The corners of Helmond’s mouth twitched upward. “One of the woodcutters discovered a small coach. He says there are more females in it.”
“Bloody hell.” If Helmond wasn’t playing tricks, maybe the Fates were the jokesters. A little joke at his expense wasn’t beneath that august group. Obviously, they thought his life too simple and decided he needed more excitement.
Or were the Big Os involved in this mess? Whatever, a bus full of female mortals would create enough excitement to last him an eternity.
He glanced at the still woman. She likely belonged to the coach people, and they might soon worry. “Arrange for them to be brought to the castle and make them feel welcome.” If immortals could get headaches, he’d have a migraine about now. Speaking of headaches, he’d better have some acetaminophen brought in also. When she awakened, she needed to have enough discomfort to not be suspicious of the healing he’d maneuvered.
Ian placed his hand on her brow and sent a pulse of energy. That should do it. She will wake with a headache intense enough to ask for something for the pain.
“Yes, Sire. Shall I assign them rooms?”
Ian looked out the window. The rain now came down in sheets. If this woman had left her companions to venture out in the driving wet, something must be wrong with the vehicle. It would be at least tomorrow before the coach could be repaired. His magic didn’t extend to mechanical problems. No, the repairs would be done the old fashion way, by a mechanic.
“Yes. Prepare the guest rooms and inform the kitchen of the additional meals needed. Also, bring the bottle of aspirin I keep in the bathroom Mr. Brian uses when he sleeps over.
A moan from the female drew Ian’s attention back to the bed. Now partially dried, the red hair created a wavy halo around her porcelain face. He walked over to the edge of the bed and sat. She moaned again, and her eyes lids fluttered, once, twice, and then slowly opened.
Ian stared into eyes the exact shade of his favorite sherry aged whisky, and at that moment, he knew who the message on the wind had been meant for. The throbbing erection that tented his kilt dispelled any doubts.
Crap. Emma tried to open her eyes and groaned with the effort. Her head hurt worse than the morning after a night of tequila shooters.
Emma felt the mattress shift so at least she wasn’t alone. But was that a good thing? Better force the peepers open and see her visitor. With her recent run of luck, she’d stumbled into the hideaway of a mass murderer or rapist. Though she tried to stifle it, another groan escaped when she willed her eyes to open and the light hit them.
Wow! Holy mother lode! If I’m a prisoner, let it be a life sentence.
The man who sat beside her smiled, and her heart fluttered. That sealed the deal. She’d do anything he wanted, no matter how kinky or perverted.
To go with the smile, eyes the blue of a Colorado sky on a sunny day stared out of a tanned chiseled face topped by short blond hair streaked with red highlights.
Be still my heart. Emma placed a hand to her chest to calm the pounding.
“How do you feel?”
Feel? Does he mean the hot throbbing sensation between my legs? That’s all I feel at the moment.
She turned her head for a better view.
Ouch, and a mother of a headache.
The butterscotch voice caressed her heart the way she wanted his hands to touch her body.
Good grief. The knock on the head really scrambled my brain.
Thoughts like that didn’t pop into her head the first time she set eyes on a man. Men had to work a little harder to get into her bed than just bless her with a look that turned her insides to melted butter.
“I’m okay.” She moved to scoot up but had second thoughts when the back of her head threatened to explode.
“Take it easy. You took a nasty knock when you fell down the steps.” He reached over and smoothed back a strand of hair that dangled in her face. “What were you doing here?”
“Doing here?” She sounded like a frigging parrot the way she repeated his words. “Uh…I wanted to use your telephone. My cell didn’t get a signal, and I needed to get someone to repair our bus or tow it to the nearest town.”
He nodded, and she took it as encouragement to continue.
“I saw your driveway and hoped you had a phone.”
“We do, but unfortunately it’s out of order right now. The lines must be down from all the wind.”
Emma attempted to sit again and reached for the back of her head. He was right about a nasty knock. She’d be lucky if she didn’t have a concussion. Her head might be hard, but those granite steps had won this battle.
“Here, take this.” He opened a bottle handed to him by a short, stout man who seemed to float from the room after he set a glass of water on the table next to the bed.
Grateful for something to take the edge off the pain, she gulped the pills and chased them with a sip of water from the glass placed in her hand. “Thank you.” She pushed herself farther up in the bed. “I have to check on my group.”
“Your group?” He furrowed his brow for a second. “Oh, you mean the ladies on the coach.”
“Right. I’m a Tour Director, and we’re seeing the sights of Scotland.” She started to push back the covers. Cool air hit bare skin. “Holy crap, I’m naked.”
Blue Eyes coughed, and a pink tinge rose up his high cheekbones. “Well, yes. You were soaked and chilled. I had to get you out of the wet clothes before hypothermia set in.”
I don’t believe there’s a man who blushes about undressing a woman. What planet is this guy from?
“You did this?” She felt the heat rushing to her face. God, he’d seen her in full glory, cellulite and all. Would it be rude to pull the covers over her head and die? “Don’t you have a female housekeeper or the lady of the house who could have undressed me?”
“Yes on the housekeeper, but she’s rather slight, and I wasn’t sure in which part of the castle she would be located. Time was of the essence.”
Slight. Is he implying I’m not? Okay, reality check here. You’re not, and it’s probably safe to say that description didn’t even fit at birth.
So how did he get her up the steps and into bed? Only one way to find out. “How did I get up here?” She patted the bed.
“I carried you.”
“Carried me?” Damn, she hated it when her voice squeaked like a mouse. “You mean by yourself?”
He knitted his brows together again. “Was there some other means I should have used?”
Yeah, a forklift.
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t so bad, but it was embarrassing to think of her flopped over his shoulder like a sack of flour. “Nope, I’m sure you did what you had to do, and that’s great.” She eyed his muscular body and conceded he did look strong enough. Only she still wasn’t thrilled with the idea of her size fourteen ass sticking up in the air like a flag at the Olympics. Time to change the subject.
“Could you send someone down to my ladies so they’ll know I’m okay?”
He smiled and took her hand. “It’s already been done. They’re settled in their rooms as we speak.”
“Excellent.” Relief replaced the guilt and anxiety that had surfaced over her neglected duties. She needed to get in touch with the tour company as soon as possible, make arrangements to get the bus fixed or replaced, and get the show back on the road.
“I’ll send someone to the village garage tomorrow.” His full lips turned up.
Emma basked in the smile he directed her way. He read her mind, which was a little spooky. It seemed the bang on the head also made her think silly. She didn’t believe in woo-woo stuff, any more than spells to summon her true love. Why had she been such an idiot to try one, not once, but twice? That couldn’t be blamed on a bonk on the head.
“My name is Ian. Ian McCabe.”
Heat rushed to her face again. She hadn’t thought to introduce herself, let alone ask his name. He must think I’m just another uncouth American. “I’m Emma Gr
ant.”
“Well, Emma Grant, I think it’s time you got some rest. Let the aspirin do its work on your headache, and maybe you’ll be up to joining the rest of us for dinner.
She’d join him anywhere for anything if he’d grace her with another one of those sunny smiles. “I really should make sure my ladies are all right. Some of them aren’t exactly what you’d call spring chickens.” The attempt to sit up sent another shot of pain across the back of her head, taking her breath away.
“Rest assured. They’re in good hands. My staff will see to their every need.” Ian pushed her back down. “Close your eyes now.”
Gentle fingers stroked her forehead. Emma tried to resist, but the touch of his hand soothed and delighted her. The last thing she remembered was his warm, rhythmic caress on her skin.
Chapter Seven
“Dear, are you all right?” Mary crossed the room and gave Emma a hug. “Come and sit down. You’re really pale. Move your buns, Barb. Let our girl sit before she falls.”
Barb stalked over to another chair and plopped down, but not before she put in her two cents. “Humph. We should have called a doctor instead of letting the laird of the manor use all his home spun voodoo on her, if you ask me.”
“Nobody did.” Deena cut her off with a glare.
Hovering mothers were beyond Emma’s range of experience. Her own mama had been a true WIIFM, focused on what’s in it for me, rather than what she could do for others.
As a little girl, Emma prayed she’d wake up one day and discover her admission into the family came from adoption, not genes. Maybe that would explain the disappointment she saw in her parents’ eyes each time they actually looked at her. All the Southern gentility had gone to her older sister. Like mother, like daughter people often said about Faith and their mother, Nola.
No, she’d never felt mothered in the sense one read about in books. Now, she had twelve who fluttered around her like bees over a flower bed. Contentment flowed through her at their soothing touches and concerned questions. It all served to drive home more than ever the love she’d missed as a child.
Even the non-maternal Deena patted her shoulder and asked if she’d like a cup of tea. Emma was touched by this display of concern since Deena put on a tougher than nails front. This small show of emotion seemed a big step for the crusty woman.
“No, thank you. I’m great, really.” At least she’d felt fine before she came down stairs and became the center of attention.
All the “you poor thing” comments and enticements to eat the appetizers left her a little queasy. Second thoughts about dinner with the group created the need to take the focus off her. “Tell me what happened after I left the bus.”
“Well”—Mildred ran her fingers through her orange-red frizz to give it more spike—“you were gone so long, we almost had Angus talked into going to look for you when someone banged on the door.”
“Yeah, we got the short prissy man for our hero.” Sue Ann wrinkled her nose. “Is it just me, or does he seems to think he’s in charge of us?” The Southern belle sniffed and rolled her eyes. “I think he has one of those Napoleon complexes the way he tries to control everything.”
“There’s no way to please you, Sue Ann.” Deena thumped the blond woman on the head, not moving a single strand. “You’ve spent the years since Stan died wanting to meet a man who tells you what to do, and now that you’ve got one, you get your undies in a bunch.”
Sue Ann patted the top of her head. “Well, I want a manly man, not one so…short.”
“Speaking of manly man, did you get an eye full of the real laird of the manor? I’d check under his kilt any day.” A blissful sigh escaped Mildred’s lips.
“Oh, honey, I’d be right there with you. He’s so delicious he makes me believe in magic. Heredity could never produce a man that yummy.” Sue Ann turned to Deena. “Now, that’s the kind of man I want to tell me what to do, especially in the bedroom.”
Emma bit back a giggle. Their before dinner drinks gave several of them a case of loose tongues. She still found it difficult to think of some in this group of sweet Southern seniors as the dirty old ladies they really were.
“Sugar, I bet he is magic in the bedroom.” Mildred poured more red wine into her empty glass. “I’ve always had a thing for men in kilts.”
“We know,” several of the group cried in unison.
Everyone laughed, including Emma.
Her thoughts went to their past few weeks when she wouldn’t have laughed. Something in her had changed. The more time she spent with these women, the more she liked them. In fact, she hoped to have as much spunk when she reached their age.
“Good evening, ladies.”
Ian’s appearance brought the bawdy humor to an end, but Emma caught the sly glances exchanged by some of the women as they admired the man who walked over and stood with his back to the fireplace, hands clasped behind him.
He’d changed into formal attire. The checks in the tartan dominated by red and green were smaller than the ones in the kilt he’d worn earlier where she’d been able to pick out the lines of blue, black and white woven through the fabric.
His casual white shirt had been traded up for a tuxedo shirt and a black Prince Charlie jacket. The short waistcoat cut emphasized a manly man’s broad shoulders and slim waist, and Ian definitely fit that category.
She also loved the silver buttons against the dark wool. She itched to touch the fabric. Who did she think she kidded here? What she wanted to touch was the skin under the jacket—better yet, what was under the kilt.
Holy crap, my mind just joined Naughty Mildred’s in the gutter!
Ian flashed a smile in her direction. If she hadn’t been sitting down, her knees would have collapsed from under her. Either the man had an effect on her, or she still had issues from the blow to her head.
It must be the fall. Men don’t affect me this way.
“I’m delighted to see you’re well enough to join us for dinner.” A couple of long strides brought him over to stand by Emma’s chair. “May I escort you in when Helmond announces for us to be seated?”
Oh, yes, he could escort her anywhere he wanted. And if she was lucky, he wouldn’t hear the way her heart pounded at the thought.
Helmond entered the room. “Sire, dinner is served.”
Ian held out his hand to Emma and helped her up. His touch sent shivers down her spine. In the dining room, he held the chair to the right of his for her. Once she was seated, his hand brushed across her back. The brief contact sent a flash of heat all the way down to her toes.
Emma picked at the various courses placed in front of her. The food was probably good, but to her it could have been cardboard. She couldn’t be sure if her lack of interest in the dishes came from the lingering headache or her nerves. Each time she stole a glance at the man on her left, her stomach did little flip-flops.
Finally, the staff cleared the last course.
“Ladies, I suggest coffee and dessert in the parlor where you had your before dinner drinks.” Their host stood, leaving no room for discussion.
Emma viewed this as a good time to excuse herself and escape to her room, when Ian touched her arm.
“Will you join me in the library? I will update you on your coach situation over a nightcap.”
“Sure.” Embarrassed by the raspy catch in her voice, Emma felt her cheeks burn.
Good grief, he makes me blush like a teenager in the throes of her first crush. Get a grip, woman. The man just wants to talk business.
He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. She prayed he didn’t feel the quivers that ran through her body.
When they walked out of the room, she didn’t miss the snickers from the other women.
Ian willed away the wave of desire that shot through his body each time he touched Emma. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her with his unbridled lust. He needed to know more about this mortal female who inspired such loyalty and caring from a group of eld
erly women. From what he’d learned through observation and snatches of conversation, they’d only known her a short time.
He had discovered that this group of females, who appeared at first glance to be fragile, had wills of steel. Something told Ian they didn’t give their friendship easily. They impressed him as generous to a fault with people they cared for.
“Would you like a whisky?” He poured one for himself and shot an inquiring glance in her direction.
She tore her eyes away from the book-lined shelves long enough to look at the bottle he held. “I’ve never had scotch, but I’m game to try a little taste.”
Did she realize how sensual her smile was? No, probably not. She didn’t seem to be a coquette who used men as toys like so many females he’d come across through the years. He sensed deep down this woman gave more than she took and worked to show a tougher persona to the outside world to avoid being hurt.
He poured a small amount in an empty Waterford crystal glass and added a splash of water. “Nose scotch before you sip,” he said when he handed her the drink.
A puzzled frown creased her forehead. “Nose it?”
Her eyes were the same shade of rich amber as the liquid in her glass. “Yes. Put your nose into the glass and inhale. Allow the aromas to tickle your nose and your senses to appreciate the complexities.”
To show her, Ian closed his eyes and breathed in the sweet spicy scent of his favorite scotch. “What do you smell?”
Emma followed his lead. “It’s sweet, yet at the same time smoky.”
He loved the surprise in her voice. “Swirl the glass and sniff again. What do you smell now? Can you pick out anything specific?”
“Vanilla?”
Ian laughed. “Yes, definitely vanilla is there. Taste it. You must sip whisky to appreciate the intricacy.”
Emma placed the glass to her lips and tipped it up, allowing the liquid to touch, but hesitating before she tasted. He watched her take a deep breath and draw up the courage to take the first drink.
“Oh my goodness?” Her eyes rounded, followed by a gasp.
Beyond Magic (Magical Love Book 1) Page 7