“A woman with hair of fire, and eyes the color of the stolen stone, will descend from the sky.”
Collin’s lips twisted into a nervous smile. Her eyes were the first thing he’d noticed before his gaze lowered to the generous curves of her body and breasts. The mysterious woman was a beauty.
“Her word will carry a bite and sting worse than the fiercest beast.”
“Nailed that one,” Collin grumbled, much to his dismay. She wasn’t timid by any stretch of the imagination, if her actions portrayed her personality. She’d sauntered into the middle of a fight, commanded attention and had managed to bring Ian to his knees. Stronger men had tried and failed.
“Making the lines of past and present blur,” Ian continued.
“What do you suppose that means?”
Ian shrugged.
“What was the rest?”
“Disease will spread; death will follow; walls will crumble, and men will fall.”
“She’s already conquered taking down a man. I suggest you try not to manhandle her, like your other women, until we know what’s going on.” Collin ignored the need to lay a protective hand over his own balls, remembering Quinn’s determination. Pissing her off should be avoided at all cost.
“Friend or foe, it is she who controls the Menzie destiny, and will bring down the deceit of once noble men, making them fall from grace into hell,” Ian said, repeating the last verse of the tale.
Collin ran his hand through his hair, ignoring the other paintings, and moved to the window to look out over the vast land. On most days, the view of heather-covered braes bathed in sunlight and the distant view of the ocean managed to bring peace to his soul. Today wasn’t one of those days. An unease he couldn’t explain settled into his bones. A warning of things yet to pass.
“Friend or foe, she controls your destiny. What are you going to do?” Ian asked as Collin rubbed at the stubble on his chin. That was the million-dollar question. What was he going to do? He could ignore her, and hope she went away, or press for answers in an attempt to resolve the legend once and for all.
“I guess I donae have a choice,” Collin answered, spinning around. “I’ll go find her and see what else she might know.”
“Are you sure the lass is still here?”
“Aye. Angus told me she’s staying until the morn.”
“Well, she’s got to eat, and we both know they donae serve food at the hotel. It should be easy enough for us to track her down.”
“Go get cleaned up, and I’ll meet you at the pub in an hour.”
A plan formed in Collin’s head, one that had Quinn Thatcher singing like a canary. Not many women could withstand his charm, but he had a feeling she might be the first. Leading the way out of the old room, Collin walked Ian out of the castle, not giving him any time to pick his next conquest. Stopping in the study, Collin grabbed his cell phone before returning to the north tower. He snapped a picture of the painting to compare face to face. The lass would need proof if she were to believe a word he said.
Chapter 4
After being dropped off, Quinn hit a small boutique filled with flannel and boots. Thirty minutes later, she walked out wearing a red plaid lumberjack-looking shirt and even thicker jacket. The added layers hid her soft curves but kept her warm. She sighed at the lengths she was willing to go to help Clarence resolve his issues.
The warmer clothes and shower did wonders for her mood as she sat patiently inside the pub next door waiting on her order of fish and chips to arrive. She sipped a pint of light colored beer. The bitter ale coated her tongue and slid down her throat with ease. The request for a Miller Lite had gone ignored. Pizza and burgers were not on the menu, sealing Quinn’s resolve to cross this vacation spot off her list. A noxious smell came from the kitchen that made her stomach roll, and she wondered if it was haggis, the main dish that Scotland was so famous for pushing on unsuspecting tourist. A prior internet search had saved her from her upchuck reflux.
A group of old timers surrounded a table, engaged in lively debate. A few patrons sat farther down the bar, and the atmosphere was friendly and ghost-free. She hadn’t known what to expect when she walked into the pub, but an impending unease left her gut churning. It could have easily been from her empty-stomach alcohol buzz.
Scotland was rumored to be overflowing with ancient ghosts. Either they were playing a good game of hide and seek, or they just disliked haunting the tourists. Quinn closed her eyes, thankful for the brief reprieve. The angry glare from the female ghost in the castle tower remained tattooed behind her lids, forever branded into Quinn’s mind like the look on her baby sister’s face when she caught Quinn trying to feed her goldfish to her pet parakeet.
A man slid onto the bar stool to Quinn’s right and another one on her left. The two big bodies squished her arms into her sides. She dropped her head and gave an aggravating shake. Of all the stools, in all the pubs, these two just ended up next to her.
“A simple thank you would have sufficed.”
Karma was a funny bitch, and it appeared Quinn had a target stamped on her forehead in flashing neon green that read…Bring...It…On.
She opened her eyes and recognized the beefy fingers from earlier, only now they weren’t attached to her arm but holding out some bills toward the bartender.
“Sorry about earlier, lass,” McDougall grumbled as if the apology pained him. Inflicting more crossed her mind.
Her hearing was perfect, and his apology was worse than a child’s with his momma pinching his ear and holding him in place, ready to whip his ass if he didn’t say the words with sincerity. Quinn smiled down into her beer. “Come again? I don’t think I heard you.”
“You heard me,” he barked.
“Touch me again like that and I can promise much worse.” Had Quinn’s father been here, they would have high-fived. Well, whatever it was that men with class did these days. Maybe raised a bourbon in salute. She wouldn’t know. The last time she’d spoken to him was to announce the formation of Linked Inc., the psychic business she’d started with her sisters. Now she just tried to stay away from her parents as much as possible. Not that she didn’t love them, but the backlash from forming the business had caused the family a bit of criticism.
“Forgive Ian. We were both shocked that you had solved a century-old puzzle,” Menzie said as the bartender placed darker beers in front of both of the guys. “We dinnae formally introduce ourselves. He’s Ian McDougall, and I’m Collin Menzie.”
“That’s great. Enjoy your evening.” Quinn slid off her stool, grabbed her oversized coat, and picked up her beer before motioning to the bartender she was moving to a table across the room.
The two big oafs ignored the hint and followed. If she could figure out the come-hither vibes she didn’t realize she was sending, she’d bottle that shit up and sell it because she hadn’t extended invitations to either man. Each of them took a chair at her newly acquired table. “The missing gem is returned, and your family peace is restored. Why are you following me?”
“I thought Yanks were hospitable,” Ian grumbled over the rim of his pint.
“And I thought all things in Scotland were bigger than in America.” Quinn glanced down into Ian’s lap. “Clearly we’ve both been misled.” She lied. Ian had plenty of manhood to impress women. But one rude comment deserved another. Why am I letting him get to me?
Ian slammed his fist against the table and rose to his full height. He glared at her with his hazel eyes while running a hand through his dirty blond hair.
“Relax, stud. I was teasing.”
“Collin, control your wench,” Ian said, returning to his seat.
Quinn snapped her gaze to the aggravating Highlander and clenched her fingers around her mug while she pondered if she had enough cash in her wallet to make bail. “Wench?”
“He calls every beautiful woman a wench,” Collin said, resting his palm on her arm. “Careful, Quinn. He likes challenge in his conquests, and you might be next on his list
.”
“I knew I should have just mailed the damn thing. Is this part of the curse? You follow the do-gooder and harass her?” She was restless and irritable; her voice sounded hoarse with tired frustration.
“You know about the curse?” Collin’s eyes grew large as his lips turned down at the corners.
Ian spewed his beer and started in a coughing fit, making Quinn smile. She raised her beer. “If you can’t handle your booze, you shouldn’t drink, studly.”
Ian swiped the back of his hand against his mouth. “What do you know of the curse?”
“Enough to know there is one.” She took a sip of her beer, watching a range of emotions roll across Collin’s face. His brows dipped in concern as the blues in his eyes swirled and darkened to that of an impending thunderstorm. The bar grew silent as if the other occupants understood the nature of their conversation and were eavesdropping, waiting for answers.
A genuine smile grew on Quinn’s face as she spotted the approaching bartender with her fish and chips. Finally, sustenance. The Miller Lite debacle was forgotten and forgiven like her nagging sister’s lecture about flying to Scotland. “You’re a God among men.”
Her words earned her a wink and a sexy smile. Men were so easy.
The Highlanders at the table stayed pleasantly silent, so she let them stew and studied her food. What Scots called chips were what Americans called fries. The fried greasy goodness made her mouth salivate in anticipation. She popped one in her mouth and moaned in bliss.
“How did you find out about the curse?” Collin asked with quiet but resolute firmness. His playful features and handsome smile had turned into something more of a hardened man demanding answers. She wondered which of his expressions she’d see in bed.
His change of demeanor and tone left her curious. She had a hard time believing the big, bad Scot would believe in such things. Would they believe in the truth if she’d told them? There was only one way to find out.
“I’m a medium.” Quinn glanced between their confused faces and shrugged when they didn’t respond. Guess not. Maybe she should have started with that and she would have been left to eat in peace.
“Explain,” Ian demanded.
“You must have found your balls.” He needed another dose in manners, but she silently chastised herself for taunting him. Her mother would be appalled and have a mini stroke from the way Quinn had been acting.
“Normally I donae tolerate a smart mouth on my wench,” Ian exclaimed.
“Good thing I’m not your wench.”
“I think she needs to be spanked into submission,” Ian said.
Quinn’s smile faded as she picked up her silverware and turned toward Ian. “Kinky, but if you think you’re man enough, and willing to risk testing me to see what I can do with a knife, then bring it on.” She raised her brow, daring him to make a move.
“Ian. Be nice.” Collin’s smooth baritone voice did little to stifle the anger stirring in her belly. Quinn wasn’t normally the psychotic woman she was portraying. Not intentionally, although others might disagree. These men brought out the worst in her, specifically Ian.
“I apologize for Ian’s lack of manners, Ms. Thatcher. He’s just uptight about the curse, and we’d both like to know how you found out there was one, and how you found the emerald.”
They wanted to know how she knew. Heck, if she were in their shoes, she’d be curious too. Quinn let out a long sigh and plopped another fry into her mouth before waving them in closer, into a huddle.
“I see dead people.” She said it loud enough for the entire bar to hear, hoping that once these two were gone, no others would try to replace them.
“I knew she was crazy. The lass is a witch, and it explains her need to use violence.”
“Surprisingly, you bring that out in me all by yourself. Now if you don’t mind.” Quinn gestured toward the door.
Neither one of them moved to stand. Ian’s lips twisted at the corners, as if he enjoyed pushing her buttons. What’s wrong with me that I’m taking the bait? I’m smarter than that. I have more class in my pinky than the Neanderthal does in his biceps. She rolled her eyes and ate another fry, debating if it was the lack of food making her so bitchy.
Collin leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “If you see dead people, prove it.”
Quinn grabbed another fry and pointed it in his direction. “I’m not a performing monkey.”
“Then why should we believe you? Maybe your family stole the stone.”
Her family had been accused of worse. Her father was a shark in business; her mother was like the enforcer of her charity organization, and Quinn and her sisters… well they were psychic investigators that some skeptics referred to as Satan worshipers. She didn’t know why she’d thought these guys would understand. She sounded crazy, and she was okay with that. Maybe she was going about this all wrong. Quinn let out an exaggerated sigh and gave Collin a tired glance.
“You have a chick in a blue dress that likes to hang out in one of your towers.”
“Gwinnie.” Ian lifted his beer toward Collin before he sipped.
“That’s a legend, like the curse,” Collin said, as if unconvinced.
Quinn didn’t need to prove herself to these guys. What did they want from her? “Obviously, you’re a skeptic, and hey”—she lifted her hands in surrender—“that’s your prerogative. I’m not here to change your mind. I found your family heirloom and returned it out of the goodness of my heart. Can’t you just let it go?”
Collin slipped a phone out of his pocket. He scrolled in search of only God knew what. It didn’t matter. At least he wasn’t talking, and it was nice to know he wasn’t from the Stone Age, like the electrical plugs in the small bed and breakfast that called itself a hotel. A plug adapter should be a requirement for entering the country, much like a passport.
“Do you know how much that emerald is worth?” Ian asked.
“Nope, and I don’t care.” Quinn smiled sweetly, shoving another fry in her mouth. She wasn’t about to let him bait her again. Southern charm might be more effective. If she acted nice, maybe they’d both get bored and leave her to eat in peace.
Creases formed around Collin’s eyes as a smile split his lip. He abandoned his phone and lifted the pint to his lips. The fabric of his sleeve pulled deliciously around his bulging biceps. Focus. He wasn’t a foreign booty call, and whatever Mr. Tall, Dark, and Orgasmic wore under his kilt would remain a mystery, although judging by the bulge behind the zipper of his jeans, she might be inclined to change her mind if he’d ask sweetly.
“Did you know there was a reward? Is that why you came?” Collin asked.
Clarence shimmered into the room behind both men, making the air colder. She spotted goosebumps rising on Collin’s arms, yet everyone but her seemed oblivious to Clarence’s presence. Quinn narrowed her eyes at the ghost that had sent her into this mess. No good deed went unpunished.
“I don’t need your money, but I do know how you can repay me.”
“There it is.” McDougall lifted his pint in the air as if he’d won a prize. “I knew it. The lass is here for the money.”
“If I’d wanted money, I would have kept the almost flawless seventy-five carat emerald. It was perfect minus the tiny cut mark, jackass. Think about what you just said.”
“Ignore him, luv,” Collin said, drawing her attention back to him. A glint of humor returned to his face. “The Menzies are indebted to you. How may I offer my services?”
His naked body in a warm bed with a can of Cool Whip and chocolate sauce for starters. Her undersexed body parts tingled in awareness at his Scottish lilt when he called her luv. “What can you tell me about the McNoltes?”
Clarence frowned and disappeared. Score one for her, finally.
“The gypsy witch—” Ian started to say when Collin held up his hand.
“Gypsy witch.” Quinn’s lips twisted into a big smile. “You guys believe in curses and gypsies, but not in psychics? How is th
at possible?”
“Aye.” Collin picked up his phone again as she continued to eat her fries. “One foretold your arrival.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Quinn tossed her fry onto the plate and asked with a smile.
Collin turned his phone around, making Quinn’s lips part. She might as well have been looking in a mirror, minus the silk dress. “You did this, right? Someone snapped a picture of me while at your castle and you’re a whiz at Photoshop or something?”
Collin’s brows pitched as he exchanged a glance with Ian.
“You know… Photoshop? The photo editing software.”
“I know of no such…software. This portrait is in the north tower and was painted by the gypsy who foretold your coming, and the return of the emerald.”
And people thought she was weird. “That’s great, guys, really.” She rose and started loading up her napkin with uneaten fries. No way was she leaving them behind. “She must have been right. I came and returned your emerald. I hope your family paid her well. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve had a long day.
“What is this, national screw with the tourist day?” Quinn mumbled beneath her breath while grabbing her jacket and heading for the door.
“She said other things,” Collin called out, stopping her in her tracks. Quinn slowly turned around to face them. The last of her energy drained as a headache started to form behind her eyes. “Did she tell you how to get rid of Clarence?”
He shook his head and rose. “No, nothing about a Clarence.”
She lifted the greasy napkin holding her fries. “Right, well, have a nice life. I have to go check on my sick pilot to make sure we can leave in the morning. Cheerio.” Or whatever. What did one say when parting ways in Scotland? No matter. She had no plans to use the word again. Nor need.
She saluted the bartender as she left, hoping that the gesture didn’t mean anything derogatory. She’d made it outside when she felt Collin behind her.
Visions and Spells Page 21