Loving the Highlander

by Janet Chapman

  Callum suddenly paled. Morgan watched, surprised, as his cousin nervously smoothed down the front of his shirt and looked every place but at him.

  “Ah, no. Sadie—she prefers Sadie to Mercedes—is a comely lass,” Callum said in a pensive voice. “And she’s tall, Morgan,” he added a bit desperately, taking a step forward and finally looking at him. “But there is something I want to warn you about.”

  Morgan slapped his hand down on the bureau. “Dammit, I knew you were setting me up. What woman reaches the age of twenty-seven and still needs her mother to find her a date?”

  “A perfectly fine woman,” Callum said, getting defensive. “But nobody is flawless.”

  “And this Quill woman? What is her flaw?” Morgan asked, feeling a bit defensive himself. He’d agreed to this date only because he owed Callum for helping him build his house. Hell, one evening out with a woman, even if she stood five feet tall and was missing some teeth, was well worth two months of free manual labor. Or was it?

  Morgan was getting an ache in his belly.

  “Sadie Quill is perfectly normal,” Callum said, not looking at him again. His cousin began fidgeting with his own tie, tugging at the knot at his throat. “It’s just that…well, she was in a fire eight years ago,” Callum said to the floor. He looked up, his hazel eyes worried. “She has some scars.”

  “She’s disfigured? From the fire?” Morgan asked, his defensiveness suddenly gone. It was replaced by suspicion. And a sudden thought. “Where are these scars?”

  Callum waved a negligent hand in front of his body. “Her back, mostly, Charlotte told me,” he said. “Her left side and the inside of one arm.”

  “And?” Morgan asked, his suspicion more focused.

  Callum frowned at him. “And her hand,” he added. “She wears a soft leather glove on her right hand to hide her scars.” He pointed at Morgan. “You cannot back out on me now,” he said, his expression threatening. “I promised Charlotte. And I swear I’ll tear your house down board by board with my bare hands if you renege on our deal.”

  Morgan rubbed his own hands together and started for the door. “Don’t worry. I’ve no intention of missing this evening.” He looked back over his shoulder to find that Callum wasn’t following. “What? We’re going to be late.”

  “One more thing,” Callum said, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “When I introduce you to Sadie, don’t offer to shake her hand unless she offers first. She may be self-conscious with you because you’re her date, and I don’t want her to be embarrassed.”

  Embarrassed? Hell. Morgan doubted embarrassment would be the first emotion the woman would feel. Shock was more likely. And a healthy dose of discomfort.

  “Don’t worry, cousin,” Morgan quickly assured him, slapping himself in the chest. “There. I just put on my mantle of charm,” he said with a smile. “For my date with your woman’s daughter.” He held his hand up in salute. “Long hair, braid, and all, tonight I will be a perfect gentleman.”

  “Are you sure Callum warned this guy about my scars?” Sadie asked for the tenth time in as many minutes.

  Charlotte walked over and rearranged Sadie’s newly trimmed, gently permed hair over her shoulders. She smiled with motherly satisfaction.

  “Callum promised me he’d discreetly broach the subject,” Charlotte warmly assured her. She straightened Sadie’s new silk blouse next, undoing the button at her throat. “Here. You don’t need to look as if you’re being strangled. You have an elegant, long neck and a beautiful throat. Show them off.”

  Sadie automatically reached up and pulled the edges of the collar closer together, but she didn’t redo the button.

  Charlotte smoothed down her sleeves next, ending up by taking hold of Sadie’s hands and smiling at her again. “The color of that blouse sets off your eyes. And that new camisole is much prettier than those old body socks you’re always wearing. It was worth the drive to Bangor to go shopping for your outfit and find a professional salon. You’re beautiful, Sadie.”

  Sadie felt her cheeks heat. She pulled her hands free and finished her mother’s job, smoothing down the front of her black linen pants. She tested the fit of her new shoes. It was the first time in her life she’d worn anything other than flats. Her mom had insisted that her blind date was a good bit taller than her, and so Charlotte had talked Sadie into two-inch heels.

  She only hoped that she wouldn’t break her long, elegant neck trying to walk in them.

  And that Morgan MacKeage wouldn’t turn out to be a dork.

  Sadie couldn’t explain it, but she was actually nervous about tonight. She would never in a million years admit it to her mother, but she was also worried that she was slowly becoming one of those addlebrained old spinster cat ladies. How many more frogs was she going to have to kiss before she found her prince?

  The really sad part was, Sadie was starting to consider herself lucky if even the frogs wanted to kiss her.

  “You’re sure Callum prepared the hermit for what he’s getting tonight?” Sadie asked again, suddenly filled with anxious energy. “I mean, not just my scars but that I’m a bit of a klutz sometimes?”

  Charlotte walked to the kitchen door and snapped on the porch light. “You’re not a klutz,” she said fiercely, turning back to face Sadie. “You can be graceful when you want to be. You just refuse to bother most of the time.”

  “The point being?” Sadie asked, disgruntled that her mother had all but agreed with her.

  “The point being that your abilities change in direct proportion to your interest in something. When you’re kayaking rapids, you’re not a klutz,” Charlotte said more softly, coming to stand in front of her again. “When you’re photographing wildlife, you never make a mistake.” She fluffed the padded shoulders of Sadie’s blouse. “And with the right partner, you could dance like Ginger Rogers.”

  Somewhat mollified, Sadie turned to present her back to her mom and used both hands to point at her body. “Does the camisole drape properly to hide my scars?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at her mother. “Does it give my back a smooth line?”

  Charlotte gave her a critical inspection, her brows furrowed. “As smooth as a baby’s bottom. All six-foot-one-inch of beautiful woman.”

  Sadie grinned and turned back to face her mother. “Did I just get all gussied up for another dork?” she asked.

  Charlotte shook her head. “No, sweetie. You got gussied up for yourself. Because even if you and Morgan don’t hit it off tonight, you can safely assume it’s his shortcoming, not yours.”

  Sadie walked over and kissed her mother on the cheek. “And that’s why I need you,” she whispered. “You keep things in perspective for me.”

  Charlotte’s smile was warm. She started to say something but stopped suddenly at the sound of a truck pulling into the driveway.

  “They’re here,” Charlotte said, her face immediately lighting with pleasure. She turned and rushed to the door, opening it wide before smoothing down her own outfit.

  Sadie followed at a more sedate pace, shaking her head and smiling at her mother’s excitement. Charlotte Quill really was in love again. And she positively glowed, not only from that love but from the promise of the secret little life nestled securely in her belly.

  Sadie only wished she could be a fly on the wall when that secret was finally revealed to Callum MacKeage.

  Truck doors slammed, and Sadie peeked over her mother’s shoulder to see two men walking toward the porch. She sighed with relief. Morgan-the-hermit really was tall. That was one awkward obstacle out of the way.

  He certainly wasn’t a dork, if that manly swagger was any indication. Even from this distance, Sadie could see that the man carried himself with confidence, apparently not at all put off by finding himself on a blind date.

  Sadie backed up to let her mother greet their guests, at the same time quickly smoothing her cuff over the hem of her glove, hoping to calm the butterflies now rioting in her belly.

  Callum stepped thr
ough the door first, stopping in mid-stride to stare at Charlotte. “I swear, woman,” he said, his voice gravely serious. “You get prettier every time I see you.”

  With that declaration, he swept Sadie’s suddenly flustered mother into a bear of an embrace and kissed her soundly on the lips. Charlotte, her face flushed red, pulled away and quickly turned her attention to smoothing down her clothes again. She tried fussing with her hair then, but Callum pulled her under his arm and turned them both to face Sadie, Callum grinning like a cat who had just polished off a large dish of cream.

  “Sadie,” he said, “I’d like to introduce you to my cousin, Morgan.” He turned slightly, moving a still flustered Charlotte with him. “Morgan, this is Sadie Quill.”

  Sadie barely heard what Callum was saying. Her feet were lead weights stuck to the floor. Her vision had narrowed and dimmed, her heart was trying to pound a hole in her chest, and the loud buzz of pumping blood rang in her ears. She couldn’t work up a drop of moisture in her mouth, and a lump the size of a basketball was lodged in her throat.

  She could only stare, open-mouthed, at her date.

  The man stood just inside the kitchen door, his broad shoulders nearly touching the woodwork on both sides, his hands negligently thrust into his pants pockets, and his unforgettably familiar, forest-green eyes making Sadie think the butterflies in her stomach just might escape.

  Her date wasn’t a dork. He was the madman from the lake.

  And she was supposed to spend the evening with him?

  He took a step toward her.

  Acting on instinct alone, Sadie took an equal step back.

  His eyes suddenly lighting with unholy mischief, Morgan MacKeage took yet another step forward. He pulled a hand out of his pocket and held it out to her.

  The jerk. The silently laughing, defiantly challenging jerk was just daring her to put her gloved right hand in his.

  Callum gave a deep cough into his fist. Sadie looked over to find him glaring at Morgan MacKeage with enough force to knock the man over. She looked back at her date from hell. He wasn’t paying any attention to his cousin. He was still staring at her, still holding out his hand.

  Sadie looked at her mother then. Charlotte appeared horrified. But was her mother horrified for her or at her for not politely greeting her date?

  Anger suddenly came to Sadie’s rescue. Morgan MacKeage had been born a jerk and would likely die a jerk. But that didn’t mean she had to let him be a jerk to her tonight.

  He had no right to toy with her this way. Even if she had caught him swimming naked, he didn’t have the right to continue punishing her for what was really no more than a minor indiscretion four days ago. It had been an innocent mistake that any person would have made given the circumstances. If their roles had been reversed, she’d like to have seen Morgan MacKeage simply turn his back on a naked woman swimming in a lake.

  Which meant she had two choices here. She could shake the hand that he was still insistently holding out to her, or she could spit on that hand—if she could somehow get the glands in her mouth to work again—and run screaming up to her room.

  Both choices made her stomach knot.

  Lifting her chin and steeling herself for the feel of his grip, Sadie reached out with her right hand and firmly placed it in his. He gently closed his fingers over her glove and bent slightly at the waist.

  “It is certainly my pleasure, Mercedes,” he said in a soft brogue, his polite tone a stark contradiction to his laughing eyes. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Again,” he added in a soft whisper that only she could hear.

  The right corner of his mouth turned up in a grin, and he looked at Callum. “You could have warned me, cousin, that she was beautiful enough to take a man’s breath away.”

  Callum arched one bushy eyebrow. “I believe I did mention that fact,” he said, smiling tightly.

  Sadie gently tugged on her hand, hoping to get it back sometime tonight. Morgan MacKeage shot her a mischievous wink that silently said he clearly knew her discomfort. Instead of releasing her hand, he moved one long finger past the hem of her glove and rested it on the inside of her wrist, directly over her racing pulse.

  Sadie flinched at the intimate contact and shivered at the fire that shot up her arm and into the center of her chest. She tugged more frantically to free herself.

  His smile now decidedly wicked, Morgan MacKeage refused to release her. He moved instead to stand beside her, tucking her arm through his, anchoring her to his side.

  “Shall we go, then?” he said to the room at large. “I believe our reservations are for eight o’clock.”

  “I need my sweater,” Sadie said. She made another attempt to free herself.

  He started walking to the door as if she hadn’t spoken, her entire arm as well as her hand still entrapped. “You won’t need it,” he said as he all but dragged her along. “It’s a perfect late-summer night.”

  He led her through the door and onto the porch, where he stopped briefly. “If you get chilled, lass, I’ll gladly warm you up,” he said in a lowered voice, for her ears only.

  Sadie was already chilled, all the way down to her bones. She couldn’t possibly spend an entire evening with this man, considering what she’d done to him four days ago. Especially considering that she knew exactly what Morgan MacKeage looked like without his clothes on.

  A bead of sweat trickled between Sadie’s breasts. How was she supposed to spend an entire evening with this Adonis and not make more of a fool of herself than she already had? How did a woman smile and talk and share food with a man when she knew that his tie and jacket were merely a civilized veneer covering the body of a god?

  Then again, how could she bow out on her mother now?

  She was smartly trapped—in more ways than one.

  Her arm still in his possession, he led her off the porch toward the monstrous four-door truck he and Callum had arrived in. He finally did release her, but only after he had opened the back door of the truck. He let go of her arm, grabbed her around the waist, and lifted her into the seat. He then gently closed the door before she finished gasping in shock.

  Sadie found herself sitting beside her mother. Charlotte quietly handed Sadie her purse, a bemused smile warming her face.

  “Morgan seems to be one of those take-charge kinds of men,” Charlotte said, approval obvious in her voice. She patted Sadie’s knee. “Just what you need.”

  Sadie smiled at her mom. “You mean the kind of man who puts his date in the backseat?” she asked. She waved at the still empty front seats. “What is this, 1955?”

  Charlotte smiled back, shaking her head. “I told you Cal was old-fashioned,” she said. “And it’s kind of sweet, when you think about it. Cal is always worried about getting into an accident when we go out and having the airbag hurt me if it deploys.” Charlotte leaned over and said in a whisper, “He saw something on the news about them being dangerous to small people.” She actually giggled. “Cal says I’m a tiny thing, and it worries him. Can you believe that, thinking me tiny?”

  Sadie refrained from rolling her eyes. “You are small, Mom, compared with Callum.”

  Sadie shot a look through the windshield to see their two dates now standing at the front of the truck, exchanging words. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but both men wore darkened expressions. It appeared that Callum was scolding Morgan. Good. The arrogant jerk needed a set-down. And since Callum was more of a size to do it, Sadie basked in the hope that her mother’s boyfriend was up to the task.

  Chapter Eight

  On the pretense of smoothing down his tie, Morgan petted the cherrywood burl softly humming against his chest. The drùidh’s charm had started to warm and gently vibrate the moment Mercedes Quill had placed her hand in his.

  And now the damn thing was still not wanting to settle down.

  Morgan sat at the tiny table of the restaurant nestled on the shore of Pine Lake. The dining room was dotted with on
ly a few late diners, as most of the people had already moved to the adjoining dance floor and bar. Morgan absently listened to the lounge music and idle chatter between his cousin and his cousin’s woman, but his attention was definitely focused on his date.

  The woman had cleaned up rather nicely from the woods sprite he’d encountered four days ago. He had almost forgotten how tall she was. But not how beautiful. Mercedes had shiny blond hair that fell in waves to the small of her back, golden skin that had been kissed gently by the sun, and an utterly feminine body that made his own skin tighten in response. She was arresting, and Morgan had noticed more than one man glancing at her during dinner.

  Not that his date noticed. She seemed completely oblivious to her effect on men.

  And that pleased him.

  Morgan was also pleased that Mercedes was a woman of very few words. He’d gotten maybe a dozen sentences out of her all evening, and most of those had not been directed at him.

  But what he really liked, what most drew him to Mercedes Quill, was the thing that most disturbed him: her eyes. They were the color of an autumn sky freshly washed by a fast-moving rain. Sparkling. Energized. Alive.

  And he wanted to possess them.

  To possess her. He wanted to wrap his arms around Mercedes, pull her lovely, supple body against him, and focus all five of his senses on her beauty.

  Morgan stood up and held out his hand to Mercedes—his left hand this time. “I’d enjoy your company on the dance floor,” he said, making sure his voice didn’t betray his thoughts.

  She appeared downright appalled by his invitation, her gaze darting from him to the dance floor, then swiftly back to him. She looked as if he had just asked her to take off all her clothes.

  Now, that irked. Except for demanding that she give him her scarred hand back at the house, he’d been a perfect gentleman all evening. Hell, he’d set her in the backseat of the truck where she’d be safest, he’d ordered a delicious dinner of salmon for her, and he’d just ordered her a nice glass of sweet red wine, of which she’d only taken one sip.