Editor's Choice Volume I - Slow summer Kisses, Kilts & kraken, Negotiating point

by Stacey Shannon, Spencer Pape Cindy, Giordano Adrienne

  “No.” Geneva shrugged. “Apparently, a mere physician doesn’t qualify as a lady.”

  “Ballocks.” Her breeding was evident in every line of her imperious posture. “Mrs. MacDonald is an officer’s widow, and I’ll wager your father is an esquire at the very least.”

  A tiny smile quirked the corner of her mouth. “A Knight, actually. Sir Fergus MacKay, if you please. My grandfather, Sir William, is a baronet.”

  “I knew it.” Magnus held up his palms in a gesture of defeat. “I’ll see to the maid, and have a talk with Dugall’s da. We might be able to come up with something more permanent for the girl. Now, can I have my shoes back, or must I go down to supper barefoot?” Between her and his uncle, they’d confiscated every last piece of footwear Magnus owned in an effort to keep him trapped in his room.

  The daft woman had the temerity to laugh. “Fine. You’re recovered enough to sup downstairs. I’ll have Rannulf return your shoes and boots.”

  “No need. I know where he put them.” It was Magnus’s turn to laugh. “Rannulf’s chamber is right across the hall. Nonetheless, you were right. I needed to rest and let the magick do its work, so I stayed put and didn’t let on that I know his hiding places. Now, how would you like a look around my castle?”

  “As long as you don’t overtire yourself, I’d love it. I haven’t had the grand tour yet as I didn’t want to be a third wheel with Rannulf and Alice.”

  “I’m thinking they’re in need of a chaperone.” Magnus padded barefoot across the hall to his uncle’s room, where he found a small trunk full of his boots and shoes exactly where he’d expected it—in the box beneath the window seat. “He’s been hiding things there every Christmas since I was a lad.”

  “What about your parents?” She gazed out the window while he pulled on a pair of comfortable old boots. “I’ve wondered about that. If the island’s magick keeps you alive, how is it that your father is gone? In fact, how is it that you’re not overrun with all of your ancestors?”

  “It isn’t all-powerful.” He shrugged and took her arm, feeling more himself now that he was fully clad. “As you saw. The magick seems to wane with age, and doesn’t work against all sickness. My grandfather developed consumption in his later years. I can be killed outright, too, same as any man. My parents drowned when I was ten, on an afternoon sail. When they found my da’s body, his skull was caved in. He’d have died in a moment, with no time for the power to mend him.”

  “I’m sorry. Rannulf raised you?” She squeezed her fingers where they rested on his forearm.

  “Aye. His wife had passed a year earlier in childbirth, so Rannulf moved into the castle with his two offspring.”

  “You have first cousins?”

  “Aye, but closer to brother and sister. Catherine is a wee bit younger than me. She lives in Glasgow with her husband now, and Rodney, a year my elder, is my agent in London. He travels all around the world, keeping track of the clan’s business interests.” Magnus didn’t say how much he’d envied Rodney his chance to see the world.

  “You must miss them. I know I do my siblings when we’re apart.”

  “Aye. I do, but they visit when they can. You mentioned a sister. Are there even more of you at home?”

  “Three of us, all out on our own. I’m the eldest, then Connor, and Melody’s the baby. Connor works with our father, in—service to the Crown. Melody is the engineer I told you about.”

  “Service to the Crown? Sounds important.”

  “It is, but we don’t speak of it,” she said.

  “Then we shan’t.” He led her through the family portrait gallery, pointing out ancestors and telling outrageous tall tales about them. After viewing several of the unoccupied suites on this level, he led her up to the parapets, bypassing the fourth floor and the nursery. He hadn’t looked at that in four years and wouldn’t begin now.

  Once out on the castle ramparts, she looked around with all the wonder of a child sighting a candy store. “Oh, my lord, this is beautiful.”

  “Were you talking to me or to God?” Odd, how much he relaxed around Geneva, to the point of feeling at ease teasing her a little.

  “To you, although the other would work. What a magnificent view of your island.”

  “Aye. It is at that.” He looked out over the familiar rolling hillsides and rocky shoreline that made up his prison and his home, all rolled into one. “If you call me Magnus, it’ll avoid any confusion.”

  “Aye, it would.” She mimicked his Highland burr and chuckled. “I’m Geneva. There’s no point standing on ceremony with someone who’s seen your bare backside, is there?”

  “It does seem unfair. You really ought to let me take a look at yours in return.” Magnus stopped, stunned at having voiced such a crass sentiment aloud—and to a lady at that.

  Geneva blinked. After a moment, she laughed, deep and hearty. “Very nicely played, my lord Magnus. Except I think there’s a pretty island healer who might object if I did.”

  He shrugged. “She’s no call to object. She likes being the belle of the island, but it’s Quentin she’s betrothed to.”

  “Oh.” She chuckled again. “Well, I misunderstood that part of her rant. On the other hand, she still doesn’t seem any too fond of modern science, including the medical profession.”

  “Well, that’s her problem, isn’t it? I’ve enough of my own to worry about.”

  “You have no idea what’s causing the kraken to attack.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Quentin has a few. The magick is angry, he says, about my modern inventions, and because I’ve not taken another bride.”

  “How long ago did you lose your wife?” She looked away, out across the sea, but there was a wealth of compassion in her husky tone. Not pity—he hated that. Somehow Geneva made it seem as if she genuinely cared. Likely that was the gift that made her such a good physician.

  “Four years.” Magnus turned away from her, looking out over a different wall. When it came to Isobel, his emotions were unstable, to say the least.

  A soft hand touched his shoulder. “How did she die?”

  “Childbirth.” He gave a rusty laugh. “Her father claims I killed her, and I suppose I did. She begged me to take her to the mainland for the birth, to the doctor who’d treated her since childhood. Unfortunately, I cannot leave Torkholm, and for the magick to take, my son needed to be born on the isle.”

  “She had to have known that before she married you. Surely you could have brought a doctor here?” Her hand slid down to rest on his on the crenellation in front of them.

  “I offered, but she went a little mad, I think. A month before the child was due, Isobel jumped from the balcony off our bedchamber.”

  She inhaled sharply and her fingers tightened around his. “Good heavens, I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “Oddly enough, the fall didn’t kill her, but it did set off labor, and the birthing went poorly. Edda tried to save the babe, but the lad never took a breath.” Magnus paused a moment, his jaw tight as he fought to steady himself. “Now you know why so many in my clan want me to choose a bride from Torkholm—one who won’t go mad being trapped here the rest of her life.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Magnus.” Her voice was strong, fierce. “I assume she agreed to stay here before you were married. Sometimes the brain is a strange thing. One tiny blood vessel can rupture and destroy everything that makes us who we are. Or, during pregnancy, the chemicals in the bloodstream can cause strange fancies. I’ve seen how you care about your people. I can’t believe you were any less concerned with your own wife and child.”

  “I did my best. ’Twasn’t a love match, but I honored her. Sent for anything she desired.”

  “How did you meet her in the first place? From what you say, you’ve been laird since you were a child. You can’t have left, not even for school or the usual Grand Tour.”

  “No. I haven’t been farther than Mull since I was five years old. My mum took me to Skye once, to see her kin for
a night. That was the farthest I’ve ever been.” He settled against the parapet and drew her hand more firmly into his, lacing their fingers together. It had been such a long time since he’d had someone he could talk to, other than Rannulf who felt as much guilt as he did. “Isobel was a schoolmate of Catherine, my cousin. Catherine brought her home for a visit one summer, along with a few other friends. She hoped that I’d be interested in one of the girls.”

  “And you were.”

  “Aye. Isobel was a good lass.” The memories hurt less than he’d expected, as if the mere act of telling the tale relegated it to the past, where it belonged. “I liked her a great deal. She was clever, you see. Quick witted and full of plans. Much of the modernization here was her idea. Half the time she could beat me at chess. Yet, in the end, being a baroness didn’t make up for the loneliness of being trapped here. Torkholm wasn’t enough. She’d decided to go to London for the Season, before she learned she was increasing.”

  “She was unhappy about the pregnancy.”

  “Aye and nay. She wanted children, or at least, she said she did. Just not quite then. ’Twas me who couldn’t wait. Planning for the bairn felt like Christmas and my birthday all rolled into one. I couldn’t wait to see if it was a boy or girl, fair or dark.” His desire had killed her, plain and simple.

  “You wanted a family of your own, to help make up for losing your parents so young.”

  “Another clever lass,” he grumbled. “But aye, I suppose that’s true.”

  “Let go of the guilt. It wasn’t your fault. I’ve seen such horrible things, even in my few years as a doctor. No one can ever fully predict the behavior of another. You couldn’t have known she’d take her own life, and the child’s along with her. It’s time to forgive yourself.”

  “See? Clever.” He pulled her more snugly against him, bending his head to brush his lips across her forehead. “Thank you for listening to my ramblings.”

  She reached up and touched a finger to his cheek. “You’re welcome.”

  He couldn’t help himself. He kissed her.

  Her lips were soft, but sure. One strong, slender arm came up to clutch his shoulder and hold him in place as she returned the caress.

  Her touch was a benediction—like the heavens giving him permission to move forward with his life. He drank her in, enjoying the soft press of her strong, lush curves against his chest. One hand tangled in her hair, the other dropped down to her backside, and pulled her even closer. She opened her lips and he swept his tongue inside, lost in sensation.

  A loud cough jolted him back down to earth. “They’re waiting for you at the table.”

  Magnus looked at Quentin’s disapproving scowl over Geneva’s shoulder. “We’ll be down in a moment. Go tell Cook we’re on our way.”

  “Aye, my lord.” With a snapped salute, Magnus’s closest friend whirled and stormed inside.

  Magnus winced. “He won’t say a word. On my honor.” He bent to help Geneva pick up the hairpins he’d dislodged. Her wild mahogany curls danced in the breeze.

  “I’m not worried about it. I’m a bit too old to give a rip about my reputation.”

  “As old as that?” He caught a stray tress and handed over a pin at a time.

  “I’m eight-and-twenty, which puts me firmly on the shelf.” She managed to do a creditable job containing her hair, given the wind and lack of a mirror.

  “You’re still younger than me. I turned thirty last month.” He stroked her throat with one hand. “I’d apologize, but I’m not sorry at all.”

  Her eyes gleamed up at him. “Neither am I.”

  Then he said the words that chipped away another piece of his soul. “Never worry, though. I won’t ask you to stay. I know you’ve a life out there in the world.”

  Chapter Five

  Geneva didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at Magnus’s grim comment before he escorted her down the steps. On the one hand, she didn’t take well to being dismissed. On the other, he was being more than a little presumptuous. Stay? Here? With no shops or theaters or even teletext? Heaven forbid. She wasn’t about to get all starry-eyed over a simple kiss—even if there hadn’t been anything simple about it.

  They paused in a washroom on the fourth floor before making their way to the lift for the rest of the trip. After fixing her hair and splashing cold water on her face, she looked presentable enough to face the world, even if she felt anything but.

  “You were right about the view from the parapet. It is quite spectacular,” she said to Alice as she accepted a bowl of soup from a footman. “The weather here is balmy compared to Edinburgh.”

  “Warm ocean currents,” Magnus said, sitting beside her. “The Gulf Steam brings us clement weather all the way from the Americas.”

  Alice spoke to Magnus but beamed at Rannulf. “You’re very educated for having never gone to school. You must have had excellent tutors.”

  Geneva stifled a smile and saw Magnus do the same. “I did. My uncle made sure I never lacked for anything mere money could bring to our island. In fact, I did go to school. We have a small one here that all the children attend, along with a few from nearby islands who board in the village. Some, like Quentin here, even go on to university straightaway.”

  Determined to be polite, Geneva turned to Quentin. “Where did you study? It must have been quite an adjustment after living your whole life on Torkholm.” That was an assumption, she realized as she said the words. She knew very little about Magnus’s cousin and man of business—except that he didn’t seem to approve of her.

  “St. Andrews.” His tone was curt, almost dismissive, but stopping just short of being rude. “Yes, it was a change, and not a good one. I much prefer being at home.”

  A man—a crofter, perhaps, based on his unkempt appearance—scurried into the hall, his hat in his quivering hands. “There’s an airship coming, my laird. I saw it from the north pasture.” The words fairly exploded from his mouth.

  “That’s the highest ground on the island besides the castle,” Magnus said under his breath. “Slow down, Evan. Are you sure this airship is headed here and not passing over?”

  The man shook his head. “Can’t be going anywhere else, not on that heading. ’Tisn’t big enough to be bound for America.”

  Magnus quirked an eyebrow at Geneva as he stood. “Just what did you put in those teletexts you sent?”

  “What makes you think it has anything to do with me?” She set down her soup spoon and rose to her feet. The Order did have several small dirigibles. It was entirely likely her father had sent an actual Order employee to investigate the kraken attacks, and to look after Geneva.

  “Merely a guess,” he muttered before turning to his uncle. “Rannulf, keep the women and children here in the hall. Evan, you run and tell the crofters to take cover. Quentin, round up the warriors and come with me. The north pasture is the most likely place for an airship to set down.”

  “I’m coming with you.” Geneva followed Magnus from the table, not surprised when he ducked into the armory for his pistol and sword. “If it does have to do with me, I should be there.”

  “And if ’tis another attack?” He gave her an imperious stare that probably sent most of his people running to do his bidding.

  Geneva rather wanted to kiss it into a smile, but now was not the time. “Give me one of those pistol belts. I know how to use them.”

  “Aye, she does.” Rannulf spoke from behind them. “Doubt you remember much about the attack while we were on the way back from Mull, lad, but she’s the one who shot the beast in the eye.”

  Magnus studied her with a gleam of speculation in his eyes, but handed her a belt with two revolvers. “If there’s trouble, get under cover as quick as you can. We need a doctor more than we need another gun.”

  “Of course.” She wasn’t stupid and had no intention of taking unnecessary risks. “Shall we go?”

  The walk to the pasture took only a few minutes, and by the time they reached the flat grassy plain,
the sounds of an airship’s propellers roared in her ears. The sheep had wisely scattered, and Magnus’s warriors took up positions behind tall granite standing stones, arranged in a circle at least a hundred yards in diameter around the pasture. A few others found places in nearby trees. Magnus, flanked by Quentin and Geneva, waited by a flat stone set a few feet inside the circle, near the southern border of the field. Geneva felt power hum through the granite at her back. This would be the heart of Torkholm’s magick—the area had almost certainly been sacred in ancient times, and had been carefully tended since to keep the power flowing, strong and true. Faded bronze stains marked the surface of the stone, and she spared a hope that the blood sacrifices held here were all long in the past.

  As the airship approached, she recognized the vessel and tugged on Magnus’s sleeve. “My father,” she shouted. “Or someone sent by him.”

  Magnus nodded and took his hand off the hilt of his sword, though he kept it on his hip, at the ready. The airship touched down and Geneva muffled a groan. Her father was not standing on the deck. That was some blessing, given the rampant attraction between her and Magnus, which she didn’t even think a doting papa could miss. The two figures who waited by the rail were almost as unwelcome.

  Geneva waved at the two young men to signal she was fine and not being held under duress. Magnus lifted a brow. “My brother and a friend.”

  Tom Devere, the youngest Knight in the Order, at a year Connor’s junior, and his closest friend, deployed the gangplank and clambered down, her brother at his heels. Both heavily armed men strode straight for Geneva and Magnus.

  “Halt!” A high-pitched shriek tore through the pasture, loud enough to be heard over the idling dirigible. Catriona ran into the circle, waving her arms, her raven tresses blowing in the wind of the rotors. “Away, you defilers.”