No Law Against Love

by Deborah MacGillivray

  Catlynne shifted her stance, as if balancing her weight to one leg, prelude to delivering a stiff kick. James held up his hands, flattened palms to her. “First kick was getting acquainted. Kick me again and I’m going to turn you over my knee, Catlynne. Hmm, Cat,” he growled. “Your mum named you well.”

  All sorts of images sprang to mind. Here, kitty kitty. He wondered if she’d purr when he stroked the curve of her spine with his tongue. Would she hiss and flex those claws when he’d enter her body with a sure thrust?

  “Your mum named you after one of Scotland’s greatest heroes. How did she muff it so?” she snapped.

  “So, that means you won’t sleep with me tonight?” James suppressed the grin fighting to escape. He wasn’t usually a jerk, but he enjoyed teasing Ms. Catlynne Falconer. “I promise to make you purr, lass.”

  She drew back her hand to slap him, but he was quicker. He caught her wrist and yanked her forward, pulling her into his lap. Cat let out a strangled yelp. Before she closed her mouth, he kissed her.

  Oh, man, did he kiss Miss Catlynne Falconer! Not a gentle first kiss, but with full pleasure and passion that erupted within him. Her lips tasted of tart lemonade. She wiggled, so he leaned her back, cradling her neck in his hand, the other on the small of her spine. His mouth molded hers, tilting for a better angle.

  He couldn’t ever recall enjoying a kiss as much. Catlynne stopped the squirming, her hands clutched his waist, hanging on. Her responses ran the gamut from resistance to acquiescence, then surprise, ending with her kissing him back.

  James lost sense of where he was, until applause broke out around them. Recalling they were on the picnic grounds with about two hundred female writers, he reluctantly pulled back.

  Dazed, Catlynne blinked several times, then grew aware of the hooting, whistling and clapping. Turning five shades of red, her eyes narrowed on him as she clearly considered slapping him again. She was furious. Even so, he saw the flash of desire threaded with confusion at the back of those whisky eyes. She nibbled on the corner of her kiss-swollen lips.

  He leaned his head to hers and threatened, “Don’t do it. Each time you do me bodily harm, I shall extract vengeance by kissing you senseless―no matter where we are.”

  “You…you…” she spluttered, at a loss for words.

  He flashed a smile guaranteed to dazzle the ladies, then rose to his feet and executed a bow.

  Catlynne dashed away from the area where the picnic tables were cordoned off.

  James scratched Jack’s head. “She left you again, beast. I think she does that just to have an excuse to come back and fetch you.”

  James tossed down a tip for the waitress, picked up the leash and started down the fairway with Jack. He began whistling an old Blondie tune, One Way or Another. “Yeah, I’m gonna get ya’, get ya’, get ya’, get ya’.”

  Suddenly things were looking up.

  ~~~

  Catlynne finished blow-drying her hair, then wound up the cord. Going back into the bedroom, she replaced it in her travel bag. She noticed the red blinking light on the phone indicating she had a message and had an idea from whom. Kinloch. He had Jack and wasn’t answering her pages to return him.

  Putting her fingers to her lips, she recalled how James Douglas Kinloch tasted. Her body started that low burning thrum that reminded he was an excellent kisser.

  She was a little concerned. Jack didn’t like men. And considering the scathing reviews Kinloch did for her books, she figured the man didn’t like cats either. This character―a cat mind you―is more annoying than a dozen Garfields rolled into one. So she was uneasy about the beast of Money & Trends and her beastie paling together.

  Going to the phone, she listened to the message. She’d called him seven times and demanded he return her cat.

  The clipped Scot accent came across the recorded message. “Your cat? Mine now. Finders keepers, losers weepers.” Then a click.

  She imagined the self-satisfied smirk beneath the flashing lavender eyes. Knees feeling weak, she sat on the bed with a thump. A man like that was a heartbreaker. Worse, he was a bloody book reviewer.

  Why suddenly were things looking so down?

  ~~~

  Catlynne marched to the desk of the elegant, gold-tone foyer of the Majestic Park Hotel and addressed the desk porter behind the reception counter. “May I have the room number of Mr. James Kinloch?”

  The young man sniggered. “Hotel policy doesn’t permit giving out room numbers. You may leave him a message or I can ring a call through to him.”

  She gritted her teeth. Accepting the note pad, she scrawled, return my cat or I shall have you arrested for catnapping. Folding the paper, she pushed it at the man.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “What? Not going to bribe me with a hundred-pound note? All the ladies wanting to get a message to Kinloch have funded my daughter’s coming wedding.”

  “Much happiness on your daughter’s nuptials, but I wouldn’t spend one shilling on James Douglas Kinloch.”

  Spinning on her heels, she headed toward the ballroom. From behind her, she heard the porter say, “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

  ~~~

  “Would you look at that?” someone halfway down the row of tables gasped.

  The cacophony of wolf-whistles and chuckles caused Catlynne’s head to snap up from autographing her books.

  Leanne Burroughs, author of Her Highland Rogue and owner of Highland Press, sat to Catlynne’s right. Pausing, she leaned to Catlynne and pointed with the end of the pen. “I believe that’s your cat, isn’t it?”

  Catlynne glanced down the crowded isle. Women stood in lines before authors to get their books signed. Suddenly, the interest wasn’t in the tables where the books were displayed or authors busy autographing them, but at a ruckus behind them. The crowd parted so all could observe the man coming her way.

  James Kinloch wore a black turtleneck sweater, stunning with that blue-black hair. What caused women to go on pheromone overload―he wore a black tartan kilt with purple in the plaid. Those pale eyes spotted her, then flashed with smug arrogance. Catlynne burned to slap the expression off his much too beautiful face. Torn, she watched as Jack bounced along, keeping pace with the man better than any dog could. Though she itched to bring the reviewer down a peg, her heart couldn’t help but be touched by how man and cat had bonded.

  “I found my Highlander hero for my next book.” Leanne chuckled. “I’d take him home, but my Tom might not approve.”

  Catlynne repressed the urge to growl. “Trust me, you don’t want him.”

  “Easy—I’m not going to arm-wrestle you for him.”

  Reaching for another book to sign, Catlynne had to tug the book from the fan’s hand, as the woman was transfixed on the sexy man in the kilt. “Not what I meant. He’s James Douglas Kinloch―a book critic.”

  “Ah, sigh. Just as well I have Tom, then. He’s very supportive of my writing.” Leanne watched the man draw near. “He does favor what I always imagined Good Sir James Douglas looking like. Can’t you see him at The Bruce’s side, claymore in his hands, fighting to free Scotland?”

  Kinloch came directly to her table, scooped up Jack and set him on the tabletop. He winked at the three ladies standing in line, then turned back to Catlynne. “Sorry, we’re late. Jack couldn’t decide what to wear and insisted on my bow tie.”

  Sure enough, Jack sported a tartan tie the same plaid as James’ kilt. He looked adorable, but Catlynne was too gub-slapped to speak. The man was stunning, and yes, he did appear as if Good Sir James had come to life. As she stared into those pale lilac eyes, she felt lost to all around her.

  “Awww…kitty does look like a reincarnated pirate,” a Scottish lady waiting to have her books signed commented, petting Jack. “He’s so huge. He must’ve been a braw and bonnie pirate in his other life.”

  James handed Catlynne the leash―a black one, then moved to set the boxes of books on the floor so he could use the chair. He pushed it to sit jus
t to her right and a little behind her. “Did I miss much?”

  Leanne cleared her throat loudly, holding out her hand. “Hello, I’m Leanne Burroughs. I write Scottish romances and I’m owner of Highland Press.”

  “Smart lass. I’ve heard good things about your quality books and the direction your small press is moving. Very positive for Romance Writers.” James flashed a killer smile. Instead of shaking her hand, he kissed it in courtly fashion. “Please set aside copies of all Highland Press books for me so I can review them.”

  “You’ll be sorry,” Catlynne muttered in singsong, so the words carried only to James and Leanne. “Trust me. I’ve been blessed with a Kinloch review for every book I’ve written. It’s something every writer could live without.”

  “She thinks moi―a humble reviewer―hurt her sales,” he confided with a wink.

  Damn his charming rogue hide. Women had a hard time resisting melt down around a sexy man in a kilt with a burr in his voice. Add wavy black hair and lavender eyes and it was a lethal combination.

  “I’ve come to make amends.” He arched an eyebrow at the women suddenly lining up to get Catlynne’s books.

  Jack stretched out on the corner of the table enjoying the pets and adoration. Fixing on the leash, Catlynne asked, “What happened to his red one?”

  James shrugged. “Red doesn’t go with my plaid. We stopped by the pet centre they have here. This hotel is a small city. I purchased a new leash and some treats. Also, he found a catnip mouse he really wanted. Do you know they even have babysitting service for pets or the super kennel where you can park them for a spell, say like later when we go dancing in the nightclub?”

  “Dream on, Kinloch.” Her reply was defensive, trying to keep him at arms’ length.

  Oh, but her heart, and Leanne’s all-knowing stare, branded her a fool.

  ~~~

  She was a coward. As the book signing broke up, the women mobbed the sexy man in a kilt. Catlynne used the confusion to slip away from him.

  Hadn’t mattered. James Kinloch would prove damn hard to avoid. Especially since he ended up with Jack again.

  Early the next morn, before anyone was up and about, she slipped downstairs to relax by doing a few laps in the pool. When she came up for air, she spotted Jack laying on a chaise lounge smiling at her.

  James dove into the pool with a backwash of water, then surfaced in front of her. She opened her mouth to berate him for causing the big splash, but the fool man kissed her. Kissed her until her toes curled and the water in the pool rose to boiling. She nearly forgot they were in the glassed-in pool and the dining room looked into it―until she heard a rap on the glass and glanced up to see Leanne Burroughs and Diane D. White waving at them.

  ~~~

  That became the pattern for the next three days. Now, she was so confused she wanted to cry. She was falling for James Kinloch―hard. Yet, she had no idea how the arrogant man felt about her. Sure, he chased her like mad, but was he merely passing time at the convention, an affair he’d forget once he was back in Scotland? Until her next book came out and he had to write another review, that is.

  Catlynne tried to push the fears from her mind as she stood in the nightclub with Leanne and Diane discussing new projects for Highland Press. A hush fell across the room as the first chords of a guitar and piano floated in the air. As it registered what the tune was, her eyes jerked up to see James standing across the room. Al Stewart’s poetic Year of the Cat filled the air. Her gaze locked with James’ and all about her receded to black.

  Drawn to him, she walked away from Leanne and Diane without a word. He stood waiting for her to come to him, assured she would. A warlock conjuring her with a power she couldn’t resist.

  She didn’t want to resist.

  As she neared, she saw satisfaction in his lavender eyes. He opened his arms and she stepped into them. It felt like coming home.

  That terrified her.

  They swayed, not really dancing, just caught up in the magic of the moment. Al Stewart’s beautiful song wrapped around them, cocooning them. Heat rolled off his body, the hint of cedar and bergamot of his cologne intoxicating. But the scent of the man underneath was even more lethal.

  “Stay with me tonight,” he whispered as he nuzzled her ear.

  She looked up into the lilac eyes and nodded.

  It was just that simple.

  ~~~

  It was just that complicated. She’d taken the coward’s way out.

  At dawn, he finally fell asleep after making love to her all night. Drowning in those sensual images, peace eluded her. She leaned against his back, her hand stroking his beautiful arm.

  She was in love with James Douglas Kinloch.

  Fearing pain loving him could bring, she quickly dressed and slipped out of his room. Unable to face him, she hadn’t even shown up for breakfast.

  Thinking to distract the inner demons tormenting her, she’d joined Leanne and Diane in the crossbow demonstration.

  Her mind not on the task, Catlynne struggled, trying to load the crossbow. Blasted thing wasn’t easy to manipulate. There were several types, and naturally she ended up with one hard on her wrist. The crank that wrenched the bow into place required her to push with the power of her wrist.

  “Ladies, the crossbow was an important development in weaponry during the Medieval period. First hand-held weapon which could be used by an untrained man to injure or kill a knight in plate armour. The most powerful crossbows could penetrate armour and kill at two-hundred yards. The unassailability of the knight was at risk for the first time, taking the advantage from his hands.” The instructor walked slowly along the line of women armed with replicas of the ancient weapons. “A crossbow contains a bowstring, which is held in place by a nut when the bolt is loaded and the crossbow is engaged. This is referred to as at full cock.”

  This drew chuckles and baudy comments from the ladies participating in the class. One on the far end proclaimed, “Now that’s what I’d call full cock.”

  “Hush, Marigold,” Diane D. White, author of the successful Tartan Cowboy series, chided. She turned back to the others. “Ignore her, she’s an erotica writer.”

  Catlynne knew without looking who had drawn the comment. Swivling her head, she saw James coming in their direction, that traitor Jack with him. For a cat that hated men, Jack sure bonded with Kinloch. Palies.

  She’d fix him…somehow.

  “You ladies have four types of crossbows. Pull-Lever, Push-Lever, Rachet,” he nodded to Catlynne struggling with hers, “and Windlass.” Taking pity on Catlynne, he paused and traded, giving her a ‘baby version’ about one-third the size. “Here, Miss, try the smaller one?”

  She chuckled, trading with him. “My wrist thanks you.”

  “Careful. It’s hair trigger. This smaller copy was an assassin’s weapon. Easily hidden from view. Pope Urban II banned the use of crossbows against Christians in 1097, and the Second Lateran Council did the same for arbalests in 1139. The crossbow was seen as unchivalrous, a threat to social order. Ladies, aim at the target and gently release the trigger.”

  Just then, Virginia Keller’s teacup terrier crawled out of her purse where she’d set it down to handle the crossbow. Yapping, it dashed in front of Jack. Big mistake. With a feral grin, Jack leapt, right on the mutt’s trail. Jack’s weight yanked the leash from James’ hand, as the dog and the feline dashed onto the range just as the ladies were firing the weapons. James lunged in front of Catlynne, trying to snatch the leash to haul Jack back.

  Virginia screamed, “My baby!”

  She tried to go after the doggie, but the heel on her high heel snapped off, causing her to crash into Catlynne. The jarring caused the small crossbow to release its bolt.

  Catlynne stared in horror. James had rescued Jack, but he now stood with a stunned expression―as a small crossbow bolt stuck out the right cheek of his arse.

  “Bloody hell.” James reached around and with gritted teeth yanked the small arrow out. Blood i
mmediately soaked his pants. “I think someone better drive me to hospital so I can get stitches.”

  Taking the leash, Catlynne handed it to Diane. “Please, take Jack inside and tell the desk porter to have the sitter take him to my room.”

  Diane looked as if the Loch Ness Monster was on the end of the leash. “Me? You know I don’t get along with kitties. He’d better not bite me.”

  Leanne laughed as she accepted the leash. “I love cats. Don’t worry. Jack will be fine. Go with James.”

  James teased, “I think she shot me just to get even for all those bad reviews.

  ~~~

  “I want her arrested,” James demanded from his position on his stomach, where they just finished stitching him up.

  Catlynne made a small gasp, staring at him with those huge hazel eyes. “I didn’t do it deliberately, James.”

  The North Yorkshire Police Officer tried to maintain a stoic face. “There seems to be a question about whether Miss Falconer broke a law or not. There’s a law still on the books which states it’s legal to shoot a Scotsman with a bow and arrow every day of the week―except Sunday. Repercussions from William Wallace attacking York. Seeing as it’s Saturday, by the letter of the law she didn’t actually commit a crime.”

  “Why the bloody hell is that archaic law still on the books?” James demanded.

  “It was an accident,” Catlynne repeated, tears filling her eyes. “You cannot believe I did it on purpose.”

  “Accident or not, it’s still not a crime. If she shot you on Sunday, then you’d have grounds to demand her arrest.”

  James shook his finger. “Ah ha! It’s legal to shoot a Scot with a bow and arrow. She shot me with a crossbow. That’s not an arrow, that’s a bolt. Arrest her.”

  “I need to check with the station to get a ruling on this.” The officer scratched his head, clearly humbugged by the distinction. Shrugging, he left the emergency room.

  Catlynne stood on shaky legs, coming to the end of the operating table. “James, why do you want me arrested? It was a series of dreadful mistakes, an accident. I didn’t shoot you on purpose.”

  “Yes, you did.” He reached out, took her hand and placed it to the centre of his chest. “Shot me straight through the heart and I shall never recover. You keep dashing about, have avoided me for the last three days. I hoped to have you arrested so I could post bond and get the judge to remand you to my custody. Then you, me and Jack could go home tomorrow.”