A Dash of Destiny (Warlocks MacGregor Book 8)

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “I should get back to it.” Jennifer pasted a smile on her face for the customers as she stepped back inside.

  She didn’t know the MacGregors personally but had heard plenty of gossip about them. A family of kilt-wearing Scottish hotties had moved into the giant house overlooking town a few years ago. They were nobility or hotel moguls or the descendants of the guy who’d invented the vegetable peeler.

  She doubted much of it was true. Out of boredom, she’d looked up the inventor of the vegetable peeler. It was a man named Alfred Neweczerzal from Switzerland or some such place. The sexy kilt-wearing part was real. She’d seen a few of the men around town.

  One of Kay’s customers lifted his hand to get her attention. Several others tried to make eye contact with her. Jennifer let the thoughts slip from her mind as she fell into the rhythm of work.

  Chapter Three

  Rory MacGregor wasn’t exactly sure what he’d done to deserve his current predicament. The last thing he remembered was having a drink with his cousins Iain, Erik, Euann, and Kenneth. He wasn’t sure how they’d gotten on the topic, but they’d been reminiscing about past magickal failures. There were plenty of times a poorly aimed energy ball had boomeranged around to zap one of them in the ass like an errant firework. Literally, the ass. Rory had burnt more than one kilt.

  Yeah, he’d done plenty over the centuries, but he didn’t know which of those things this was paying back. Was it for the time he’d trapped Iain in an enchanted chicken coop in the 1800s after his cousin had shifted into bird form? Rory had left him there as a human and sold tickets to local farmers to see the chicken-man.

  Or was it from several months back, when he’d shot out all of Euann’s security cameras in the woods surrounding the MacGregor property for the second time? For a warlock who could cast magickal protection spells, Euann liked playing with tech a little too much.

  Rory had convinced a king to let Kenneth sing opera for the royal court. But, to be fair, that was only because Kenneth had stolen his kilt while he’d been swimming and left him with a woman’s dress. So Rory had been the one to repay that particular prank.

  He’d enchanted Erik’s car. And his horse. And his sword. And, well, also his boxer shorts.

  Maybe it was because he’d helped himself to Uncle Raibeart’s not-so-secret stash of old scotch. That had been a fun couple of nights.

  He’d dyed Uncle Fergus’s English bulldog pink. Traitor hadn’t seemed to mind his new coloring. In fact, Traitor didn’t mind much of anything.

  The list was endless. Pranks were a MacGregor family trademark. Whatever the reason, Rory was pretty much screwed until this spell wore off.

  Rory tried to stretch his arms and legs. The rope binding him to the tree held firm with the help of magick. They contained some kind of binding spell that kept his magick inert. If he struggled, the binds would only become tighter. As far as revenge went, this wasn’t so bad. The temperature was mild, and the air fresh. Moonlight came through the treetops to create dancing spots on the forest floor.

  Soft thumps sounded on the nearby path. Maybe he’d dismissed the vulnerability of this prank too soon.

  Rory tensed, wondering what shenanigans his cousins had planned for him. He tried to wriggle free, but the binds tightened, causing the bark to rub uncomfortably against his flesh. That’s when he realized nothing protected his bare ass from the tree.

  Of course, he was naked beneath the ropes. Why wouldn’t he be? It would be funnier to make him run nude through the forest back to the mansion where he lived with his extended family.

  The ropes kept his body stationary so he could only turn his head to watch. A tiny black ball of fluff barreled down the path. At first, he wasn’t sure if it was a dog or a miniature bear cub.

  “Arf,” came a high-pitched bark.

  The puppy tripped over his feet, rolling headfirst before continuing without barely missing a beat. This prank just became weird. Were his cousins trying to cute him to death?

  “Come back. Where’d you go, little guy?”

  He didn’t recognize the soft American-accented voice. A woman appeared from between two trees, her face downturned as she searched along the narrow path. “It’s not safe for you here. Let’s find your home. Someone has to be worried about you.”

  Rory held very still, hoping his current trap included an invisibility spell so she wouldn’t see him. Leaving someone tied up and helpless in a forest was hilarious, to be sure, but they weren’t stupid. His cousins would not have left him without protection.

  As expected, the woman glanced through him, not registering the fact someone had tied him to the tree. Her dark curly hair was pulled back from a pretty face. Exhaustion lined her eyes, and she looked like she hadn’t slept for days.

  Rory wanted to call out to her but held back. If she heard him, she’d think the forest was haunted and would run away screaming in fear.

  Something in her expression captured him. Sadness lined her eyes. He wanted to know why she looked that way. She was too young, probably only thirty or so human years, to look so forlorn.

  The woman rubbed her arms as she looked into the trees for the dog. “Please come back. Tips sucked tonight. My feet are killing me. I’m bone tired. I want to go home and collapse, but I can’t leave you out here.”

  “Arf,” came the high-pitched, slightly muffled answer.

  The woman crouched down as she took a few steps to search the darker part of the woods. Rory’s binds tightened as he tried leaning his head to the side to get a better look at her ass beneath the black slacks. She kneeled and reached forward. The pants pulled tighter. Rory’s lips parted, and he suppressed a groan to keep from making noise.

  “There you are,” she said, sitting back on her heels.

  Rory sighed and rested his head against the tree trunk.

  At the sound, the woman quickly turned as if she’d heard him.

  He’d expected a puppy, but instead, metal glimmered in her hand. Her eyes met his. Dark circles spread from her eyes like bruises bleeding across the flesh.

  She slowly stood, wielding a knife. “There you are.”

  The sweet concern she had for the lost puppy had drained from her tone. Her body twitched as she stepped toward him.

  Well, this evening soured fast.

  “Oh, easy there, love,” Rory said. “Whatever this is, I’m sure we can talk about it. Why don’t ya put the knife on the ground before someone gets hurt?”

  She lifted the knife over her shoulder and aimed it in his direction. So much for conversation. The woman hardly seemed receptive.

  Rory tried to call forth his magick, but whatever enchantment was on the ropes kept him imprisoned. A distant memory tried to surface, of being trapped and powerless, but after hundreds of years of living, there were many strange events to choose from, and the impression faded as fast as it came.

  “Did one of my cousins put ya up to this?” he asked. Only to yell, “Hilarious guys, but you’re going to have to do better than this!”

  “There you are,” she whispered, taking another halting step toward him. Her eyes bored into him as if she could pierce him with a single look. Mounting rage replaced the sadness in her. The grip on the knife hand shook.

  “I think maybe ya got the wrong guy.” Rory wasn’t usually one to panic, but he couldn’t see a way out. His heartbeat quickened, and a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. “How about ya untie me instead? We can get a bite to eat and talk about this?”

  “There you are.”

  Stupid ropes.

  Rory struggled to free himself even as the bind became so tight it began cutting off his circulation. He tried to pull energy from the tree behind him to fuel his magick. A small tingle worked down his spine, but it wasn’t enough to make even the lamest of fireballs.

  “There you are.”

  “Aye, here I am,” he answered.

  “There you are.” Her voice crackled, and a strange sound popped in the back of her throat as she co
cked her arm farther back.

  “Ha-ha! Very funny guys,” Rory yelled, hoping his cousins would jump out of the trees at any moment.

  “There you are.” The woman screeched and lunged.

  Rory cried out and shut his eyes tight as he braced for impact. A loud thud sounded. His body tried to jerk, but the ropes held him. He waited for the sharp pain of her blade.

  “Och, laddie, what did ya do to put the hornet in this one’s bonnet? She looks ready to skin ya.” Uncle Raibeart’s voice brought with it a wave of relief.

  Rory opened his eyes and frantically looked around. The woman laid face down on the ground. Her arm was outstretched over her head, but the knife had fallen from her fingers.

  “I didn’t know ya were into bondage.” Raibeart appeared before him with a grin. Not surprisingly, his uncle was buck-ass naked. Raibeart placed his hand on his hips. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your date. She should come to in like six, seven hours. I’ll leave ya to it.”

  Raibeart started to leave.

  “Raibeart, wait,” Rory yelled. It was no secret that his uncle wasn’t all there. The way he’d heard the story, Raibeart had been involved with an inthrall. Inthralls were human women, but for some reason, they were able to tap into a warlock’s power—not all warlocks; the match had to be perfect, so it was extremely rare. Raibeart’s lover drained his magick and left him a few clubs short of a golf game.

  Raibeart returned. “Ya haven’t seen a troll run by here, have ya? He stole my favorite tutu.”

  A troll stealing his uncle’s clothing would not be the reason Raibeart was running around naked. More security cameras had spotted the man’s bare ass streaking than anyone in the family cared to know about.

  “Untie me,” Rory ordered. It had become difficult to breathe, and he fought a wave of dizziness.

  “Ya are a demanding…” Raibeart grumbled. “No wonder your woman tried to stab ya. For future knowledge, laddie, when ya are tied up, you’re the submissive. That’s how these games work.”

  A flash of blue lit up the forest seconds before it slammed into Rory’s chest. His breath knocked out of him. “Oof!”

  The ropes didn’t budge, and Raibeart tried a second time, zapping Rory with a more potent dose of magick.

  “Ow, stop!” Rory cried.

  Raibeart hit him a third time, then a fourth.

  “Ow, Raibeart, stop. The ropes are enchanted. That’s not working.” Rory flinched as he waited for a fifth blast that didn’t come.

  “Why didn’t ya say so?” Raibeart came to stand in front of him.

  “I tried. Ya keep hitting me,” Rory countered.

  “Ya asked me to.” Raibeart looked at the unconscious woman on the path. “She’s just a wee little thing, isn’t she? How did she convince ya to stand still long enough to truss ya up?”

  “I didn’t let her,” Rory protested.

  “And yet there ya are.” Raibeart laughed. “What did ya do to piss off this one?”

  “Nothing. She just attacked.” Rory fought for each breath and talking was not easy. “I don’t even know who she is.”

  Raibeart chuckled as he leaned over and picked up the knife the woman had dropped. “How many times do I have to tell ya boys? Women don’t like it when ya forget their names.”

  “This coming from a man who forgets the women he’s asked to marry him,” Rory mumbled.

  “Hey,” Raibeart pointed the knife tip at him to enunciate his words. “I have a plan.”

  “Plan?” Rory’s hands and feet tingled. “Can that plan please include cutting me free? I am losing feeling in my limbs.”

  “The woman I’m meant to be with will say aye to me,” Raibeart explained, even though Rory didn’t ask him to. “I had a conversation with Fate once and learned a few things. I’m playing my odds.”

  “Sure. That sounds sane.” Rory couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice. “No way that could backfire on ya.”

  “Ya would be wise to do the same,” Raibeart advised. “Only, maybe not this one. She doesn’t seem to like ya very much. But she’s pretty. I might ask her when she wakes up. I gave her quite a stun, so it might be a while before she can answer.”

  “Aye, six or seven hours, ya said,” Rory said between gritted teeth. “I’m losing feeling in my manhood.”

  “That can’t be too pleasant.” Raibeart gave a dramatic shiver. “Never liked constriction myself.”

  “Cut me free. Now. Please, now.” Rory fought for consciousness. The world was beginning to feel a little wobbly. His head drooped forward.

  He felt tiny vibrations as Raibeart began sawing at the rope with the blade. The pressure on his chest eased, and he was able to inhale deeply.

  “Enough games. Which one of ya tied me up with enchanted rope and sent this woman after me?” Rory asked, keeping an eye on the unconscious woman. “The last thing I remember was drinking earlier with all of ya earlier tonight.”

  “That was two days ago. Your ma has been worried about ya, laddie.” Raibeart sawed faster. “Ya went to take a shower after ya spilled your liquor and didn’t come back out. Since a man can only play with himself for so long, we decided we’d better check on ya. The water was running cold, and it looked like ya had just melted down the drain. I told them not to worry. Sometimes a man has to run free, but ya know how the chickens gobble.”

  The grip around his body broke free. Rory leaned forward. The rope slithered from around him, releasing him so that he fell onto his hands and knees. He took several deep breaths, willing the blood to flow through his limbs. The sensation of pins and needles prickled in places he’d rather not have such an unpleasant feeling.

  “I don’t know who the mystery date is, but she has good taste in knives. I haven’t seen a scian this pretty since we raided that stronghold. Ya know the one,” Raibeart said.

  “Actually, no, I don’t.” Rory crawled a few steps to get a better look at the woman’s face.

  “Sure ya do. The Saxons had us pinned,” Raibeart said. “And someone, I’m not saying who, bespelled their clothing to run away. It was a chilly march home that autumn.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Rory said though the story sounded vaguely familiar. It seemed like something from his elders’ younger days.

  “Were ya not there?” Raibeart shrugged. “It matters not. If we have to slay her, can I keep the scian for my collection?”

  “We are not slaying anyone,” Rory denied.

  The woman looked as if she’d been beaten. He had seen her eyes bruise, untouched by any physical hand. Magick was at play here, and that magick—for some unknown reason—wanted him dead.

  But why?

  Rory didn’t personally have a lot of enemies that he knew about. He usually left the supernatural hunting to his cousin Niall if he could help it. As a werewolf and a warlock, Niall’s temper was better suited to the lifestyle. Yes, the MacGregor family as a whole had enemies, but he wasn’t exactly the highest target on that list. If he had to fight, he would, but he saw no reason to seek out danger.

  The town of Green Vallis had been built on powerful ley lines. It was that nexus of power that called out his family, but it also lured other supernaturals. Not all of them had honorable intentions. Could it be something new had come to town to threaten him and his family?

  “Do ya think she’s a warlock hunter?” Rory asked, trying to make sense of the attack. “Do ya think someone is using her to get to us?”

  “Us?” Raibeart shook his head. “She wasn’t trying to get me. The ladies love me.”

  “Can ya turn off your Raibeartness for a moment and help me figure this out?” Rory insisted. “She almost killed me. I would think that would warrant a little concern on your part.”

  “But she didn’t,” Raibeart dismissed as if it were no big deal. Rory had to wonder about his uncle sometimes. The family accepted that he was off, but lately, it had been getting worse. “Why would I worry? I told ya. I talked to Fate. This was not your ti
me.”

  “Fate told ya when I was going to die?” Rory asked. “And ya didn’t think that information was worth sharing?”

  “Knowing when ya will perish is not a blessing,” Raibeart said. “It’s an expiration date ya spend your life marching toward. I would not wish that on anyone.”

  “But knowing also gives people a chance to make sure their affairs are in order,” Rory countered. “When did this Lady Fate tell ya I was going to die?”

  How could he not ask?

  “Uh, let me think, seventeen…”

  “The seventeenth of what?” Rory prompted. He stared at the woman’s chest, watching it rise and fall with breath. Relief filled him. She was alive, unconscious, but alive. Whatever quarrel she had with him, they had time to figure it out.

  “Seventeen ninety-eight.” Raibeart gave a decisive nod. “That’s your date.”

  “Fate told ya I was to die in seventeen ninety-eight?” Rory frowned at his uncle.

  “Aye.”

  “So I am going to die two hundred and twenty-some years in the past?”

  “Aye.”

  “So now we can time travel?”

  “Not sure. It was Fate. I didn’t question her predictions,” Raibeart frowned. “That would have been rude.”

  “Did fate happen to be buying drinks during happy hour?” Rory rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  “So you’ve met her?” Raibeart grinned. “They didn’t call it happy hour back then, and I was doing the buying. It was the only way to get her to talk.”

  This wasn’t the first time Raibeart received questionable information from a drunk at a bar. Fate was probably a buxom seventeenth-century prostitute named Brunhilda who’d found an easy mark in his rich uncle’s imagination.

  “Materialize some clothes.” Rory stood. “We don’t want her waking up to two naked men standing over her.” He gestured his hand down his body, magickally calling forth a kilt to wrap around his hips. Thank goodness he had his magick back. That had been a strange feeling being so defenseless.

  Raibeart stayed naked. “I zapped her good. She’s going to be out for a while.”