My Tempting Highlander (Highland Hearts #3)

by Maeve Greyson

  “What do you mean, ‘What’?” Granny took a delicate sip from her cup then made a face as she forcibly swallowed. Smacking her lips as though trying to wipe the taste off her tongue, she motioned for one of the servants. “Someone needs to have a chat with Ian about using a lighter hand with the honey. This is not honeyed wine. This is syrup.”

  Kenna joined them, walking slowly with a toddler clutching each hand. “Jamie and Caedan love the way Sawny squeals.” Tucking both bouncing boys against the front of her skirts, Kenna waved Coira over. “You can come get the demons now and give them their supper.”

  “Come, my wee beasties!” Coira scooped the giggling boys up into her arms then beamed an I-told-you-so smile at Mairi. “Ye’ve a fine son and a fine man. Now, aren’t ye glad ye stayed here?”

  “Yes.” Mairi bowed her head in a conciliatory nod. “I admit it. You were right.”

  “Och…I kent it all along.” Coira fairly beamed as she hitched a toddler atop each hip and headed toward the kitchens.

  “You know she’s never going to let you forget that,” Kenna said.

  “I know.” Turning back to Granny, Mairi gently nudged the uncharacteristically quiet woman. “Now back to Lilia. What are you plotting?”

  All amusement faded from Granny as she stared off into space. “I’m not ‘plotting’ anything.” She turned and fixed Mairi with a look that triggered a chilling uneasiness. “Trulie and I have been charged with saving Lilia.”

  Mairi’s heart squeezed with a sick feeling of dread. She turned to Trulie. “Saving Lilia?”

  “The Fates decided to be generous and gift us with a vision regarding Lilia. The fact that they’re concerned enough to warn us about one of our own is what worries me the most.” Trulie looked about the room as though fearing someone might overhear their conversation. Her fingertips tapped out a nervous rhythm atop the rim of the cup she held between her hands. “Lilia’s in a time of crisis and the Fates have pointed us to the only one who might help her survive it.”

  “Might help her survive it?” Mairi didn’t like the sound of that. There would be no might when it came to saving her sister. “Who? And what do they need to do to save her?”

  “Graham,” Granny said. “He doesn’t know it yet—but he’s going to the future.”

  Graham? In the future? “Are you sure the twenty-first century is ready for that? And how is he going to save her?”

  Granny started to take another drink of the overly sweet wine but stopped herself mid-sip with such a disgusted scowl at the glass it should’ve disintegrated. She lowered the goblet to the serving tray held aloft by a passing maid. “Pour that mess out and tell Ian I wish to speak with him later.”

  The girl didn’t say a word, but her wide-eyed look of oh shit spoke volumes. She clearly understood that poor Ian was doomed. She nodded once then hurried away with the wine.

  “Granny,” Mairi prodded. “How is Graham going to save Lilia?”

  Granny looked at Mairi as though she just realized they both still stood in the same room. “Trust in the Fates, child. You must trust in the Fates.”

  Acknowledgments

  In memory of Jasper. His body was tiny, but his soul was mighty. He proved that how others see you doesn’t define you. It’s how YOU see yourself that matters.

  And a heartfelt thank-you to my wonderful editor. You make me want to scream, cry, pull my hair out, and throw my laptop across the room. And I’m so glad you do. You ensure my stories are the best they can be. Every writer needs someone to “compassionately” thump them on the head and ask, “What the hell are you thinking?” You’re the best. Thank you for all you do.

  BY MAEVE GREYSON

  Highland Hearts

  My Highland Lover

  My Highland Bride

  My Tempting Highlander

  My Seductive Highlander (coming soon)

  PHOTO: CRISTA SULLIVAN

  No one has the power to shatter your dreams unless you give it to them. That’s Maeve Greyson’s mantra. When she’s not working at the steel mill, Greyson’s writing romances about sexy Highlanders and the women who tame them. Tucked away in a five-acre wood, Greyson listens to the wind singing through the trees and hears her characters telling their stories.

  Want more from Maeve Greyson?

  maevegreyson.com

  Facebook.com/AuthorMaeveGreyson

  @maevegreyson

  The Editor’s Corner

  It’s another cold month of winter, but never fear, we have a few special somethings to warm your heart.

  USA Today bestselling author Stacey Kennedy launches a new series, Dirty Little Secrets, with Bound Beneath His Pain—ladies, meet Micah, a man who takes what he wants. New York Times bestselling author Missy Johnson introduces a young journalist who goes undercover for a hot lead, and gets seduced by the billionaire bachelor she’s supposed to be chasing, in Resist. New York Times bestselling author Tracy Wolff tells a story about a damaged actress who bares her soul, and falls for the one man who cares enough to listen, in LOVEGAME. Book two in the Recovered Innocence series from Beth Yarnall, Atone, is guaranteed to tug on your heartstrings, as will Charlotte Stein’s Never Sweeter, where a self-reliant college girl falls for a reformed bully. Then USA Today bestselling author Lauren Layne’s Oxford series heats up in this story of forbidden desire as a brooding jock hoping for a comeback falls for a woman who’s strictly off-limits in I Wish You Were Mine. Jill Sorenson releases a reunited love story with Against the Wall. And a popular song makes for a popular story in Ellie Cahill’s Call Me Maybe. Then plan to rev it up with Hidden Heat from Carla Swafford, an MC story that’s almost real.

  Your history lesson this month includes two new Loveswept releases. First, K. C. Bateman’s Napoleonic love story, To Steal a Heart, and second is Maeve Greyson’s time-traveling phenomena, My Tempting Highlander—where time’s not the only thing changing and there may be a bit of shape-shifting going on, too!

  Don’t miss a little bit of sweetness from Flirt: Renita Pizzitola’s Addicted to You, and hockey hotness with Sophia Henry’s Power Play.

  And last but not least, seven books in one with Stacey Kennedy’s Club Sin series bundle where you’ll meet all the masters of sin.

  Romance yourself this month with Loveswept—you know you want to.

  ~Happy Romance!

  Gina Wachtel

  Associate Publisher

  Read on for an excerpt from

  My Seductive Highlander

  Highland Hearts

  by Maeve Greyson

  Available from Loveswept

  Chapter 1

  MACKENNA KEEP

  THIRTEENTH-CENTURY SCOTLAND

  “Dammit, man! Did ye no’ think to learn her name afore ye decided to bed her?” Gray MacKenna, chieftain of Clan MacKenna moved to the edge of his seat as though ready to lunge across the room, wrap his hands around Graham’s throat, and choke the livin’ shit out of him.

  Graham MacTavish edged back a step whilst rubbing the back of his neck. He stole a quick glance about the room. All eyes were locked on him and ’twas no wonder. This was thrice in a fortnight that the MacKenna had publicly chewed Graham’s arse over what he had honestly deemed as sound choices at the time he’d made them—but apparently, once again, he’d erred in his judgment.

  Dammit all ta hell and back. Graham swiped a hand across his mouth, vainly attempting to wipe away any forthcoming words that might damn him further. He’d never chosen words wisely. He thought back to the particular debacle in question. Nay. She’d never said her surname. Why had the woman no’ mentioned her husband was bloody chieftain to the Buchanans?

  Ah well…it doesna verra well matter now. He squared his shoulders and locked his fists to the small of his back. Lifting his chin, he boldly met Gray’s infuriated glare. “I didna take her to m’bed. We stayed in the stables.”

  From the purplish shading of the MacKenna’s face and the vein twitching along his throat, perhaps that was no’ the most benefi
cial defense he could’ve chosen. He’d best try again. “But ye’ll be pleased to know, I didna lift any of their cattle—nor a single horse this time.”

  “I should turn ye over to the Buchanan and be done wi’ ye.” Gray huffed out a rumbling growl then slumped back in the ornately carved chieftain’s chair centered on the raised dais at the end of the great meeting hall.

  Graham’s gut tightened. That would no’ be good at all, but if that was the MacKenna’s wish…’Twould be a damn shame to die over one such as her and her maid. Both of the women’s shrill voices and dead aim with clods of dried horseshit on the morning after the quite enjoyable romp had taught him a thing or two—mainly that ye best never get too deep in yer cups when charmin’ the lasses, because their druthers could sorely shift when ye sobered and faced them the next day.

  A soft clearing of a throat drew Graham’s attention to the chieftain’s wife, sitting quietly at her husband’s side. Lady Trulie smoothed a hand atop her husband’s tense forearm and sat taller in her chair. “Now, now. We can’t do that. You know what would happen if we turned him over to the Buchanans.”

  She leaned forward the slightest bit, staring down at him from the dais as though he were a disobedient child. “We understand your need to experience all you missed while cursed, but…” Lady Trulie’s face darkened like a building storm. “Dammit, Graham, pull your head out of your ass and stop endangering the peace and safety of this clan just because you can’t keep your britches on and your hands off what belongs to somebody else.”

  Britches? What the hell are britches? Perhaps the Lady Trulie was referrin’ to his trews? Actually, he’d nay even removed his léine while samplin’ the sweet lasses, but perhaps now was nary the time to get into the particulars. Graham slightly bowed to his chieftain’s wife. “I am truly sorry to bring such strife to this clan that has so graciously taken me in. Ye know my fealty to the MacKenna is true. I’d never wish to cause harm or bring dishonor upon the name.”

  “He wants yer head on a pike, ye ken?” The MacKenna’s voice calmed to a more congenial snarl as he covered his wife’s hand still resting atop his forearm. “And I canno’ say that I blame the man. Ye bedded both his wife and his mistress under his verra nose.” The chieftain stretched forward and jabbed a finger at Graham’s chest. “And perhaps ye personally didna help yerself to any of the Buchanan livestock, but while ye were busy dippin’ yer wick, Angus managed to lead away the Buchanan’s favorite pair of roans.”

  Aye. Well, there is that. Said roans were currently resting quite comfortably in their new stalls in the MacKenna stables. “Perhaps we could return them?” Graham waggled a brow at Angus, who was currently doing his damnedest to stay hidden in the shadows of the gallery overhanging the right side of the crowded meeting room. “If Angus releases them close enough to Buchanan Keep, the pair would surely find their way back to their stable.”

  Angus yelped as Mother Sinclair came up behind him and latched onto his ear. She yanked him out of the shadows, jerking him to the center of the room and firmly positioning him in place beside Graham. Leaning her slight body against the support of her twisted staff, she shook a bony finger in both their faces. “Those who play together, pay together.” She stamped her staff hard against the stone flooring, the blue crystal ensnared in the claw of roots in its top sparking with an angry blue white glow.

  Ever so slowly, she ambled over to the dais, hitched her way up the narrow stone steps, and eased herself down into the smaller seat beside Lady Trulie’s chair. The thick braid knotted at the base of the old woman’s neck shimmered with a silvery white gleam beneath the flickering light of the torches as she nodded toward Graham. “We owe him protection…guidance while he adapts. He’s wild as a buck deer in rut after being trapped in the form of a dragon and locked to the land around Loch Ness. But then, he is Ronan’s best friend. And Ronan is now family.” Granny Sinclair leveled the softly glowing crystal of her twisted cane until it pointed directly at his chest. “But keep endangering Clan MacKenna and we don’t owe you a damn thing, Graham.”

  Aye, well, he’d no’ exactly been entirely shackled to the land around Loch Ness. After all, he’d traveled quite freely whene’er he’d kept to the sea. Graham forced the memories of those long-ago adventures to the back of his mind. He was quite thankful that part of his life was well behind him. He cleared his throat and remained silent. He’d best concentrate on gettin’ his arse out of this current mess—especially now that Granny Sinclair was involved.

  Granny’s gaze shifted and she angled her staff at Angus. “And you know better than to pull such stunts against an allied clan. What the hell were you thinking, Angus? You’re supposed to keep him out of trouble.”

  Angus tucked his chin to his chest and anxiously shuffled back and forth in place. Sidling closer to Graham, he shot him a dark, threatening look. “I’ll ne’er harken a single word from yer lyin’ mouth again, ye wicked bastard,” he hissed under his breath.

  Still fidgeting in place, he hooked his thumbs in his belt. Angus’s face deepened to a ruddier shade as he shielded his face away from the dais and continued his rant in a huffing whisper. “And if ye wish to return those horses, yer own goat-swivin’ arse can do it alone. I’ll no’ be goin’ back. I nearly took an arrow in me arse.”

  Graham stood taller, rolling his shoulders at Angus’s words. He’d no’ let another be held responsible for his own behavior. Best get on with this and find out what his punishment was to be. “Leave Angus be. Me actions are me own.”

  Mother Sinclair’s narrow-eyed gaze slid to meet with Lady Trulie’s. The women smiled in unison—cold, calculating smiles that stabbed a sense of dread deep in the center of Graham’s heart. May the gods have mercy on me soul and doubly watch over me arse. He shivered against the sudden eeriness to the air, chilling him to the bone. “Pray speak my fate. I accept whate’er ye decide. I ne’er shirk my responsibilities, ye ken that well enough.”

  “It pleases me greatly to hear that. Doesn’t it you, my husband?” Trulie turned and smiled at Gray with a slow, meaningful nod.

  “Aye.” Gray flexed his hands then curled his fingers across the ends of the carved arms of his chair. His gaze trailed about the hall as he studied the many folk standing along the walls and seated at the long rows of trestle tables. He rose slowly, stepped forward, then stopped atop the last step of the stone dais as though he were about to announce clan war.

  “After much consideration and consultation…” Gray paused, tossing a quick glance at Lady Trulie and Mother Sinclair before turning back to Graham and Angus. “I have decided upon yer punishment since ye seem so incapable of exhibiting the least bit of self-control.”

  Angus hid his mouth by rubbing the tip of his nose with his fist; his voice dropped to an even lower rasping whisper. “Oy, yer doomed straight t’hell now, man.”

  Graham eased a step forward and threw out his chest. “Aye. Am I to be turned over to the Buchanans, then—to face the pike or the dungeons?”

  “Oh no, my friend.” The MacKenna shook his head. “I have decided on something much worse. Ye shall face the severest punishment of all.”

  Graham swallowed hard. He didna suppose he could blame the man. After all, a clan could no’ verra well go to war over the womanizing ways of one individual—especially when that individual was no’ blood kin. “Aye. I would hear it, then. What is this severe punishment?”

  “Marriage.”

  The word echoed down the length of the hushed hall as the MacKenna patiently clasped his hands in front of his waist and waited.

  Angus snorted out a belly laugh.

  Graham whirled about and smacked the back of his hand across Angus’s chest, effectively knocking the man’s hearty laugh down to a hissing snicker. “Haud yer wheesht afore I snap yer neck.” There was no’ a damn thing funny about what the MacKenna had just proposed. Graham turned back to the chieftain and repeated the dangerous word: “Marriage?”

  Gray nodded, his stance visibly
more relaxed. “Aye, marriage. Yer in need of a good woman to teach ye the error of yer ways and keep ye to the proper path.”

  A trickle of sweat rolled down the center of his back and settled in the crack of his arse. Damn, the room was suddenly too warm and there wasna even a fire. Graham rubbed his knuckles against the small of his back while he shifted in place. “And who might I ask is this woman prepared to mold me into a better man?” It couldna be the Buchanan sweetling nor her luscious maid. The two already shared the bear of her husband—Chieftain Buchanan himself—hence the problem. Oh God, dinna let it be her sister. That one had the screeching voice of a sea bird and a bloodcurdling scowl to match.

  Lady Trulie stood and moved to her husband’s side. “You’re the perfect match for my sister Lilia—and the twenty-first century is the perfect place to keep you out of sight and out of mind until our allies calm down.”

  “Oh holy hell.”

  “Aye.” Gray nodded, his now relaxed smile lighting his face brighter than a newly pitched torch. He lifted his hands to all in the room. “All here bear witness; Graham MacTavish shall be duly matched and wed to my good sister Lilia Meredith Sinclair.”

  Tankards thumped on the tabletops and a chorus of hearty “ayes” echoed to the dark rafters of the high-ceilinged room.

  Her fingers laced into a prim knot at her waist, Lady Trulie descended the dais and walked over to Graham and Angus, her long trailing skirts gracefully whispering across the stone floor. She paused once she reached the men, pulling in a slow deep breath as she studied both their faces.

  Graham swallowed hard. No force on earth struck fear into his soul like that of the Sinclair women. Able to skate back and forth across the strands of time and control unexplainable powers, the Sinclairs were the bloodline chosen by the very Fates themselves to break the curse of the vile witch who’d shackled him into the form of a dragon by day and a man by night, then bound him to the shores of Loch Ness and the depths of the sea for more than three centuries.