored the hazelnut-flavored coffee and the warmth it provided as she strolled along the paths and contemplated the garden’s progress. Early morning fog drifted over the beds, adding a touch of charm.

  It’d been the right decision to stay in North Carolina.

  Though she couldn’t ignore her dreams or the strange man no one at the inn seemed to know. Laurie pinched the bridge of her nose. Could he be a figment of her imagination? Was it possible he was nothing more than a manifestation of the stress she’d been under at her job?