My Tempting Highlander (Highland Hearts #3)

by Maeve Greyson

  What the hell was a soy meatball? He’d never heard of a soy. Judging by the strange shape of the meat, the soy had to be some exotic bird of this time that wasna verra large. Ronan raked a paw down his muzzle. Whatever it was, it stunk and he doubted it had ever smelled much better.

  Mairi walked over to a round metal cylinder and stepped on a black lever sticking out of the base of the object. The lid of the thing flew up and rattled against the wall.

  Ronan scrambled backward, sliding sideways on the highly polished floor as the top of the cylinder banged the wall a second time.

  “It’s okay.” Mairi dropped the entire box of the wretched soy animal’s remains into the metal container, took her foot off the lever, and flipped the lid shut. “You must not be used to being inside. This is just a trash can. It’s full of gross stuff to be thrown away.” Mairi smiled down at him as she brushed her hands together. “And don’t get into it. Karma always used to scatter the trash whenever he was mad at Trulie, but I’m trusting you to be a good boy.”

  A good boy? ’Twas the second time she’d called him such. Surely, the woman jested. Why the hell would she think him a lad?

  Ronan stood and shook himself from the tip of his long narrow muzzle to the end of his tail. He had to get them back to the past. He barely understood the conversations and all the strange things of the future made his head pound worse than poorly aged ale. Giant boxes, somehow filled with winter’s cold air and used to store food? And the strange contraptions were lit from within by some unholy magic. Basins armed with tubes of metal that brought forth water at the touch of a lever? Ronan shook himself again. I dinna like this time—not one damn bit.

  Mairi worked her way around the room, yanking open the small doors of the cupboards then shaking her head and banging them closed again. “We don’t have anything you’d want to eat. None of us eat meat and it looks like Eliza finished off the last of the cheese.”

  None of them ate meat? By the verra gods, was that what the future had come to? Were there no beasts to hunt? What about the soy birds? Were the strange fowl so rare and elusive they had to be doled out sparingly? A groan escaped Ronan as he stretched out on the soothing coolness of the smooth floor and covered his muzzle with one paw. If he was to survive this wretched time without starving, he’d best tuck his wolf away soon and resume his human form. At least then he might find a wee bowl of parritch.

  Mairi stood frowning at him, one of her hideous furry shoes tapping the floor. “I’m going to throw on a pair of jeans and run to the market. You don’t need to eat people food anyway. I’ll get you a big bag of dog food and be right back.” She reached down and fluttered her fingers through his ruff. “Maybe they’ll even have some chew bones. I promise I won’t be gone long.” She gave him one last pat between his ears and scampered up the staircase.

  As the black and white striped slippers disappeared from view, Ronan came to a decision. As soon as Mairi was out of the house, ’twas time to release his soul and resume the form of a man. Dog food indeed.

  Chapter 4

  The overpowering scent of rosewater and talcum powder invaded the kitchen like a noxious cloud. The source of the smell plowed through the swinging half door with quick, clicking steps. “Merciful heavens.” The woman’s eyes widened as her gaze locked on Ronan.

  Ronan rose from the floor, stretched to his full height, and rolled his shoulders, shaking free the last vestiges of flaming energy rippling across his flesh. Much better. ’Twas time to embrace the task at hand as a man.

  “Lord ha’ mercy on all our souls.” The older woman, short of stature and painted brighter than a king’s favorite courtesan, stood with one bejeweled hand pressed to her ample bosom. Her cherry red lips puckered and twitched as her wide eyes swept an appreciative glance up and down his unclothed body. “Not that I’m offended, mind ye, but yer bare as the day ye were born. D’ye truly think it best that ye introduce yerself to our Mairi in such a way?”

  “Ye must be the one Granny Sinclair said was caretaker to her granddaughters.” Ronan stepped forward, acknowledging her presence with a curt bow. “Eliza MacTavish?”

  Eliza nodded as though polite naked men stood in her kitchen every day. A hint of a smile lifted one corner of her mouth as her gaze dipped back down below Ronan’s waist.

  Ronan primly clasped his hands over his cock. Apparently, this woman had no shame. “Nay. I dinna ken it best to meet my future wife in such a state. I’d welcome yer help in finding some proper garments. It appears the items I brought wi’ me have gone astray.” Well, not actually astray. His parcel was still stuffed deep inside the hedge back at the hillside where he’d arrived. But he couldna verra well acquire it.

  One of Eliza’s painted brows arched a bit higher. “Nia warned me yer arrival would be a bit unorthodox, but she failed to mention ye’d come as a naked shape-shifter.”

  “I’m no’ a shape-shifter. I merely have wolf’s blood coursing through my veins.”

  Eliza spared him a look that clearly said she thought him a liar. “Splitting hairs.” She yanked open a low cupboard wedged beneath the stair. With a huffing grunt, she worried free a cloth bundle stuffed among the shelves. “No’ a shape-shifter, eh? Then pray tell where is the wee wolfie whose toenails were a clickin’ about my kitchen but a few moments ago?” She toddled a few steps toward him then lobbed the bundle toward his chest. “And the room still smells of wet dog.”

  “ ’Tis part of the curse, woman. Surely, Granny Sinclair told ye.” Wet dog. How dare she? Ronan caught the bag and worked his fingers up and down the strange strip of metal bits sewn into the seam of the canvas bag. What the hell? He palmed and squeezed the bundle, yanking at its sides. The bag felt as though it was filled with clothing but how the devil was he supposed to get inside it? “What trickery is this? Ye give me clothes but ye trap them in a sack with no opening?”

  Eliza toddled over to him, all the while making a low chortling sound that greatly resembled the clucking of a nesting hen. “Gi’ me the wee bag.” She snatched the bundle from his hands and, with a swift pull, the metal seam of the bag split open. “Here. ’Tis called a zipper. The contraption cinches garments much better than laces—but take care. Whenever the wee beasties malfunction, they can be a feckin’ snarl, and gnaw into whatever gets in their path.” Her gaze dipped back down to his crotch and she softly laughed. “Mind yer finer parts, m’chieftain, whenever ye don those trews.”

  Ronan backed up a step and fingered the strange thing called a zipper. He pulled the tab as Eliza had done and the seam closed. Ingenious. He slowly pulled it back open. What simple wonders the future held. He went to pull the zipper closed again.

  Eliza smacked the top of his hand. “Ye’ve no time for that. Ye best be gettin’ yer arse in those clothes. Mairi willna be gone long and we’ve yet to decide on how best to introduce ye.”

  “I’m no’ a lad to be rapped across the knuckles.” Ronan glared at her and zipped the bag shut again. He’d do as he damn well wished. The old woman best learn that straightaway.

  “Then stop behavin’ like one.” Eliza shoved the bag of clothes up to his chest. “Get dressed. Now.”

  Ronan plopped the bag atop the table and pawed through the contents. He pulled free a heavy pair of dark trews and a shirt made of material so slick it slipped through his hands like liquid. “How did ye come to have these clothes? They’re nay mine, but their colors match the somber shades of m’plaid.” He dipped into the bag again and came up with a fine woven plaid, rich and dark in his own colors. “And this? Explain. Now.”

  “Mind yer manners. I willna be ordered about within me own house.” Eliza didn’t bother looking at him, just flipped open the lid of a shining kettle and filled it with water. “I speak to Nia often. She knew exactly what ye would need and I took care of the rest.” She clapped the lid shut, set the kettle atop what appeared to be a black iron grate, then muttered something as she twisted a knob alongside the grating. A quiet click click click sounded, then
a ring of blue flames whooshed into existence beneath the kettle.

  “Witchery.” The word escaped him with a startled hiss. Ronan sidled around to the other side of the table, all the while keeping his gaze locked on Eliza. “Mother Sinclair didna say ye were a witch.”

  Eliza waved his words away as she hooked her plump fingers through the handle of an overhead cabinet and yanked the door open. “Calm down, my fine chieftain. While ’tis true I am a witch, this has nothing to do with witchcraft. ’Tis just a gas stove.” She wagged a warning finger at him as she selected several items from the cupboard. “Now get dressed. Mairi willna be long at the market.”

  Ronan stepped into the trews and pulled them up his body. A bit tight. He frowned down at the coppery zipper. Eliza’s warning flashed through his mind as he ran his thumb down the rough metallic teeth. He carefully tucked his parts out of harm’s way then pulled the wee beastie closed. Ronan shook out the quicksilver tunic and pulled it on over his head. The black material stretched taut across his chest like a second skin.

  “Oh my.”

  Ronan glanced up. Two patches of bright pink highlighted each of Eliza’s wrinkled cheeks. “What ails ye, woman?”

  Eliza licked her lips and fanned herself with one hand. “I do believe yer even more impressive dressed. If I were a few years younger…”

  Ronan flexed his bare feet against the smoothness of the cold floor. He didna care o’ermuch for the hungry glint in Eliza’s eyes. Best distract the old witch. “Boots, woman. What about m’feet?”

  Eliza blinked as though waking from a trance. “Boots?”

  “Aye. Boots?” Ronan upended the canvas bag and shook it over the table. “There’s nary left but wool socks and the plaid.” Ronan fingered through the articles. Fine wool. Precision stitchery. Perhaps all wasna lost in the future. It appeared craftsmen had honed their skills to a remarkable level.

  Eliza threw her hands in the air as though someone had goaded her with a hot brand. “Boots! I canna believe I forgot the boots.” She tapped her chin as she frowned and glanced around at all the lower cabinets lining the walls. “Where the devil did I put them? Nia sent ye a fine pair and I had to hide them from the girls.”

  Eliza slowly circled the room. A knowing smile brightened her face as she rolled a cloth hamper out of a cluttered corner and revealed a pair of black boots. “Ye see? Nia thought of everything.”

  Those were his best boots. His boots. The boots old Thalus had made for him with the costly hide Chieftain Gray MacKenna had sent to Draegonmare along with a pair of fine horses as thanks to Ronan for ensuring the duel with his man-at-arms Colum went as his wife’s sister Kenna wished. “How the hell did Mother Sinclair get her hands on me finest boots?”

  Before Eliza could answer, a sharp thud sounded somewhere in the house. “Oh Lord. That was the front door. It has to be Mairi and we’ve nay spared a moment to work out yer introduction.”

  Ronan wadded up the empty canvas bag, grabbed hold of the socks and plaid, and bounded across the room. “She left but a few moments ago. Surely, ’tisn’t the Lady Mairi.”

  Eliza short-stepped to the kitchen door, glanced up and down the hallway, then hurried him toward the boots. “There’s no time to argue the point. Get yer socks and boots on and prepare yerself. Whatever I figure out t’tell Mairi, just agree with it. ’Tis our only hope. Now hurry up. We’ll take the back way to the parlor.” She pointed to a small door inset beside the swinging kitchen doors she’d come through earlier. “There. It’s the hidden hallway intended for servants long ago. Hurry now!”

  Ronan yanked on the socks then shoved his feet into his boots. There. At least he was dressed. “This must go well,” he said as he opened the small door and bent to enter the damp musty passage.

  “It will,” Eliza promised. She shooed him deeper into the hallway. “Now haul arse. She mustn’t find us in the kitchen. I can stall her a wee bit at the door but not long.”

  Chapter 5

  Mairi shoved the cloth handles of the totes back over one shoulder, twisted the knob, and bumped the door again with her hip. What the heck was the deal? It wasn’t locked. The knob turned in her hand and the latch clicked its usual I’m open, come in. The bright red door bounced against the threshold but remained firmly closed. The one drawback she’d found to living in Edinburgh was the way the damp weather, especially in winter, made doors swell and stick. But this was the first time the front door had ever been this difficult to open.

  “Eliza!” Hooking the handle of her umbrella over the iron railing hemming in the narrow landing, Mairi pounded on the door. “Come open the door. It’s stuck or something.” Mairi took a step back and waited, straining to hear any sign of movement on the other side. The house was quiet. All she heard was the gentle clicking of the out-of-balance ceiling fan whirring in the foyer. Eliza must have gone to Lilia’s shop for the afternoon.

  Mairi propped her shoulder against the door again and shoved. This time it flew open so fast, she stumbled into the hallway and bounced off the opposite wall. All the totes went flying, spewing their contents across the polished entryway tiles. The bag of dog food hit the floor so hard one of the seams split and kibble bounced in all directions.

  “Dammit to hell.” Mairi dropped to her knees and started scooping up dog food. “What a freakin’ mess.”

  A quiet clearing of a throat sounded from the direction of the partially closed parlor door to her right. Mairi paused from crawling around on all fours. That sounded like Eliza. She rolled back on her heels, balancing the tote of retrieved dog food bits atop one knee. Curiosity tweaked her senses as she watched for any indication that the door might open wider. Had Eliza actually taken one of her benefactors into the parlor instead of having them go directly to her private quarters on the fourth floor?

  While Eliza was probably as old as Granny, some undefined age between eighty and ninety, the flamboyant matron still excelled at finding rich gentlemen to keep her in the comfortable manner she preferred.

  Mairi had never actually met any of Eliza’s benefactors, as the older woman preferred to call them, but Eliza had let enough information slip about her method of supporting herself that Mairi couldn’t help but admire her elderly guardian. Very selective and always discreet, Eliza somehow kept her chosen gentlemen so enraptured, they happily kept her well funded and housed. Mairi didn’t judge Eliza for her means of getting by. She just silently wished she knew some of Eliza’s secrets when it came to handling men.

  Casual dating was easy enough—as long as she didn’t bring them home and submit them to Eliza’s scrutiny—but actually forging a close relationship scared the living crap out of Mairi. To get close, you had to share secrets…truths. The Sinclair family secrets tended to be a little difficult for the average guy to accept. She’d made that mistake once. Mairi shuddered at the memory. She’d never forget the look of oh my God, she’s a freakin’ loon on Jason’s face when she’d hinted at her heritage. Mairi blinked away the uncomfortable memory as she retrieved a dented can that had rolled into a corner. She dropped the tin of dog food into the tote and rose from the floor.

  “Mairi? Could ye come in here, love? I’ve someone I’d like ye t’meet.”

  Scooping up the remaining totes, Mairi hooked them over one arm. Hmm…must not be a benefactor. “I’ll be right there.” After she fed her new friend. The longing in the poor stray’s eyes had melted her heart. The poor thing had to be starving. Eliza’s guest could wait. Her hungry new dog could not.

  Mairi pushed through the swinging kitchen door and plopped her bags down on the table. A niggling of concern filled her as the clunk of the dog food cans echoed through the empty room. Her furry friend wasn’t in the kitchen. He must’ve decided to go exploring—probably searching for food. The poor thing.

  Mairi peered up the open stairwell at the back of the kitchen. “Come’ere, puppy.” She made kissing noises then strained to listen for the slightest hint the dog was anywhere near. Nothing. Nary a shuffle nor
click of a single toenail. Mairi emitted a low whistle then called out again. “Where are you, buddy? Come on. I’ve got some supper for you.” She scooped up the tote containing the loose kibble and rattled it toward the stair. “Come on, big guy. It’s beef-flavored. Num-nummy.” All Mairi heard was a gust of wind rattling against the kitchen window.

  The longer Mairi stood holding the bag of dog food, the lower her spirits sank. A kernel of suspicion took hold and quietly germinated at the back of her mind. The house was empty. If the dog had been in any of the rooms, Mairi felt sure her calls would’ve elicited some sort of response. If the dog wasn’t in the house, how had he gotten out? Mairi turned and glared down the hallway at the parlor door.

  Eliza preferred cats to dogs, but surely she wouldn’t have turned him out while Mairi was gone. Granted, the stray was a large dog, but from everything Mairi had seen, he was gentle as a lamb.

  Mairi yanked open the door leading out to the tiny patio and fenced-in yard, squinting through the heavy sheets of sleet-filled rain. The backyard was empty too. Mairi slammed the door closed and whirled back around. “Surely, she didn’t. Eliza wouldn’t do that.”

  A volatile mixture of frustration, disappointment, and lack of sleep from the night before took over. In the short time she’d been around the dog, she’d become strangely attached to the animal. She felt like she’d finally found someone to love and confide in—someone who would neither judge her nor run screaming for the hills when they found out who…and what…she really was. The culmination of the dangerous mix of emotions stung her eyes with the threat of tears. Dammit to hell. When her anger spiked out of control she cried, and crying pissed her off even more. She dropped the sack of kibble to the floor and watched the brown chunks scatter and bounce across the tiles. This is bullshit.

  Mairi charged down the hall, threw open the parlor door, and barreled into the room. Eliza had some explaining to do.