My Highland Laird: Sci-Regency Book 5

by J. L. Langley

  She arched a brow at him.

  “I’m calmer than you are.”

  “You are, in fact, not. I’m only winded from trying to keep up with you, not miffed. What has you in such a snit anyway? Why does Ciaran having a com-pad have your nose all out of joint?” She grabbed his hand.

  He allowed her to slow his pace. When he was about to pull his hand free, she squeezed it. “Because he lied to me.”

  Louie stopped so quickly, Bannon bounced backward a little.

  He turned and frowned at her.

  She stared at him with wide eyes and a soft smirk. It was a smirk he knew all too well—her “I know something you don’t know” smirk.

  If the galaxy liked him, he’d never have to know what it was she thought she knew. Guh, that expression never ceased to annoy him.

  “You like him.”

  Apparently, the galaxy doesn’t like you.

  Bannon snorted. “I don’t know him.”

  “But you like him just the same, and your feelings are hurt because he didn’t tell you about the com-pad.”

  “No, I just….” Bannon’s stomach sank. Bloody hell, she was right. His feelings were hurt. He’d thought he and Ciaran had had a connection.

  But you don’t trust him, Timothy whispered.

  That much was true. Bannon sighed. He couldn’t afford to trust Ciaran. His family’s lives might be in jeopardy if Regelence’s presence here on Skye got back to the IN, and with the crash…. Trust apparently wasn’t a requirement for liking someone. Still, he had thought they were building a rapport together. Oh bother! What did it matter anyway? He wasn’t staying here, and galaxy knew, he had enough problems. He had already been banished from home because of an indiscretion. He certainly didn’t need to make it worse.

  “It’s not going to do us any good anyway.”

  What? “Of course it is, we can call home and….”

  Louie started shaking her head no.

  “Why not?”

  “I doubt there are satellites around Skye.”

  “Damnation!”

  A man started as he walked by with a basket over his back, then gave them a wide berth.

  Heat raced up the back of Bannon’s neck, and his eye, the blackened one, began to twitch. That same premonition of doom he’d been feeling last night engulfed him. He hadn’t even considered that. No satellites meant no contacting home.

  Bannon pinched the bridge of his nose. The twitching stopped, but his stomach felt woozy. Shaking his head, he tugged Louie along. Maybe there was a passing ship nearby?

  Really?

  Shut up, Timothy! The Lady Anna had her own telecommunications satellite, so he wasn’t going to give up hope, dammit!

  “It’s doubtful we can even get into it. It’s probably password protected and has a retinal scanner or voice recognition. It might need a fingerprint to open it. Actually, it could have all of those. Then again, it might only have a combination of two of those, or—”

  “Stop talking!” He was trying to remain positive.

  “Just because I stop talking doesn’t mean the com-pad can be opened or that satellites will magically appear around the planet,” Louie mumbled under her breath.

  Bannon sighed and let her have the last word. It looked like they were back to plan B, whatever that was.

  Outside the portcullis, they found a quaint little village of cottages with thatched roofs and what looked like market stalls selling vegetables and furs and all manner of wares. Only it was like no village Bannon had ever seen. There was so much dirt and nature. It was like being in the country at Eversleigh Manor, but with no technology. The presence of lifts and the electronic hum that accompanied them was conspicuously absent.

  As they walked by, Bannon noticed the villagers stopping to watch them. The gazes weren’t exactly hostile, but they weren’t welcoming either.

  Bannon waved at a woman sitting next to a stall with furs, and she turned her head away as if she didn’t see him. Hmmm…. “Not a friendly lot, are they?”

  Louie elbowed him. “Be nice. They are just wary of outsiders.”

  Maybe. Bannon tried smiling at people but got the same reaction—either a hard stare or a cold shoulder. Not that different from Regelence, he supposed. On Regelence, people were much more worried about appearing dignified. At least it wasn’t the cut direct.

  After about thirty feet of the winding path they ran out of civilization except for two cottages side by side situated before a wooded area. A gray, heavy mist hung over the woods and through the trees so only the first few yards of trees were visible. The rest took on a hazy sort of shape, as though the woods were looming over the two quaint little huts.

  One of the huts was quite normal, with window boxes and a small fenced-in garden. The other? Definitely belonged to Agatha. The door and shutters were purple, but even the spot of color couldn’t quite overcome the eerie feel. He half expected to see ravens shoot out of the trees in a loud ruckus.

  Wasn’t Agatha afraid of living so far out? Not that it was far out, really. He could still see the castle walls from here over his shoulder, but it did seem awfully secluded.

  “You don’t really believe in ghosts, do you?” Louie whispered beside him, her voice pleading with him to say no.

  “Of course not.” He gave Louie what she wanted and what they both needed to hear, but after today, he was no longer so sure. That plate had not just fallen; it had moved like someone shoved it. But then again, given the setting, it was probably only Timothy exaggerating.

  Bushes rustled and a twig snapped to his left, but when he looked, no one was there.

  Probably. Timothy and dramatic went hand in hand.

  More rustling and a high-pitched wail erupted through the trees and echoed off the castle walls, and Bannon froze. A banshee. He was no longer so sure about probably.

  Louie’s fingers dug into his arm, and she let out a little eep.

  The swish of leaves being kicked around increased, and maybe it was his imagination, but the fog seemed to seep out from beneath the trees, reaching toward them. Bannon glanced behind them to gauge their guard’s reaction, but he was not there. “Where is Hamish?”

  Another high-pitched squeal sounded, this time closer, and a huffing sound followed.

  “I don’t know, but I think maybe we should get out of here,” Louie whispered again, even quieter than before.

  He nodded, thinking she might be right about being as quiet as possible. Whatever was in that forest was about to make itself known, and since he didn’t have a safe place to sit and observe—waaaay out of the way—it was probably best to get inside. Trying to act like he wasn’t the least bit nervous, Bannon led Louie briskly toward Agatha’s house.

  Halfway there, stampeding footsteps sounded behind him along with grunts and that horrible scream.

  He whirled around, ready to face the banshee, but his feet were knocked out from under him, followed by a very human shout of “Look out!”

  That voice did not belong to Hamish.

  § § § §

  Ciaran stared in shock as the boar mowed Red down and scrambled inside the open gate of Maggie’s vegetable garden. This was not good. Hadn’t he told Agatha hunting boar with just the two of them was a bad idea? The only reason he’d gone along was because she would’ve gone by herself otherwise. She should have waited long enough for him to get a group of men together or even a bow and arrows, but she hadn’t, and now… disaster.

  Poor Red was paying for their folly. How had he just happened along at the absolute worst time? Wincing, Ciaran hurried over to where he lay flat on his back.

  Red stared up at him with blinking green eyes. He lay perfectly still, with a lock of red hair right down the center of his nose. He looked both adorable and miserable. His mouth opened, but no sound came out, and his skin took on a grayish pallor.

  “Red, are ye—”

  “Shut that gate, lass!” Aunt Agatha raced past him, waving her arms in the air.

  S
hut the…. What? With a hitch in his chest, Ciaran glanced up in time to see Louisa slam Maggie’s garden gate shut… with the boar inside. Och!

  Seconds later, Agatha latched the gate.

  Bam! The boar headbutted the gate, and Agatha and Louisa both jumped back.

  Louisa let out a little squeal.

  Ciaran slapped a hand to his forehead and dragged it down his face.

  The boar postured, stretching his back leg out and kicking up dirt, like a bull.

  Please let the gate hold. At least till I get Red up and out of the way. Ciaran turned his attention back to the man lying prone. “Red, can ye stand?”

  Wide-eyed, Red sucked in a loud breath and clutched his chest, completely ignoring Ciaran’s question in favor of getting air into his lungs. He took another deep inhalation, then put his hands over his face, and the breath stuttered out of him. “I’ll live.” He dropped his hands back to his sides. “Maybe next time you can give me a better heads-up than just yelling ‘look out’ a split second after I’m boardozed?”

  “Boar what? What is…?” Ciaran shook his head. “Never mind. I dinna ken ye were there until I yelled a warning.” He frowned and glanced around. What was Red doing here, and where was his guard? “How do ye manage tae get yeself intae so much trouble? I’ve ken ye less than a day, and so far ye’ve managed tae crash a ship, get captured by the MacLeans, and be trampled by a boar.” Ciaran couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice as he bent and offered Red a hand.

  “You forgot getting drenched, punched in the face, and falling down a mountain.” Red glared at him but took his hand in a nice firm grip, got to his feet, and dusted off his backside. “How is any of that my fault? And you chased that boar into me.”

  Right on cue, the beast in question let out a screech and charged the gate again.

  “It’s Timothy.” Louisa came over to them and slung her arm over Red’s shoulder. “It’s always Timothy’s fault. Timothy gets him into trouble.”

  Ciaran frowned and glanced around again. Who was this other fellow she spoke of? Or did she mean Red? “Timothy? I thought his name was Bannon?”

  “Ha!” Red pointed at him and shrugged off Louisa’s arm. “You do know my name.”

  “Of course, I ken ye name, but I like Red better. It fits ye.”

  “I….” Red shook his head and closed his eyes briefly, but smiled.

  Damn, but he was a handsome man. His pale complexion had returned to its normal smoothness. He had freckles just over the bridge of his nose and a light smattering on each cheek. They were utterly charming and gave him a mischievous air.

  “Bannon is an artist, and Timothy is his muse,” Louie said with a bright smile. “Every artist needs a muse.”

  “His wot?” Agatha stepped into their little circle, her face scrunching a little.

  Bannon groaned and glared at Louisa. “Would you hush?”

  But she didn’t hush—she beamed up at Ciaran as though she were imparting a not-so-secret secret. “You know, it’s like a voice in his head.”

  Agatha nodded. “I hear voices in me heid too.”

  Red gawked at her, glanced up at her hair, then over at the boar, which was still screeching. With a serious face, he nodded. “Well, that explains a lot.”

  Ciaran wasn’t sure what to make of that, but then Red’s lips twitched.

  Agatha burst out laughing, and Red wasn’t far behind.

  Louisa held her composure for a moment by pressing her lips tightly together, but she too lost it.

  Lord help me. Ciaran grinned. As if Agatha, Ian, and Fiona weren’t enough. Something told him Red and Louisa were going to fit right in with his family while they were here.

  “Oh! My laird!”

  They all turned toward the voice.

  Hamish stood at the edge of the castle wall. He glanced at the boar inside Maggie’s garden, then met Ciaran’s gaze and winced.

  “Where have ye been?” Ciaran asked.

  The others stopped laughing.

  Clearing his throat, Hamish actually blushed. “I, er…. Well, that is tae say…. Auld Man MacAlister stopped me in the village tae tell me he saw someone with chickens yesterday, heading away from the keep.”

  Ciaran raised a brow and decided to save his lecture about guard duty, because this could be a good lead. He needed to find out what happened to the chickens, and the cattle for that matter. “Who did he see?”

  “He couldna make them out, but….” Hamish shot the boar a glare, then looked back over his shoulder.

  A sense of dread engulfed Ciaran before the big man turned back around and said, “Maggie is on her way here. She stopped tae talk tae the tanner.”

  “Bluidy hell.” Ciaran studied the garden with a sigh of resignation.

  The boar was now rooting up turnips. There were several broken corn stalks and at least three smashed melons. The garden had not fared well.

  Agatha let out a squeal that nearly rivaled the boar’s. “Ciaran, what will we do? We have to fix this!”

  “Who is Maggie?” Red asked.

  Now she thinks of fixing it? Ciaran gawked at her, then shook his head. They couldn’t fix this. They’d just have to make reparations for it. He opened his mouth to tell her just that, but the devastation on her face stopped him.

  She started shaking her head. “We cannae. She already wants tae vote ye out as laird.” Apparently, Agatha had been listening at the door to his meeting with the council. She and Fiona were both notorious eavesdroppers.

  “She can tr—”

  Still shaking her head, Agatha slapped a hand over his mouth, and her eyes shone with tears. “Nae, ye dinna ken her. She has a lot of sway o’er the others. She kens their secrets.”

  “I ken their secrets too.” Ciaran wasn’t worried about it—the council was not going to threaten him—but Agatha had tears streaming down her face now. Damn him, but his stomach wrenched, and his chest ached. He could take a sword to the arm or a punch to the face, but he had no idea how to deal with her tears.

  Louisa patted Agatha’s back, trying to calm her, and spoke in soothing tones.

  Ciaran decided right then and there that he liked Louisa. He gave her what he hoped was a thankful look, though he wasn’t sure he managed.

  “I…. Och!” Agatha hiccupped. “God Almighty, but this is my fault,” Agatha wailed, almost hysterical now.

  Red gave him a sympathetic look that only another male faced with female tears could understand, then stepped forward and grabbed Agatha’s hands. “Hush now. We’ll fix this. I promise, but you have to calm down. Can you do that?”

  Miraculously, Agatha stopped and nodded.

  Ciaran was astonished. His aunt was not an easy woman to stop once she got going, and it really didn’t matter what the emotion. She was… well… emotional.

  Red looked at Louisa. “Louie, go with Agatha and stall this Maggie person. We’ll get the boar out of here.”

  Thank ye. God help Ciaran, he owed Red. “Aye, we’ll fix this, but ye have tae keep Maggie away.” He touched his aunt’s cheek and met her gaze to make certain this was sinking in.

  She nodded and gave him a wavering smile, then leaned forward and kissed him, and then Red, on the cheek. She grabbed their hands and placed them together. “Guid, guid. Ye lads handle this, and we’ll stop Maggie.” Then she grabbed Louisa’s hand and turned to leave. When she got to Hamish, she grabbed his arm. “Come along, Hamish, ye can help us.”

  As the three of them disappeared around the corner of the castle wall, it got very quiet, except for the boar grunting.

  Ciaran stared down at Red’s hand in his, then looked up into bright green eyes appearing as stunned as he felt.

  “Hunh. She knows you don’t like it when she cries, doesn’t she?” Red asked.

  “Aye.” Something told him they’d just been played.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Little old ladies just might pose a bigger threat than ruggedly handsome men.”

  —Timothy on ge
riatric deviousness.

  Bannon stared down at the warm hand still holding his, and a tingle raced through him. That connection he’d thought he’d felt yesterday was no illusion. It was back full-force—and so was his memory. He jerked his hand away and headed toward the gate. “Why didn’t you tell me you retrieved a com-pad from the crash site?”

  There was a rough sigh from behind him that sounded more like exasperation than anger. “I was going tae tell ye about the slate.” Ciaran sounded earnest, and some of Bannon’s anger evaporated.

  He turned back around.

  Ciaran stood exactly where Bannon had left him, staring down at the hand Bannon had just held. As if sensing Bannon’s attention, Ciaran looked up and met his gaze. “I wanted tae see if it would tell me what ye are hiding.” There was no apology in his firm, matter-of-fact words, but there was no malice in them either.

  “Did it?”

  “Nae, it told me tae give it a voice command or type in the password.” The corner of Ciaran’s lip lifted.

  Bannon grinned, and just like that, they came to some silent understanding. Neither of them completely trusted the other, but they liked and respected each other. It wasn’t much, but Bannon decided he could work with that. If he was going to find a way home, he was going to need all the help he could get. “Unfortunately I suspect it will tell me the same thing, and I don’t know the password either.”

  “Then it is useless tae both of us?”

  “More than likely, but at least my enemies don’t have access to it.” He’d destroy it the first chance he got.

  Ciaran came forward, stopping only a foot away, and Bannon could not seem to draw his gaze from the wide, muscular chest coming toward him or the purposeful stride. A man should look silly with his knees showing, but someone forgot to inform Ciaran, because he looked anything but silly. He tipped Bannon’s chin up with his index finger. “Mayhap before ye leave, ye will tell me about this enemy of yers.”

  Zooks, but his throat was dry all of a sudden. Bannon swallowed the lump in his throat and stared into dark, sensual eyes. “Perhaps.”

  Forget Lieutenant Taylor; maybe he will pose nude for me?