My Highland Lover (34 page)

By Maeve Greyson

S
COTLAND—
T
HE
H
IGHLANDS—
T
HIRTEENTH
C
ENTURY

“Have ye e’er seen such a lovely set o’ bosoms?”

Colum Garrison lowered his cup enough to peer over the metal rim. Aye. Diarmuid knew the truth of it when it came to the lasses. This newest serving girl was a comely maid with a bounty of promising curves. He drained the tankard, licked the last of the tangy ale from his lips, and slid the empty mug to the table. “An untapped MacKenna keg against that fine ale ye bring all the way from Ireland. What say ye? I gi’ ye fair odds. Whoe’er leaves with her wins.”

Diarmuid squinted one eye shut and scrubbed his fingers through the short, black beard curling along his jawline. “Fair odds, me arse. If I win the gift of the lass’s charms, ye’ll gi’ me yer best bow along wi’ that keg of fine MacKenna whisky.”

Colum tapped a thumb against his empty mug. Yon sweetling would easily choose him o’er Diarmuid, but wager his best bow? O’er something as flighty as a woman’s druthers? Such terms reeked with the stench of another of Diarmuid’s sly tricks. He’d been too trusting of Diarmuid’s honor before and discovered the man had verra little conscience when it came to ensuring wagers went his way. Colum drummed his fingers atop the rough table. “I dinna ken. That bow was a gift from the chieftain. There’s none other like it in all the Highlands.”

Diarmuid grinned, held up a finger, then slowly drooped it at the knuckle. He flipped the limp appendage with the other hand as though it was boneless. “What ails ye, m’friend? Are ye no’ feelin’
up
for the wee challenge?”

Colum banged his empty mug atop the long trestle table and waved the girl toward them. “I’ll show ye
up.
After the lass has been with me, she’ll no’ have a hunger for yer wee sausage.”

Diarmuid rubbed his hands together and his impish grin widened. “We shall see, man-at-arms. We shall see.”

An inviting smile paired with a coy tilting of the young woman’s head settled the matter nicely. Aye. The lass was as good as his and so was another keg of Diarmuid’s favorite ale. Colum traced his fingertips around the curve of his mug. Soon his fingers would ha’ much finer curves to explore.

The girl tucked her broad wooden platter under one arm and sashayed toward them. When she reached the men, the red-haired vixen leaned across the bench and propped a hand atop the table. Her smile widened as she provided an even better view of her creamy cleavage about to spill free of her tightly laced kirtle. “Aye, master. Can I be a fetchin’ anythin’ for ye?”

Colum released his most beguiling smile, leaned forward, and ever so gently slid a finger beneath the young maid’s silky chin. Diarmuid nay stood a chance. This wee filly was already his. The truth of it shone in her clear blue eyes and the barely parted lips all but begging for his kisses.

A deep voice boomed across the crowded hall. “Colum! Here. Now. The MacKenna bids ye see him in his solar at once. Best be about it, man.”

Colum dropped his hand to the table, clenching his teeth against cursing aloud. Damn Galen and his ill-timed interruptions. What the hell was wrong wi’ the man? Could he no’ see there was serious business about?

Diarmuid chuckled and scooted Colum aside, butting his way in front of the maid. “Dinna worry, friend. I’ll make sure this fine young lass doesna feel neglected.” Diarmuid tickled a finger up and down the smiling maid’s forearm and beamed up into her face. “Do ye happen to fancy sausages, m’dear sweet one?”

Colum huffed out a low-throated growl as he swung out from the bench and stood. He searched the far wall of stone archways for Galen. ’Twas a sorry day when he’d been fool enough to make that numpty his second in command. Aye, Galen was a fine warrior, but the stubborn bastard had a penchant for bein’ a verra large pain in the arse.

Barrel-chested Galen grinned and waved from the widest of the arches leading up to the private rooms of the keep. He nodded and winked, rolling up on his toes to bounce a bit higher than his usual height of barely more than five feet. His smirking grin widened to a toothy smile as Colum closed in on him. “Now, lad. Dinna fret. I’m sure ye can win the lass back from Diarmuid as soon the chief is done wi’ ye.”

“Ye just cost me m’best bow and a keg of whisky.” Colum shoved Galen aside as he shouldered through the doorway.

Galen lowered his broad shoulder and effectively bounced Colum back a few steps into the opposing wall. The man might be short of stature but he was nearly wide as he was tall, and as solid as
Beinn Nibheis.
“I saved ye from yer chieftain’s wrath, ye ungrateful bastard. Were ye no’ just tellin’ me how the MacKenna warned ye to leave the maids alone for a bit? Did he no’ tell ye he grows weary of gettin’ his arse chewed by both his wife and her grandmother for how ye run through the women in the keep? Good Lord, man. Ye should be a thankin’ me. I saw Mother Sinclair herself comin’ toward ye from the kitchens.”

Colum rolled the shoulder that had just scraped the wall and glanced back behind them. Sure enough, Granny Sinclair was currently blessing out Diarmuid. She had one bony hand clamped around the serving girl’s elbow while she shook a bent finger just inches from the tip of Diarmuid’s nose. The old woman didna even pause for a breath as she whipped around and shook the same scolding finger in the face of the wide-eyed maid.

It appeared a debt of gratitude was owed rather than an arse kickin’. Colum clapped a hand to Galen’s broad shoulder and hurried them both farther down the hall. “I owe ye greatly, m’fine friend. I swear t’ye I’ll do the sword dance at yer next weddin’.”

Galen shook his head and held up a meaty hand. “I’ve seen yer great gawkin’ form hoppin’ about to the pipes. Spare me the favor, ye oversized son of a
Lochlanach
.”

Colum gave Galen a friendly shove and widened his stride. Galen was nay the first man to accuse him of Viking ancestry. And what of it? He found no fault in bein’ compared to some o’ the most fearless warriors on land or sea. “So tell me, friend. Does our chief truly wish to see me or were ye merely savin’ me hide?”

Galen’s bushy brows arched higher on his balding head like a pair of oversized wooly worms. “Oh no, lad. The MacKenna did summon yer sorry arse.”

“For?”

“I dinna ken.” Galen shook his head and scratched a hairy shoulder before yanking his plaid back in place. “But I did o’er hear him say ’twas really for Mother Sinclair. Her and the Lady Trulie. What the hell have ye done now, and do ye even remember her name?”

Colum stopped dead in his tracks. An uncomfortable sense of foreboding settled in his gut, then took to churning like a great serpent stirring the bowels of the sea. “Mother Sinclair, ye say?”

“Aye.” Galen solemnly nodded.

“
And
the Lady Trulie?”

“Aye.” Galen pulled up short and eased back a step as they reached the arch leading to the stairwell up to the chieftain’s private rooms.

“And ye dinna ken a damn thing about what it might be?” Colum glanced toward the steps leading up to the MacKenna’s solar and swallowed hard. With the Sinclair women plotting against him, he’d nearly rather go to the gallows.

Galen gripped Colum’s upper arm and sadly shook his head. “I’ll say a prayer for ye and make a sacrifice to the old gods as well. Here’s to the hopes they’ll all watch o’er ye. I feel ye’ll be a needin’ them.”

K
ENTUCKY—
T
WENTY-
F
IRST
C
ENTURY

The fire popped and crackled in the cast iron stove, but Granny’s voice came through the coals loud and clear. “It’s time, Kenna. Time for you to join us here in the past.”

Kenna balanced the bowl of popcorn on the arm of the couch and leaned toward the open grating of the stove. The handful of popcorn she’d just shoved in her mouth at the exact moment of Granny’s announcement threatened to choke her. Kenna coughed, swallowed hard, and thumped her fist against her chest. “Come again, Granny? You want all of us to join you and Trulie? Permanently?”
Please say it’s just time for a short visit. I’d love to see you and Trulie…for a short visit.

“Not all of you, Kenna. Just you. It’s time you came back and grabbed hold of your destiny. Without the twins.”

Kenna unfolded from her cross-legged position on the couch. What if she didn’t want to
grab her destiny
in thirteenth-century Scotland? What if she liked it right here in twenty-first-century Kentucky just fine? Yes, seeing Granny and Trulie would be wonderful, but there was just too much going on to leave right now. Life was finally starting to settle down and run smoothly. It was kind of nice living like normal people for a change.

“The twins are graduating this month. Tell Trulie the terrible twosome turned into a pair of intelligent, eighteen-year-old beauties.” Maybe if she changed the subject Granny would back off a bit. And that was another thing. Even though her baby sisters were eighteen years old, how could Granny suggest leaving them alone to fend for themselves? Granted, Mairi and Lilia were mature for their age, but they still weren’t ready to get booted from the nest and fly solo.

Kenna scooted to the edge of the couch and propped her elbows on her knees. She had to buy them all some time. “Lilia’s creating her own line of natural cosmetics for the shop. She’s already got every teenage girl in town clamoring for the lip gloss she developed.”

The flames lengthened and danced faster across the chunks of wood. The coals fanned a hotter orange red as Granny’s tone took on a decided edge. “Tell the girls I’m very proud of them and it’ll be their time to join us soon. I’m sending an old friend to look after them since you’re coming to join us now. Eliza will help them sort through whatever they might need until their time to come back to us comes. They have a bit longer to hone their skills in the twenty-first century before it’s time for them to return to the past.”

So the twins got more time with indoor plumbing, internet, and take-out pizza? What about her? Why did she have to go now? “But Granny, I need—”

“Enough, Kenna. You knew this time was coming and you know better than to argue with me once I’ve made up my mind.”

Kenna blew out a huffing breath. Truer words were never spoken. Arguing with Granny was like arguing with the weather. Both did as they damn well pleased no matter what anyone said. But maybe she could at least get away with bargaining for a bit of a reprieve.

“Just give me a month.” Kenna held her index finger up closer to the fire. She didn’t think Granny had opened the fire portal enough to create a viewing window, but you never knew for sure with Granny. “Give me one solid month to get everything ready before I jump back.” Surely Granny would grant her some time to get things settled…or if she was lucky and thought about it really hard, she’d figure out a reason Granny couldn’t deny her staying comfortably put in modern times.

“One week.”

“A week?” Kenna scooted off the couch and knelt in front of the wood stove. “I can’t be ready to jump the web in just a week. That’s impossible.”

“Make it possible, Kenna. One week is all you’re going to get.”

Gray-white ash crept up the chunks of glowing embers as the heat of the fire abated. Granny’s voice took on a metallic, hollow sound, fading in and out as the connection through the fire portal weakened. “Don’t waste your time pouting or plotting to stay in the future. You knew this day was coming. Accept your destiny and embrace it.”

Kenna held her breath against shouting that it wasn’t fair into the dying flames. No. She couldn’t do that. Granny deserved respect. No matter how much Granny pissed her off, she couldn’t defy the woman who’d given up so much to ensure her four granddaughters not only survived their rough beginnings in the thirteenth century, but thrived in whatever time Granny chose to place them. “Fine. I’ll see you and Trulie in a week.” Fighting against the squeezing frustration cutting off her air, Kenna stirred the coals one last time and forced out a strained, “I love you, Granny.”

“I love you too, gal.” Granny’s pleased chuckle fanned the coals a hotter orange for a brief instant. “You’ll thank me, gal. I promise. You will thank me.”

Kenna slammed shut the cast iron door to the stove and closed all the dampers. She very much doubted she’d thank Granny when she was balancing on a chamber pot or washing in icy water out of a bowl. The thirteenth century.
Dammit.
Kenna shuddered, flopped back on the couch, and dropped her head to her hands.

Keys rattled in the front door right before it swung open and banged against the wall. Giggles and frantic shushing echoed down the hallway. Kenna straightened and glanced at the ancient mantel clock squatting in the center of the bookshelf. Lovely. The twins were home and they were late. Again.

“Would it kill you two to be on time? Just once?” Kenna snatched up the bowl of popcorn and headed to the kitchen. She was in no mood to deal with a pair of bubbly teenagers who were currently lucky enough to not have a freakin’ care in the world.

“We’re not that late. It’s only five after,” Mairi said. Both grinning girls—twins who looked nothing alike—plopped down on stools in front of the bar separating the den from the kitchen.

“And it sounds like you’re in a real snit. Are you really that torqued over five measly minutes?” Lilia added.

Kenna clenched her teeth and tapped a finger against the countertop to a silent count of ten. She didn’t need to explode at them. It wasn’t her sisters’ fault Granny had decided her visa to the twenty-first century had expired. She turned to the more vocal Lilia. “Five minutes is five minutes. We agreed you would both be home by seven so we could go over next week’s schedule at the shop, since we’re introducing the seasonal line of bath oils.” A flash of irrational sisterly irritation heated Kenna even further. “And how many times have I asked you not to wear my tops? You stretch them out so much I can’t wear them after you’re done with them.”

Petite but well-endowed Lilia glanced down at the snug T-shirt straining across her full bosoms. “Oh. Sorry. I thought you said you didn’t want this one anymore.”