Visions and Spells

by Kate Allenton

  “Your pilot is sick?” he asked as he walked beside her.

  “Food poisoning or the flu. Not sure yet.” Why had she bothered to answer? Collin was like a stray dog. The more she encouraged him, the longer he’d stay.

  “The town doc is a personal friend. Would you like me to call him and get your pilot looked at? Just to be safe.”

  “Uh…” Quinn glanced up at Collin. The hard lines of his face had softened. “Sure. That would be great.” She’d checked in on Johnny to see if he could stomach anything to eat before going to the pub. He was huddled in blankets. With her luck, they’d be stranded in Scotland for an entire week. Would her father even send another plane in his fleet to pick them up? Probably not. “Why would you help us?”

  “You returned the emerald, of course.”

  “Of course.” Quinn smiled while trying to figure out his ulterior motive. Most men had one. He walked with her down the cobblestone street. The moonlight cast everything into shades of white and silver, leaving her pensive and on the lookout for Jack the Ripper. She should have packed her can of pepper spray or, at the very least, another pair of high heels. They turned the corner to the hotel and stopped in their tracks.

  An ambulance and two police cars, with lights flashing, were parked in front of the hotel. The entrance was cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape draped from the one bush to the other, blocking the door. A police officer stood guard at the entrance. It was obvious this was the most excitement this sleepy town had seen in a long time. Nosy residents stood on the other side of the street draped in bathrobes over their nightclothes, silently watching and whispering to each other.

  For the love of God…her pilot better not be dead. Collin placed his palm on Quinn’s back and eased her toward the officer.

  “Ted, what’s going on?” Collin asked the young Barney Fife standing guard. He had acne covering his face.

  “There’s a guest with a potentially contagious disease. They believe he got some staff sick now too.”

  His voice was high pitched. The kid they trusted with a gun hadn’t even hit puberty. Quinn’s entire body stiffened as she registered his words while trying to peer around the officer. “Who’s sick?” Her voice rose an octave as she tried to push closer to the door. “My pilot is in there. I have to go check on him.”

  Collin took her hand and eased her back to his side. His attempt to stifle her might have worked if he’d placed her hand on his crotch. Entwining their fingers wasn’t enough to shut her up.

  “Ted is it?” she asked. “Do you know who it is?”

  “Aye, I think the maid who called it in said his name was Johnny Smith from the States. Is he your pilot?”

  Quinn’s stomach lurched and fell into her toes. Her legs felt weak, and she lost her voice, so she nodded while silently wondering if the sign on her forehead now read, screw with this bitch.

  “What doctor is in there?” Collin asked, taking over the conversation.

  “Pat Tanner, and he has locked the place down under quarantine until he has a diagnosis. He mentioned it was probably either measles or chickenpox.”

  “Quarantined. Excellent.” Quinn slipped her fingers free and paced the small area, trying to figure out how to go about setting things right with Karma. Extra prayers, kindness, adopt those ten damn kittens? Crap. Her stomach recoiled, churning the greasy fries in her belly. Her throat tightened as concern ripped through her body.

  Collin shook the man’s hand. “Keep us posted and have Tanner call when he’s done to give us an update. Could you also get word to Mr. Smith that I’m taking Ms. Thatcher to stay at the castle?”

  “What? No.” Quinn shook her head. “I can’t leave him in there.”

  “Afraid you’ll have to, Ms. Thatcher. I’ll call when everything is clear.”

  Chapter 5

  Collin led Quinn back toward the pub. His mind raced as he tried to understand how the disease had hit when the wee lass hadn’t even been in Scotland for a full twenty-four hours. This was the only confirmation he needed. The curse was in full swing. Keeping her close while the rest played out was the only way he’d survive whatever happened next.

  “I have to call Johnny’s family,” Quinn mumbled with her brows pinched together.

  This was the first time he’d seen a panic-stricken expression on her face, and not the cool resolve she’d previously portrayed. She was truly concerned, and she wasn’t even aware the worst was yet to come. “You should wait until we hear back from the doctor. There’s no need to get them worried until we have some facts.”

  Quinn nodded and stayed surprisingly quiet as he helped her into the passenger side of his truck. Ian was wise to wait until she was inside the truck before he approached. “Judging by the look on the lassie’s face, I’m guessing the curse has started.”

  “Aye. The hotel is quarantined.”

  “Disease was the first item listed in the curse.” Ian patted Collin’s back as he rounded the truck. “If it follows suit, next up is death. You might want to lock your chamber doors. Good luck, ole friend.”

  Collin nodded as an unshakable feeling came over him that they’d all need a bit of luck to come out unscathed. The drive to the castle was uneventful, and yet he knew what was waiting inside. He’d be lucky if all of the staff didn’t up and quit when they found out he’d brought the American home with him for more than a midnight tryst.

  “You know this isn’t necessary.” Quinn finally spoke as Collin killed the ignition in the driveway. “If there is another hotel in town, I can stay there.”

  “Donae be ridiculous. You returned the emerald. You’ll be my guest.” He gave her a reassuring smile as they both got out of the truck on the rock-covered driveway. The crunch of rocks beneath Collin’s boots was the only sound in the eerie night. Even the breeze from earlier was gone, as if warning him of things to come. “Besides, there isnae another hotel in town.”

  “I can’t imagine why you aren’t overflowing with tourists. I’m sure it has nothing to do with Mr. Grabby Hands, or the ancient hotel, or even the lack of food choices.”

  Collin chuckled. The drive to the castle had restored her spirit and smart replies. He was much more capable of dealing with a feisty lass than a scared one.

  “Give Scotland a chance. It will grow on you.”

  “Like fungus beneath toenails,” she mumbled as he led her into the castle.

  The normally loud atmosphere had been replaced with stillness. The only sound that greeted them was the ticking of the tall grandfather clock. The staff had already left for the evening, and those who lived in the castle were tucked away in their rooms. Quinn slowed her step and frowned.

  “This isn’t what I expected.”

  “What did you expect?” Collin rubbed his neck while trying to view the space with fresh eyes. The renovations over the years had made the castle more welcoming and less primitive. The cream-colored walls complemented the expensive marble floors. The decorations and furniture were antique but tastefully placed around the room. A vase with roses sat in the middle of an antique table of the large open entryway. Most women walked over and sniffed the fragrance. Quinn Thatcher wasn’t most women. She eyed it with a bit of alarm.

  “This is modern-day chic. I pictured primitive and manly. Maybe a wall filled with pictures of past lairds and full suits of armor with shields and swords. Half-clad maids with boobs hanging out while perched on the knees of drunken men.”

  “You’ve confused my castle with Ian’s. We donae have the drunken men or half-dressed lassies, but we do have the armor and shields. We keep those in the ballroom.”

  “Right, ballroom. I’m sure you use that all the time.”

  “You’d be surprised.” Collin risked life and limb by placing his hand on the small of her back and leading her toward the stairs. The soft flannel of her shirt kept him from feeling the heat from her body. She either didn’t notice that he was touching her or was too tired to protest. His bet was on the latter. “Let’s get
you settled in the guest room while I check in with the doctor at the hotel.”

  Collin led her to the room next to his. It was the second best room in the castle, and reserved for the lady of the house. It was prim, proper, and elegant, nothing like the outspoken, spunky American who would be staying in the space. Regardless, she deserved the best for what she’d returned to his family.

  He pushed the door open and had expected her to love the space. To actually praise the beauty of the space, like most overnight guests would. He should have known Quinn wasn’t like an ordinary visitor.

  Quinn covered her nose sneezing continuously as she vehemently shook her head and pressed her back against the hallway wall.

  “Is it no’ to your liking?” Collin asked, unsure of her problem.

  “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you? I would have expected it from Ian, but not you.”

  “All of the rooms in the castle have been renovated. What’s the problem with this room?”

  She pointed an accusing finger at the room. “I’m highly allergic to the flowers, and that room is covered in them.”

  She grasped her throat as if it was difficult to breathe, so Collin quickly shut the door. “I’m sorry. I dinnae know.”

  The hand at her throat moved to cover her heart. “Do you have any other spare rooms that aren’t overflowing with those killers?”

  Collin stifled his smile. That was the first time anyone had ever referred to beautiful flowers as killers.

  “Aye, there is only one room in the castle without the killers.”

  “Good, I’ll take it.”

  Collin pushed open his bedroom door and gestured for her to enter.

  She walked inside. Her eyes scanned the entire room before walking over to the bed and picking up Collin’s kilt, which he’d discarded earlier. “Is this your way of trying to get me into your bed?”

  Collin locked eyes with hers and slid the kilt from her fingers, slightly grazing her knuckles with his touch. Her emerald eyes lightened to the shade of grass covered with morning dew. Her red, plump lips lifted in a smile. He was finding Quinn was unabashed. Where most women would have blushed from the touch or his proximity, Quinn looked as though she reveled in the playfulness.

  Clearing his throat, Collin grabbed the shirt he’d worn earlier from the bed and stepped back out of her personal space. “Nay, when you sleep with me, it willnae be because there was no other place for you to rest your head. I’ll sleep with the killers until I can have them all removed in the morning.”

  “When and if I take you to bed, I can guarantee sleep won’t be on the agenda.” She winked, gave him a full grin, and pressed her heated palm against his chest, pushing him backward toward the door. “Good night, Laird Menzie.”

  “Collin,” he corrected.

  “Good night, Collin.” She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her soft lips to his cheek before flicking the door closed in his face. His heartbeat quickened, and his pants grew tight, while he wondered what those lips would feel like elsewhere on his body.

  Collin stood in the hallway, momentarily stunned, when the door suddenly flew open. Quinn cupped his cheeks and pressed her lips to his in a full-out assault. He’d barely had time to drop the items he’d been holding to free his hands when she broke the kiss and stepped back.

  “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Maybe next time you can play dress up and wear the skirt.” She grinned again and shut the door.

  “Only if I get to pick out your dress, wench,” Collin called out and grabbed the clothes off the floor. Her laughter rang out as he tossed the clothes onto the bed in the middle of the killing fields. He was playing with fire. The thought made him pause. Fire was in the curse. Could it have been referring to the sparks of chemistry that they shared, or were heated flames really a possibility?

  Collin jogged down the stairs and into his office to find Ramsey waiting inside with a file in his hands.

  “I wasnae expecting you,” Collin said, heading to the crystal decanter across the room. He poured himself a double shot of whiskey and threw back the shot, welcoming the fire in his throat.

  “How long have I been your financial advisor?”

  “Five years, but we both know you’re more than my advisor. If it wasnae for you, I’d still be dealing with the castle reconstruction from the fire and having to contend with the architects and insurance people.” Collin answered without hesitation. He’d trusted Ramsey with his entire portfolio after a stock market tip that had quadrupled the worth. Not to mention the headache he saved from having to figure out the castle blueprints.

  “I’m surprised you dinnae call me,” Ramsey said and sat in one of the chairs opposite Collin’s desk. “I hear your family emerald was returned by a redheaded American who resembles the lady in the portrait.”

  “You heard correctly. I put the emerald in the safe, and Quinn will be staying here until her sick pilot has recovered.”

  Ramsey gave a slow nod and tossed the file in his hands onto the desk. “Yes, I heard her name was Quinn Thatcher. Did she tell you she’s a medium?”

  “She told the whole bar.” Collin chuckled, remembering the way she unceremoniously announced her profession as if she’d be viewed as a leper. If she’d thought her words would make them leave, she’d been wrong. Collin was nothing if not more intrigued. He picked up the file. “What’s this?”

  “I did a background check on your guest. It isnae every day that a mysterious woman shows up at your door to return something so valuable. Have you figured out her angle?”

  “She disnae have one. She’s stuck here by circumstance.” Collin’s smile fell as he flipped the folder open and read the report inside.

  Quinn Thatcher, single, age 35. Ms. Thatcher is a co-owner of Linked Inc., a multimillion-dollar company well known as a psychic hotline and detective agency in the States. It went on to state that she worked with numerous law enforcement agencies to help find missing people and solve homicides.

  “This proves she disnae have any ulterior motive. She hasnae asked for a reward or money, and she’d actually planned to leave in the morning, until her pilot got sick.”

  Collin closed the file.

  “Flip to the last page.” Ramsey nodded toward the file.

  Collin did as he asked. He scanned the computer printed article’s headline: Psychic unable to predict the untimely and questionable death of fiancé who left her with a fortune.

  “This disnae prove she had anything to do with his death.”

  “It disnae prove she dinnae,” Ramsey said, rising. “As the chief financial advisor of your estate, and foremost, as your friend, I thought you should know who’s staying under your roof.”

  Collin knew exactly who was sleeping in his bed. Quinn was a mystery to him in most ways, but there was no denying that she was the center of the curse, or that she was the first woman in a long time who reminded him that he was more than a laird. He was simply a man who had needs, wants, and desires. Exploring their chemistry was worth the price of keeping her around. Curse or no curse.

  Chapter 6

  Quinn woke to find dust motes dancing in the sunshine streaming in through the window. Her big lumberjack boots were gone, and the covers lay over her chest, the silky texture at odds with the large man who usually occupied the bed.

  She pulled the covers over her eyes and groaned. The Highlander’s musky scent filled her nose. The trip hadn’t been a dream. She flung the covers off her body and stared up at the stone ceiling. “This is payback for everything I’ve ever done wrong in my life, isn’t it?”

  “No, dear, it’s destiny.” She heard the unmistakable ghostly whisper as the temperature dropped, chilling her cheeks.

  She sat up to find not one but three ghosts staring back at her from the foot of the bed. The sight of them would have sent normal people screaming and running from the room, but she’d never been confused with normal. The man in the middle had a full red beard and matching hair color. A scar covered his left cheek
and dipped down his neck, disappearing into green checkered plaid. His eyes were the same baby blue that matched Collin’s.

  The woman in the royal blue dress, from the north tower, stood next to him. Her hand clutched where her heart would be. Her brunette curls were secured with a ruby-accented comb.

  The ghost on Redbeard’s left didn’t resemble Collin at all. His hair was white and wavy, but there was no mistaking the colors of his tartan. She’d seen the exact same pattern yesterday on McGrabs-a-lot. He was related to Ian without question.

  “Funny how you’re not haters because of the color of your plaid in the afterlife. Care to tell me how to get out of your motherland?”

  “I told you she can see us,” the woman announced.

  “Gwinnie, isn’t it?” Quinn said, sliding off the bed. “I don’t suppose you can explain to Collin, your great-great-whatever, that there isn’t a curse?”

  They glanced between one another before turning their stares back to Quinn.

  “You will set things right,” Gwinnie announced before all three of them shimmered out of sight.

  “I’ll take that as a no,” Quinn grumbled, not even trying to cover the irritation lacing her voice. She spotted her boots by the door and slipped them on. After running her fingers through her hair, she used the rubber band on her wrist to pull it up in a ponytail. If she’d had her way, the doctor and police would give her access to her room and clear Johnny and her to return home.

  Quinn stepped into the hall to hunt down Collin. The sickly sweet smell of last night was gone. Intrigued, she peered into the bedroom next door. Not a single petal or leaf was in sight.

  “He kept his word.” Warmth that she hadn’t felt in five years flooded her chest. She shoved the feeling away. He was just a man trying to accommodate her because she’d returned his gem. Still, the gesture was sweet. Quinn went out on the landing and stared below. Maids were dusting the room. The vase that had been sitting on the antique table was gone, and a smile split her lips.