A Highlander's Obsession (Highlander's Beloved) (2 page)

Bryce leaned forward. “All this rain and wind has me seeing things. Is that an owl flying just in front of our vehicle? It canna be.”

“Aye, ’tis an owl and a white one, to boot. Ours, in fact. What the bloody hell our
cailleach-oidhche
is doing here is beyond me.” Ronan slowed the car to a crawl.

The owl slowed also.

I will lead ye safely to the lodge, American. Ye are the answer
.

Paisley stiffened and used her gift to communicate with the owl.
The answer to what?

This ye will learn. Never fear
.

Unease prickled her skin, much as the rain pelted the car. How would an owl know she was from America? She hung her head and rubbed her forehead to ease her headache. For that matter, how did the owl know she could communicate with him? She straightened and her breath clogged in her lungs. Glowing eyes blinked at her from the forest. Three pair from the dark, twisted shadows of the trees.

One golden pair rose, as if the four-legged animal stood on two legs. By the height of its eyes that blazed in the inky night, it was a tall creature. Maybe the animal had simply climbed a tree. Yes, that had to be it. She pushed her glasses farther up her nose then blinked to bring everything into focus. Then …

Aye, ’tis the lodge’s Land Rover, all right. The Americans are here
.

Paisley gasped, glad the music blaring from the speakers drowned out her reaction. Did the entire animal kingdom know she was from America? She’d been hearing animals talk for over thirteen years. Horses, dogs, cats, and cows. A snake or two. One rambunctious raccoon. They only talked about conditions and issues they knew about. How would animals in the wild know the correct make of a vehicle or about their arrival? Unease crept up her spine. What was going on here?

We better hurry back to the lodge
.

Right behind ye
.

Not so fast ye two. Ye know I’ve got a sore paw
.

Suck it up, ye bas
’. This from the first animal, obviously the leader of the bunch or pack.

Paisley leaned forward and tapped Bryce on the shoulder. “What kind of animals do you have in the wild here?”

He lowered the volume on the radio before turning to regard her. “The usual, miss. Mountain hares, red squirrels, deer. A few pine martins.” He lifted a shoulder. “Wildcats.”

Maybe she saw a wildcat climbing a tree. Still, wouldn’t its eyes face the tree as it climbed? This animal’s eyes had remained focused on the vehicle as it slowly passed. “Any animals that stand on hind legs?”

Bryce’s voice rose in pitch, “Hind legs?”

“Yes, like a bear.” Maybe the lead animal had climbed a tree; maybe it hadn’t.

Ronan looked at Bryce before he spoke. “Bears are extinct here in Scotland, miss. Have been fer over a thousand years.”

Something in the tone of his voice made her ill at ease. “Oh, really?”

“Aye. Remind me to tell ye the legend behind that. Perhaps one night over a glass of tipple in front of a roaring fire.”

“Tipple?”

He glanced in the rearview mirror. “Sorry. Tipple is an alcoholic drink. Beer or ale, fer example.” He exhaled a sigh. “Thank goodness the rain has stopped. I had trouble seeing the road.” He exhaled a bark of laughter. “Would ye look at that fukin’ owl? It’s as if he’s leading the way fer us.”

Ronan made a right onto a narrow road. In the beam of the headlights, the thin, black rutted path wrapped around what appeared to be solid rock. Mist rolled across the road like gauzy balls of vapor conjured by some secret sorcery, adding another layer to the suddenly eerie surroundings. Paisley shivered, trying to bring her thoughts back to reality from the mystical part of her soul.

Bryce shifted in his seat to glance over his shoulder, the beads in his braids jangling. “We’re almost there. Once we cross the moat.”

“The moat. Yes. I saw the lovely pictures on your website. I wish it were daylight so I could see it.”
I also wish I knew what kind of animals I just heard, and what the owl meant when it said I was the answer. The answer to what?

Faint lights appeared on their left. Ronan nodded toward them. “That’s Mathe Castle. We call it Matheson Lodge now. Tomorrow you’ll see the castle is perched on granite cliffs like a
queen on her throne.” He slowed to cross the bridge over the moat and, when he did, the owl soared into the fog as if his escorting detail were over. “Looks as if the bloody storm knocked the power out again. I’ll have to power up the generator.”

Paisley stared at the darkened shape, illuminated and shadowed by twin torches flanking each of the five stone steps leading to the massive doorway. Their flames danced in the wind, bouncing, twirling, and bowing.

A mountain of granite sculpted into the shape of a man—or so it appeared—stood between the rows of torches. His stance wide, proud chin jutted into the howling wind as if he commanded its force. Long dark hair billowed. Eyes blazed with arrogance. A width of plaid draped diagonally across his broad chest while his kilt flapped in the tempest.

Fascination and foreboding swept through her. Her stomach tensed. Her breathing quickened. Whoever he was, she wasn’t eager to meet him.

* * *

Creighton Matheson’s jaw clenched as the Land Rover approached. What few leaves remained on the whitebeam and birch trees tumbled across the driveway in a windswept dance. Tires crunched on the gravel as the Land Rover eased to a stop at the foot of the steps.

He was eager to meet these Munros from America, especially Angus Iverson’s niece. He scowled at the vehicle, allowing his ire to flame and spread. One of the passengers planned to break up the six hundred acres of the Iverson estate and sell to American corporations. The pristine habitat, freely roamed by his ancestors and his current sleuth of bears, would be greatly reduced. They’d no doubt lose access to their caves and dens.

Ronan helped an older woman from the Land Rover while Bryce hurried to the back hatch to remove their luggage. Creighton blinked as his gaze settled on the small, spindly woman. The beam from Ronan’s flashlight flickered over her for a few seconds.
Bloody hell. Is that pink hair? What manner of baffies is she wearing on her feet? She looks like a walking pink crayon
.

A younger woman slid across the backseat to exit the vehicle and pulled on a coat. For a few seconds, something unseen fisted its scorching hands around his lungs and slowly squeezed until his breathing stopped. Although he enjoyed women, none had ever sucked the breath from
his lungs before.
Ye are a simpleton, man. She’s just an ordinary lass
.

Her hair was the color of sweet golden gale, his favorite Highland flower. She wore her tresses chin length, a tempting sight blowing wild in the wind like the blonde mantle of a Viking princess. Creighton scowled; too bad he hated the Vikings.

Ronan escorted the lady in pink up the castle’s steps. The younger woman hurried to catch up. Her open coat billowed, showcasing long legs in snug blue jeans and full breasts under a white sweater. She fought to keep her windswept hair out of her face.

He reached to take the hand of the pink person, trying hard to focus on her face and not those ridiculous pelican baffies. “Welcome to Matheson Lodge, ma’am.”

The woman barely acknowledged him, waving a hand in his direction and speaking to her blonde companion. “He’s all yours, sweet pea. Where’s the bathroom? I have to tinkle.” She whizzed by him, a woman obviously in need of the lavy.

Shocked by her dismissal, Creighton’s hand remained outstretched. Wait, this wasn’t how he did things. Before guests stepped into his home, he gave them a brief prepared speech on the history of Mathe Castle and how his family converted it into a lodge. People didn’t just barge in like field mice in search of cheese. There were customs and rituals to adhere to.

Ronan spared him an aggravated glance as he hurried after the older woman. “I’ll see to the generator. Take care of Paisley. She saw some strange animals on our way here.” His expression and tone were telling.

Creighton mentally opened the telepathic shield to his inner bear’s thoughts.
Did she now? I’m sure the American twit didna ken what she saw
. He turned his gaze on the blonde. Blue eyes, snapped open impossibly wide, dominated her face. Or was it those round, black-framed glasses? Her mouth opened and closed as if she were trying to speak and couldn’t find her tongue. Her hand fluttered to her throat and her eyes rolled back in her head.

“Bloody hell.” He reached out and caught her as she folded at his feet. He brought the limp form to his chest. She’d passed out. Travel fatigue, perhaps? He sneered. “Fragile Americans.” What was he to do with the lass? He studied her face. She was a pretty thing with lots of alluring curves.

Bryce took the steps two at a time, his hands full of luggage. “Bloody hell, Creighton. Ye’ve got the ladies swooning at yer feet.” He paused and stared at the unconscious woman. “She’s a looker. Got an eye-catching form, she does. I wouldn’t mind snuggling up to her on a
bitchin’ cold night.”

Creighton’s scowl deepened and he pulled her closer to his chest. The urge to swipe at his brother was strong, which bothered him, but not nearly as much as this novel feeling of possessiveness.
Mine
, the bear within him proclaimed.

A smile split Bryce’s face.
So that’s the way of it, ’tis it? Good luck. The woman’s got something strange about her. Can’t put me finger on it. I sensed it when she saw Neilan, Kendric, and ye earlier on our way here. Like she already knew more than she ought
. He shook his head as if to erase his telepathic thoughts and hurried for the open doorway.

“Mum, Creighton scared our guest and she fainted. Get the smelling salts.”

Creighton gritted his teeth in annoyance. How so like his baby brother to sound the alarm. He turned and carried the blonde—Paisley, Ronan said her name was—inside to the reception parlor of his lodge. Between a large fire roaring in the fireplace and lanterns lit and positioned about the room, the castle’s gloominess faded.

He laid her on the brown leather sofa then slipped the afghan from its back to cover her. Helplessness strangely took hold. What else could he do to comfort her? On impulse, he snatched his niece’s teddy bear from a child’s rocker near the hearth and slipped it under the American’s slender arm.

His mother hurried in, a vial of smelling salts in her hand. “Creighton, what happened?”

“I dinna ken. She couldn’t talk. Her eyes rolled backward as if she were trying to see the back side of her brain. Then she fainted at me feet.” He stopped from cupping her cheek just to feel if her skin was as soft as it looked.

His mother’s face bore concern then surprise. She pointed to the teddy bear as her eyebrows rose. “What’s this?”

He shrugged and forked fingers through his hair. “She looked as if she needed it. Ye ken how Colleen is when she’s not well. A stuffed animal always comforts.”

“Well, seems our guest here is at that in-between age. Too old for a teddy bear and too young for a stroke.” She pressed a hand to Paisley’s brow. “What do ye think happened? Oh, I hope she didna see Broden or Ainsley.”

“Nay, ye ken the ghosts never step outside the castle.”

“Well, ye canna tell with them. Remember what they did to that rock band a few months back? I hear they havena been able to play a note since.” She squatted next to Paisley and
snapped open the vial, waving it under the woman’s pert nose.

“Hell, they couldna play before. The fukin’ band sounded like a batch o’ cats in heat.” Creighton stepped back from the ammonia odor, rapidly blinking to clear his eyes.

Paisley coughed and waved her hand in front of her nose, pushing away the acrid smell. Blue eyes fluttered open behind her glasses. Her displeasure over the ammonia stench changed to confusion, as her gaze swept the room, and morphed into fear once it settled on him.

Why is she looking at me like that? Have I grown an extra nose?
Unease swept through him. Had he changed completely when he shifted back to human form? Or was part of him still covered with fur? He glanced at his hands before touching his face.

She sat and scooted to the end of the sofa. All the while she gaped at him. A wounded cry escaped her lips. She looked as if she were about to piss her pants in fear.

“Are ye all right, dear? Ye gave me son quite a fright.”

Paisley’s gaze stayed locked on him even while she answered his mother. “Y … yes. Thank you. Where’s my grandmother?” She had a pleasing voice. Low, throaty, sexy.

Creighton cursed himself for noticing.

The pink-haired woman stormed into the room like a combatant dose of Pepto-Bismol, ready to do battle. “I’m here, sweet pea. What happened? Bryce said you passed out.” She glared at Creighton. “What did you do to her to make her faint, you big overgrown galoot?”

“Galoot?”

She pointed a finger at her niece. “Look at her. She’s scared out of her wits.”

He fisted his hands on his hips and leaned toward the short pink dynamo. “Look who’s talking about wits. A bampot with pink hair wearing pelican baffies.”

“Creighton, enough. We dinna insult our guests. No doubt they’re exhausted from such a long trip.” His mother took Paisley’s hand and patted it. “Welcome to Matheson Lodge, dear. I’m Fiona Matheson, mother of all these brutes, and this is me eldest, Creighton. How are ye feeling? Better? Do ye think ye can walk or do ye want Creighton to carry ye up to yer suite?”

Paisley gaped at him for a few more beats. “No.” She slid her glasses back on her nose. Then, realizing she clutched a stuffed bear to her chest, she stared at it with the strangest expression before turning her gaze on his mother. “I mean yes. I can walk just fine.” She stood and wrapped her arm around her grandmother. “I’m sorry I upset you, Gram. A hot bath and I’ll feel better, I’m sure.”

His mother ushered them toward the doorway. “Would either of ye care fer a cup of tea or hot chocolate?”

“Oh, a woman never refuses chocolate,” the older woman cooed.

The pair of them would be trouble. One wanted to destroy the surrounding countryside and perhaps Mathe Bay, if the American oil companies were involved. As for the pretty lass, she was as mystifying as his attraction to her. Creighton ran a hand down his face. His life was changing right in front of his eyes. He had to convince the old broad not to sell her inheritance or to sell to him. Although, he doubted his clan could come up with the funds to match the bids of the large corporations. Still, he had to try.