Lord of the Isles: International Billionaires VIII: The Scots

by Caro LaFever

Someone else had known this fact. Right from the start. Right from the very moment they’d met as boys. Someone had said so time and time again during the years they’d played in this castle and gone off to boarding school and served in the Royal Marines.

  Served as comrades, as warriors, as friends.

  Donal Bevan’s face swam into Iain’s memory, blotting out the anger at himself, replacing it with a familiar, weary regret. A regret he’d drowned in whiskey until his cousin’s image and presence had grown dim and blurry.

  Now he couldn’t brush him away any longer.

  “Did you ever think that your da might be wrong?” Donal’s eyes were light blue like his, and piercing.

  “My da knows what he’s doing with the McPherson land.” Iain had turned away from his cousin’s blazing eyes to squint out at the blazing desert sun.

  “Does he?” Donal had been as tenacious as any McPherson could be. “Because I’m thinking that the creamery on Somairie looks to be running like it’s from the eighteen-hundreds.”

  “Stop.” He stuck a piece of beef jerky into his mouth before he said something that would light Donal’s volatile temper.

  “Someday, you’re going to go back. Back to McPherson land.”

  He swiveled to eye his cousin. Donal had left Somairie at a young age. His mother had been his da’s younger sister, and yet they’d made their life in Wales, where his cousin’s da had come from. “Ye visited every Christmas with your mum and da, but I wouldn’t say that makes ye an expert on Somairie.”

  “I’ve been doing some reading and studying since we landed here in this godforsaken place.”

  “Have ye now?” He chewed the last of the jerky as he stared into two determined blue eyes. “I’m afraid to ask about what.”

  “Afraid.” Donal snorted. “Iain McPherson, the hero with a thousand medals, afraid.”

  His tone had said everything that needed to be said. Iain got it. His men needed him to be strong and sure. Especially Donal. Because unlike himself, his cousin had never acclimated to a soldier’s reality. The reality of pain and punishment, duty and drudgery. He’d fought the discipline from the very first day he’d joined. His temper had gotten him in hot water time after time. Only because of him had Donal Bevan managed to survive as a soldier. Iain had smoothed ruffled feathers and used his growing influence to protect his cousin.

  Because he loved him.

  He loved Donal’s big, loud voice, so like Malcolm McPherson’s. He loved his cousin’s fiery temper, so like his da’s too. But more than anything, Iain loved him because he was free.

  Free to be anything at all.

  And yet, Donal had willingly joined the Marines to be with his cousin, who had joined only because he had to.

  “We’re in the middle of a war, Donny Boy.” Flipping him his finger along with the hated nickname, he turned to squint at the sand and dirt and dust again. “Let’s leave any grand plans for when we get home.”

  “No.” His cousin’s wiry hand planted itself on his shoulder. “I’m going to have my say. I might not get another time.”

  So Donal had had his say. About the renovations to the creamery. About the need for more accommodations on the McPherson islands. About the upgrade to the golf course. He’d also laid out outrageous plans for tourism and fishing, building a fantasy empire out of the little kingdom Iain loved and hated at the same time.

  He’d listened. There wasn’t much else to do in a soldier’s life when there wasn’t any fighting going on. So he’d listened to the grand plans and laughed inside at what his poor da would have said to the craziness running around in his cousin’s head.

  Lifting his own head, he grimaced at his father. “Ye wouldn’t believe what little Donny Boy wanted to do to your kingdom, Da.”

  His laugh, a soft, muffled sound, echoed in the stone room.

  The weight of his heritage bore down on him, like a stifling, heavy load. A load he’d carried for as long as he could remember. A load his da thought he’d loved.

  He hadn’t.

  Iain slumped farther, sagging onto his arse. The cold chill of the castle surrounded him making him feel as if the while tribe of his ancestors knew the real truth about the last of the McPhersons.

  Donal had known.

  “You don’t have to be like your da, Iain. Blast it.” His cousin had fiery-red hair that matched his fiery-red temper. “You don’t have to put yourself into the box he’s made for you.”

  “My da loves me.” He’d slumped in that conversation too. Slumped against the hard mattress and the concrete wall of their barracks.

  “He does.” Donal glared at him. “But that doesn’t mean he gets to rule your life forever.”

  “I joined the Marines because I wanted to.”

  “Sure you did.” His cousin grunted. “It was all your idea.”

  That wasn’t true, yet only a few people knew it. A few people being Donal and his aunt, who knew Iain had much rather have attended university and lost himself in books. “I wanted to make my da proud.”

  The piercing blue eyes of his cousin welled with sudden tears.

  “Jesus, Donny Boy.” He’d closed his eyes against all the emotion that always poured from his cousin. “Get a grip.”

  “Listen to me.” Two rough, strong hands grabbed his shoulders and shook his eyes open. “Promise me.”

  “What, lad?” He wanted done with this conversation. He didn’t do emotions now, not now in this war where he had to lead and protect. Emotions got a man's insides mixed up enough that he couldn’t operate. And that got people—his men—killed. “Spit it out and then let’s be done with this once and for all.”

  “Promise me when you get home, you’ll do what’s best for you.” Donal’s gaze pierced his skull. “Promise me you’ll break free.”

  That had been his cousin’s motto—be free. Donal had followed his own advice. He’d freely joined the Marines. He’d freely followed Iain. And he’d freely paid the ultimate price.

  Because Iain had let emotion dictate his actions. Just once. But once had been enough. That thought brought a wave of nausea over him, enough to leave him gagging on the stone floor where his ancestors had ruled for hundreds of years.

  Promise me.

  Before he lost himself completely, Iain pulled himself straight and stumbled through his hell and to the stairs leading to his sanctuary.

  He needed to place an order.

  For whiskey.

  Chapter 15

  The castle’s sturdy gate doors were closed. And locked.

  Lilly made a face at them before turning toward the beach. He couldn’t keep her out. If he’d locked the back door, too, she’d start yelling until he’d have to let her in. She didn’t know what had set him off the last time, but she’d discover the cause eventually.

  The storm had left a splattering of rotting logs and seaweed on the sand. Still, the sun shone, and the afternoon wind was calm, making a person think the dolster had been a figment of their imagination. She eyed the shed and was glad to see the doors were still closed. Apparently, he hadn’t found the hiding place and the storm hadn’t destroyed his property.

  She kind of wished it had.

  Shifting her backpack on her shoulder, she carefully placed her feet on one slippery stone step at a time. He’d been right, this could be dangerous. But not dangerous enough to stop her from getting at him.

  She wouldn’t let him hide anymore.

  The back door was closed. And locked.

  “Crap.” For a moment, she laid her forehead on the wood and reconsidered. The man wanted to be left alone and perhaps she should just let him be. She could go and be with her dad. Enjoy his company for the rest of the month before blithely taking off on another assignment, every thought of Iain McPherson left behind.

  Thoughts like what he was doing in his dreary castle all alone.

  Thoughts like was he taking care of himself and not drinking whiskey.

  Thoughts like what if he ever found where she�
�d hid his guns and then had another horrific nightmare.

  The thoughts crowded in her mind, making her angry.

  Her fist hit the hard wood. “Open this door,” she yelled.

  A sullen silence was her response.

  “Right now.”

  The silence continued.

  “I’m not leaving, Iain Arrogant McPherson.” She slammed the door again. “You might as well answer.”

  Nothing.

  Her usual sunny temper exploded. “I’ll ram a car right through the front gate if I have to, you stupid moron.”

  The door whipped open so fast, she stumbled right into…him.

  A completely naked him.

  All her senses blasted at her at once. Her nose gave her his piney scent. Her eyes gave her the beauty of the lace of his dark chest hair on his white skin. Her body gave her his heat, his power.

  Lilly couldn’t help humming deep in her throat.

  “What did ye say?” He took a breath in and the sight of his broad chest moving, the muscles flexing, drove her witless. Before she drooled, she forced her dazed eyes to focus on something else.

  His nicked hands. Where he held an open whiskey bottle.

  Her lapsed anger zipped past her lust, bubbling to boiling. “Hell no.”

  Before he had a chance to do anything else, she grabbed the offensive bottle from his hand and flung it down the steps she’d just climbed. The crack of the glass shattering on stone echoed onto the beach.

  “I didn’t know ye had such a temper,” he said, his voice mild as if they were talking about the weather. “I’d have barricaded the castle walls with a bit more stone if I’d known.”

  “You.” Jerking around to face him again, she punched a finger right in the center of his hairy chest. “You promised.”

  His white skin went pale as if she’d accused him of murder.

  She wasn’t in the mood to soften her attack, even though her heart immediately hurt with his pain. “You promised not to order whiskey.”

  “I didn’t think ye were coming back.” He swung around, his naked ass in full display making the air hitch in her throat. “I didn’t think you’d care.”

  “I care, buster.” She stepped into the foyer and slammed the wooden door behind her. “I hope you didn’t buy a lot because it’s all going down the drain.”

  He lifted one broad shoulder in a singular shrug and didn’t say a word as he marched up the stairs.

  Man, that ass.

  A woman could get very hooked on looking at and stroking and feeling that fine ass.

  Friends, Lil. Friends.

  The sound of a piano prelude trickled from the top of the stairs. Some sad, forlorn tune. Rachmaninov, if she had to guess. “Turn that music off.”

  His glorious ass bunched and then went smooth as he took another step. “Ordering me about already?”

  “Yes. You shouldn’t listen to that kind of music.” Tearing herself away from temptation, she purposefully ran her gaze down his thighs.

  And saw his scars.

  “Iain,” she gasped. “Your leg.”

  He stopped mid-step, his body freezing.

  “What happened?” She raced up the stairs, all thoughts of lust and anger disappearing in a mist of concern.

  Before she could get to him, he swung back and grabbed her outreached hand in a stiff, hard grip. His gaze brewed with a dark tempest. “Don’t touch.”

  “Did this happen when you were with the Marines?” She thought about glancing down once more, but his thighs were a bit too near another piece of his anatomy that seemed too personal to stare at. Although she wanted to.

  “Yes.” His hand tightened on hers.

  “Do you still hurt?”

  “No.”

  Those blue eyes of his said something else.

  “You do still hurt,” she said with conviction.

  “I said no.”

  Her fingers felt like he was crushing them into dust. “Iain,” she whispered. “You’re hurting me, too.”

  His eyes widened, and with relief, she saw they were clear. He didn’t stink of booze, either. She’d gotten here in time to save him. Throwing her hand away, exactly as he had outside his front door, he began to march up the stone stairs once more.

  Lilly ignored his rejection because she knew it was because he hurt. She let herself look at the scars again.

  There was one long gash that appeared to start at the top of his inner left thigh and ran down to the back of his knee. Another gash crisscrossed the other one, the redness of his puckered skin making her heart bleed with compassion. “Oh, Iain.”

  “Don’t fash yourself.” He threw the words over his shoulder like he could barely be bothered to talk about it. “They’re healed.”

  But he wasn’t.

  “They must pain you.” She sidled up the stairs behind him. “I’ll give you another massage.”

  Stopping once more, he swung around, his half-mast eyes telling her what was on his mind. “A naked massage this time, lovely Lilly?”

  Keeping her focus on his sultry smile instead of what surely swung right in front of her, she gave him a jaunty grin. “Let’s get rid of the whiskey you ordered, first.”

  “And then?”

  “And then we’ll talk.”

  He gave her a snarl of disgust before twisting back to stomp up the rest of the stairs.

  Man, that ass.

  Which begged the question… “Why are you naked?”

  “I was about to get in the shower when ye started banging at my door.” He got to the arch leading into his den and gave her a look over his shoulder, his lashes concealing his gaze.

  Still in full camouflage, but at least he’d let her in.

  “With a whiskey bottle?”

  “Seemed like the thing to do at the time.” Those eyes of his gleamed with wicked provocation. “Would ye like to join me, instead?”

  Yep. The man had his armor on again and she wondered if it was because she’d mentioned his family by the castle’s front doors. Or maybe it had been the painful tour through his home? Whatever had made him withdraw behind his drawbridge, she was determined to get back to where they’d been. “Why don’t I go see what you ordered while you get clean.”

  “Then, I suppose, you’ll want me to come clean too.” A wary look crossed his face.

  “Plenty of time for that.” She waved his god-like nakedness away because his presence made her dizzy with lust. “Go on and take your shower.”

  Grumbling, he took his naked perfection into the bathroom.

  Taking in a deep breath of air that thankfully no longer swirled with pine soap and male allure, Lilly walked into the den and slid her backpack off, plopping it on the floor. She glanced around before unzipping her windbreaker and tugging it off. Everything looked normal, the same as when she’d left this morning.

  She eased into the kitchen to find another reality.

  A dozen cardboard boxes were stacked to the ceiling by the window. Another dozen had landed on the cedar island and several more stood by the side of the plain wooden table.

  “Is the man planning on surviving the apocalypse?” she muttered.

  The shower went on.

  Shaking off her vivid imagination’s immediate reaction, she focused on the bounty before her. She couldn’t believe how fast he’d got this ordered and delivered. He must have paid a small fortune to get this here in one day.

  Right then, she spotted the open box of whiskey. “Not a chance, McPherson.”

  There weren’t as many bottles to empty as the last time, which she decided to take as a good sign. Even though the man had broken his promise.

  Her accusation had made him turn white. What was that all about?

  They had so much to talk through.

  The shower went off.

  Her irritating imagination leapt to life once more and she had to slap it down with a hard plunk. She’d thought this through as she’d packed her bag to come back here. They were both healthy,
and it was natural there’d be some animal lust between them. But she was determined to keep that controlled. The fact she’d been confronted by His Nakedness straight away didn’t change the circumstances.

  Iain McPherson needed a friend.

  And Lilly Graham was going to be that person for him.

  “Did ye find your stuff?” His accented voice came from the kitchen arch.

  Glancing over, she scowled at the sight of him. “Go put a shirt on.”

  “Why?” He shrugged those broad, naked shoulders and sauntered to the island, his jeans sagging, half-buttoned. “Do I bother ye?”

  He wanted her to say yes, she could see it in his sultry gaze. “I’m worried you might catch a cold.”

  His laugh was still deep and dark, yet there was a husky tinge to it that gave her hope. “If I’m going to catch something, it won’t be a cold.”

  His gaze told her he meant to catch her, which she couldn’t let happen. Sex would only confuse their relationship, and he needed her now as a support system. Grasping on to his original question, she stared at the boxes. “What do you mean, find my stuff?”

  “Some things I thought ye might need.”

  “Things. You bought me things?” She folded her arms to cover her instantly trembling, touched heart. “You said you didn’t think I was coming back.”

  His expression went stony. “Don’t think I wanted ye to.”

  “Right.” The man was too adorable and too obviously lying. “But just in case, you ordered me some stuff.”

  “Girly stuff.” He shrugged again, the muscles of his biceps rolling under his porcelain skin, a wave of male appeal. “Nothing much.”

  The first box held a mountain of manly food. Various cuts of Angus beef, pork chops, ham hocks, and a mound of potatoes.

  “This should keep us fed for a while,” she murmured.

  A grunt was all she got.

  The second box held toiletries for him. There were double-edged razors, bottles of shaving cream, and baby powder. Picking up a paper-covered square of something, Lilly immediately knew what it was by the scent. “Your soap.”

  He gave her another grunt.

  “It’s oddly packaged.” The paper was coarse, almost woven.

  “It comes from Turkey.”