by Vonnie Davis
“ ’Tis proud I am to share with our American guest a wee bit of the Matheson clan’s oral history.” He clasped his hands behind his back and stood with his feet braced apart. “Here in Scotland, fair and beautiful country that she is, we value the telling of times gone by. ’Tis a gift we give our children, the passing on of our history. For we are a hearty people. Aye. Strong. Brave. Fearless.”
Nearly everyone in the room nodded. Most men mumbled “Aye.” Earnan pounded his cane and nodded his white head.
Paisley placed her hand on top of Creighton’s. “Oh, this is wonderful. He’s so good. Look how he has everyone eating out of the palm of his hand.”
He drew her closer and she rested her head against his chest to listen to his brother.
Ronan, take yer time in the telling of our tale. I love the feel of her body close to mine. An unexpected feeling of contentment swelled within his chest, while concern niggled at his mind. She wouldn’t stay long. Soon she’d return to her country and her man. Though, if she were truly engaged, why wasn’t she wearing a ring? Didna the man love her enough to buy her a shining symbol of his sentiment? If she were his, she would wear—
Ronan’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “ ’Twas the year 960. Our band was growing and prospering. We fished and hunted. Aye, we grew as a sleuth. When the Vikings, thievin’, murderin’ bastards that they were, sailed to our shores in their long ships, we fought them.” He leaned forward, his fists clenched near his shoulders. “And they feared us.”
A round of Ayes rose to the ceiling. The wee ones imitated Ronan’s gestures.
“Our battles were long and fierce. Our victories many. A Norseman by the name of Vulund the Flatnose led the attack on our shores.” Ronan held two fingers to the tip of his nose to flatten it as did everyone else.
Creighton flattened his nose too and nudged Paisley. “Flatten yer nose, lassie. ’Tis part of our oral tradition to repeat the actions of our forefathers every time the name Vulund the Flatnose is mentioned.”
She smiled as she complied, obviously enjoying the practice. “Well, far be it from me to interfere with tradition.”
“Aye, we’ll make a Scot of ye yet.” Lord, but he was enjoying the lass.
“I am half Scottish. I’m of Scottish and Danish descent.”
Bryce stepped behind them and leaned down. “ ’Tis not our tradition to hold private conversations during the telling of our tale.”
Creighton rumbled a low growl and Bryce laughed. “Go on with the story, Ronan. The whispering blackhearts won’t be marring yer oration anymore.”
Ronan nodded. “During this era, there were many bears on our shores and in our Highlands. Large, fierce, combative bears.” He stood straight and held his hands in the shape of paws with claws. The children imitated his posture, and Ronan nodded his approval. “Aye, me wee ones. The bears were meant to be feared—and they were.
“Vulund the Flatnose requested more longships and men from Eric Bloodaxe in York, the last Viking king of Jorvik, to battle the bears. And so, more Vikings came. But the bears fought them off. Aye, they were victorious.” His voice bellowed and the word was echoed by everyone in the room.
“Not to be outdone, Flatnose, devious bastard that he was, devised a plan. His men blocked off the entrances to the bears’ caves, save one. With pry bars to gain leverage, his men moved large boulders into the caves’ openings, blocking them. Once that was done, large teams of Vikings were dispatched to round up the bears. They captured the momma sows and their cubs and forced them into the one remaining open cave. Then they set about killing as many male bears as they could. Aye, over time, they killed them all.”
Ronan, the storyteller, approached the wee ones, no doubt for effect. “The bears imprisoned in the caves were smart.” He tapped a finger against his temple. “They knew they couldn’t escape, for Vikings guarded the entrance to the large underground chamber. Aye, they cut down large trees along our shoreline and cliffs, dragged them to the cave’s opening and set them afire. Roaring flames imprisoned the bears.
“So, the bears hatched a plan. Aye, the female bears were intelligent and cunning, above all other animals and the Vikings.” This time the ladies in the room voiced their agreement to Ronan’s praise. “When the Vikings, with all their weapons, came into the cave to kill the bears, they all appeared to be dead.” With great flourish, Ronan dropped to the floor and feigned death. The children gasped, just as children no doubt had throughout centuries of the telling of the tale.
Ronan raised his head off the floor. “The Vikings left, but before they did, they rolled more boulders in front of the last cave’s opening. For years the bears were trapped.” He stood and made reaching motions over his head. “They ate roots of plants and herbs that grew downward from above. In one of the chambers branching off from the main cave opening was a pool of water, fed by an underground spring. They survived.
“Many years later, another group of Vikings, led by Olaf the Yellow, sailed to our shores to rape and pillage our countryside. They sought a place to hide their stolen loot and, not knowing what they’d find, rolled away the rocks from the bears’ underground prison. Imagine the Vikings’ surprise when human beings walked out. Proud, strong, fierce human beings.”
Ronan pointed as he spoke. “Men. Women. Children. And they were feared. Aye, invincible. Indomitable. Victorious.” His roar echoed in the room as did the cheers of elders, adults, and wee ones.
He made a sweeping gesture with his hands. “And so we remain today, survivors from those fierce, warrior mathes, or bears. We are Mathesons. Sons of bears.”
Even in the midst of the cheering that followed, Paisley’s gasp was both heard and felt. She began to tremble. Her blonde head whipped around to stare at Creighton, her eyes wide, her mouth agape in shock.
Creighton wrapped both arms around her waist and held her to him even as she struggled to stand, no doubt to flee. “Easy now, lassie. Suppose we go somewhere private where we can talk about things ye dinna understand?” How much could he tell her? With her being able to read his thoughts, he’d have to be careful. Verra careful.
Chapter Eight
Sons of bears? What did Ronan mean, sons of bears? Paisley reached for Creighton’s hand when he stood and extended it to her. “What … what was Ronan implying when he said you were sons of bears?” Her heart pounded in her ears. A shudder of unease jittered through her system. Suddenly Ronan’s oral legend seemed downright freaky.
“ ’Tis merely a tall tale to tell on a dark, stormy evening such as this.” Creighton’s black eyebrows furrowed in distress. Was he hiding something?
Her gaze swept the large room as elders drank and talked, and women tried to calm their children after Ronan’s rousing story. “Almost everyone I’ve met today has the same last name. Matheson.” Jagged pieces of a puzzle slowly coalesced in her mind. “Tell me, why is that?” She folded her arms and glared at him.
“Matheson is our clan name. Most take it as their surname to show solidarity. To proclaim their allegiance.”
“Allegiance?”
“Aye.”
“Why does everyone defer to you?”
Creighton exhaled an audible sigh. “Because I am the head of Clan Matheson. Their laird.” He wrapped his long arm around her waist and escorted her from the great hall. “I think yer suite would be the place to have this conversation. We could go to me office, but someone’s likely to interrupt. They know I keep a large stock of whisky there and, with the fierce storm raging outside, tonight seems a time fer drinking. Most will spend the night. The castle’s big enough to accommodate everyone. We have before.”
As he led her to the stairway and hurried her up the steps, his hold on her was tight, as if he feared she’d break away.
Under normal circumstances, she’d remark on his handling of her, but Ronan’s tale kept swirling through her mind. Bears fighting Vikings. The Vikings rounding up bears and herding them into a cave. Bears exiting the caves some years late
r as humans. Dear God, had he meant shape-shifters, like in books and movies?
Paisley unlocked the door to the suite she shared with her grandmother. The sitting room was empty. “Give me a minute to check on Gram. Then I’ve got some serious questions for you, and you better have some satisfactory answers.”
“Fair enough.”
She opened the door to Gram’s bedroom and peeked inside. Gram snored softly, her slight frame snuggled under a pile of blankets. Tiptoeing into the room, Paisley saw the bottle of her grandmother’s favorite herbal sleeping remedy and an empty glass on the nightstand. She bent to kiss Gram’s cheek. The old woman moaned and snorted before rolling over, snoring louder than she had before.
When Paisley returned to the sitting room, Creighton was stirring embers, creating a red glow in the stone fireplace.
“On a night such as this, ye need to keep a roaring fire in this drafty castle.”
She rubbed her arms, glad he was doing something to warm their suite. Gram wasn’t used to the cold. Neither was she, for that matter. The howling wind seeped in around the frames of the windows, causing the heavy drapes to undulate slightly. “How old is this castle?”
Creighton dropped to his hunkers, his faded jeans strained across muscled thighs. “The oldest part, which includes the keep and battlements, was built in the twelve hundreds, followed by the great hall and minstrels’ gallery. Every century or so, we add on more rooms.” He pivoted on the balls of his feet to grab more logs to place on the fire. Bulky muscles across his shoulders and back rippled beneath his brown turtleneck.
Bark on the firewood popped as mounting orange flames raced toward the chimney. The shimmering blaze played shadow games across his profile, causing his dark hair, brushing his shoulders, to shine like a raven in the sunlight. Thick wrists draped across his bulky knees. Everything about the man seemed a few degrees larger than normal. A log shifted and rolled out of the hearth. He shoved it back where it belonged and wiped his hands on his jeans as he stood.
“There’s a strong sense of family within these ancient stone walls. Our sainted ancestors roam the halls at night, keeping us safe.”
After all she’d heard downstairs, did Creighton think he could put her at ease by telling her ghosts would see to her safety? Shape-shifters and ghosts? Oh, she was so heading home as soon as she could.
She wrapped her arms around her waist. “You mean Broden and Ainsley?”
Her host stared at her for a few seconds, then moved in front of her. “No need to be frightened.”
His blunt fingertips tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and her body quivered at his touch. Her nipples peaked and wetness pooled.
“I’ve told ye our ghosts are harmless. In fact, I have a feeling it was they who placed the heather and tartan in yer room. For some reason, they wanted to welcome ye to their castle.”
Oh my God. There were ghosts in my bedroom? I’m leaving for home in the morning. Was that what she wanted? To leave Scotland so soon, without seeing more of the countryside? Or getting to know this mountain of a man before her? She doubted she’d ever meet anyone like him again.
Creighton waved toward the sofa. “Have a seat and ask me yer questions. Let’s get to the heart of the matter.”
She settled into the corner of the sofa, and Creighton filled the remaining space when he sat, his muscular thigh touching hers, conveying his warmth and sexual appeal. He draped an arm across the back of the sofa. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she tried not to notice the mega dose of testosterone he exuded from every pore, but had little luck.
Gram always taught her to demand answers when a question plagued her. Because she feared what he might say, she clasped her hands so hard they hurt. “How much of what Ronan said was true?”
His dark eyes bore into hers. “All of it, lassie.”
“All?” The room spun twice and she gripped the padded armrest of the sofa. Oh dear God. She and her grandma were staying in a castle full of lunatics, who believed they could change from human to bear in the blink of an eye. If it weren’t so damned scary, she’d laugh. Fear’s coldness slithered up her spine. What if these strange people wouldn’t allow them to leave?
They were in the wilds of northeastern Scotland, a good hour from an airport, with no means of transportation. How would they reach the town of Inverness if the Mathesons refused to provide a car?
Paisley fought for her next breath. Black and grey spots splattered like toxic raindrops across her vision field. “Please let us go …”
The seat cushions shifted beneath her and a large hand wrapped around her neck, pushing her head down. Another hand coiled at her upper arm. “Put yer head between yer knees, lassie. Breathe now. In. Out. In. Out.”
She fought to restore her normal breathing pattern. Yet the same thought kept flitting through her mind. These people thought they could change form, shape-shift just like in the movies. How crazy was that? As crazy as my being able to hear animals.
Her frightened mental hamster stopped running on its treadmill.
Wasn’t that why she shared with few people that she was an animal communicator? Because they would freak, just like she was right now? Yet the fact was, talking to animals was her reality. Could shifting be part of theirs? No. No, it couldn’t be. Once she regained some control, she straightened and regarded his furrowed brows and the thin line of his lips.
“Are ye feeling better? I didna mean to frighten ye.”
“Show me.” By golly, she’d force his hand. If he thought he could shift, then he could damn well do it in front of her.
“Pardon?”
She stood and glared at him as determination straightened her spine. No more fears. No more hyperventilating. “If you can shift from man to bear, do it. Do it now.”
His black eyebrows rose. “Are ye challengin’ me, then, lassie?”
She crossed her arms and hiked her chin. “Aye, lad, I’m challengin’ ye.” She imitated his thick burr.
Creighton slowly stood, the corners of his mouth quirking into a smile. “Oh, ’tis a handful, ye are. Such a bold request deserves a bit of honesty.” He reached behind him, grabbed a handful of sweater and tugged it over his head. Tossing it aside, he reached to unbutton his jeans.
“Wh … what are you doing?” My God, look at those muscles. What would it be like to run my hands over them? Alex kept his torso waxed, but Creighton had a pelt of dark hair over his pecs, narrowing into a wide treasure trail leading toward the open button on his pants.
“These are me favorite jeans. If I shift in ’em, I’ll rip ’em to shreds. Shifting is best done naked.”
Naked? Her gaze shifted from his fingers at his fly to his face to gauge his expression. Was he trying to scare her? Or was he using this as an excuse to show her his package? Either way, he wasn’t scaring her off. She’d had enough of this fairy-tale nonsense. “Go ahead. I’m waiting. Shift for me.”
His head tilted to the side and humor twinkled in his dark eyes. “Turn yer back.”
“Why? Are you shy? What’s wrong, big guy? Afraid to show me your Scottish bagpipe? Are ye built like a moose and hung like a mouse?” She hadn’t lived with her grandmother all these years without learning how to throw a few quips.
His eyes widened for a beat and then narrowed. She’d evidently goaded him a little too far. He toed off his shoes. “I’m not afraid of any bloody thing.” His jaw clenched as he spoke and his eyes sparked something dangerous at her challenge. “Ye want to see a Scottish bagpipe? I’ll damn well show ye.” With a couple swift jerks he shucked his jeans and black boxers. In a fit of male pride, he fisted his hands on his narrow naked hips and glared straight ahead. “Well, lassie, what say ye? Moose or mouse?”
Damn! No mouse there. A jolt of desire warmed her for the first time that day, from the outside in and then, after coiling low in her belly, from the inside out. Sensations she’d never experienced before nearly set her on fire. Silly, really, since she’d seen Alex naked before. What was so sp
ecial about this man—other than everything? Longing rendered her speechless as visions of the two of them entwined seduced her mind and soul.
Sensual visions clouded her eyesight as waves of heat rippled before her. Creighton seemed to shimmer and spin. She blinked several times to bring him back into focus, then closed her eyes for a few seconds, hoping that would clear her vision. Something popped repeatedly, as if he were cracking his knuckles. When she opened her eyes, she stumbled back and gasped.
A large bear stood before her.
Holy hell!
Aye, Paisley, holy hell. Ye are the first human I’ve revealed meself to and I dinna do it lightly.
She filled her lungs with a deep breath and willed her nerves to settle. Seconds earlier this bear had been human. Her frightened heartbeat pounded in her ears. It would be best to think of that later. Perhaps when she was alone in her bedroom. Creighton?
Aye.
She stepped closer. His size dwarfed her. May I touch you? Although she should be afraid of this huge bear, she harbored no fear, only inquisitiveness.
Aye.
Her fingers skimmed the wiry fur on his chest. The scent of wildness and Creighton’s woodsy aftershave mingled in the air. She stroked his coat. You’ve got just a little of this dark fur on your naked chest when you’re in man form. Oh God, am I really seeing this? Do shape-shifters truly exist, or have I gone mad?
Nay, my sweet one, ye are not mad. Ye’ve been given a rare gift. The knowledge of how our dual existence works.
Man and bear in one soul. Both of her hands drifted up his fur to his massive shoulders.
His ears tipped forward and the area around his nose twitched and beat as if he were inhaling her odor too. Are ye frightened?
She shook her head, surprised at her acceptance of what she saw, felt, and heard. No. You don’t frighten me as a bear. She peered into eyes that glowed golden. As a man, you scare the hell out of me, though.
One of his paws reached for her and settled gently on her cheek, its claws retracted within the fur. What I’ve shown ye is between the two of us. No one else must know. Especially yer grandmother. Do I have yer word?