My Seductive Highlander

by Maeve Greyson

  “Oh holy hell.”

  “Aye.” Gray nodded, his slowly widening 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 against 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 steps, slowly approaching Graham and Angus with her long skirts gracefully whispering across the stone floor.

  Damned if he didna feel as threatened as a wee mousie facin’ down Mother Sinclair’s cat.

  Lady Trulie paused once she reached the men, pulling in a slow deep breath while she studied them. Head barely tilted to one side, her brow furrowed the merest bit as her eyes narrowed.

  Sizin’ up our weaknesses, no doubt. 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 at will and control inexplicable powers, the Sinclairs were the bloodline chosen by the verra 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.

  These women were powerful and—God a’mighty—he’d seen each of their tempers flare hot and wicked more than once. From Mother Sinclair down to the MacKenna’s wee daughter, Chloe. Berserkers appeared meek as lambs when compared to enraged Sinclair females.

  “You and Angus come to the solar. We’ll go over the details of your trip there.” Lady Trulie lightly patted his arm then turned toward the stone arch leading up to the chieftain’s private tower. “Come now. Both of you.”

  “Beggin’ yer forgiveness, m’lady.” Angus angled around in front of Graham and held his clasped hands up to Lady Trulie, shameless pleading written all over his face. “Surely, ye dinna mean to send me off into the unknown too.”

  “Helluva friend ye be.” Graham shouldered Angus aside. “Leave the coward here, m’lady. I’ll be fine on me own.”

  One of Lady Trulie’s dark brows arched a notch higher in a chilling look of displeasure. With a quick shake of her head, she waved both men forward. “Both of you. To the solar. Now.”

  The sound of Granny’s staff rapping hard against the floor behind them hastened their steps. Graham cast an imploring look back at the MacKenna bringing up the rear. Surely the MacKenna’s mind could be changed. Surely he’d no’ damn a fellow Highlander to the scheming of the Sinclair women.

  “On wi’ ye, man.” Gray nodded once toward the winding stone steps at the end of the hall. “Ye brought this on yerself. The both of ye did.” He paused and turned back to look at those still gathered in the main meeting room. “I gladly adopted ye into this clan but I’ll no’ continue allowin’ ye to anger my allies at every border. I have many to protect. I’ll no’ risk them for the randiness of one.”

  “I curse the day I took ye as friend,” Angus said in a low hissing growl. He stomped on ahead, his stocky form swaying from side to side with his rolling short-legged gait.

  Graham sucked in a long deep breath and blew it out. “And I curse the day I was born,” he muttered aloud, while silently praying the gods would somehow reach down and pluck him out of this damn mess.

  Chapter 2

  “Sit.” Mother Sinclair pointed to a short bench snugged up against the wall beside the stone hearth. “The both of you.”

  Graham strode across the room, taking his stance in front of the cold fireplace. “I’ll stand, thank ye.” ’Twas true he respected the women and looked upon them with no small amount of leeriness, but he’d be damned if he would sit on a bench like a lad due a scolding. They’d already named his sentence. Time to get on wi’ the details of his fate.

  Angus huffed out a disgusted harrumph then obediently stomped over to the bench and plopped down. As soon as he sat, a golden-eyed black cat hopped up beside him and sat glaring at him with an unblinking stare. Angus edged to the end of the bench farthest from the cat, crossing his legs and turning away as though shielding his man parts from the creature’s piercing gaze.

  Mother Sinclair chuckled. “Very good, Kismet. Keep an eye on Angus and make certain he pays attention.”

  The tip of Kismet’s long sleek tail flipped a bit faster.

  A warm heavy weight leaned hard against Graham’s leg. Without looking down, he leaned to one side and scratched behind the massive dog’s ears. I thank ye, lad. At least he had one ally in the room. Lady Trulie’s hulking black beast of a dog, Karma, had taken up with him since the first moment he’d arrived at MacKenna Keep. Of course, ’twas probably because the MacKenna’s five-year-old daughter, Chloe, had named him her favorite uncle. The dog worshiped the wee lass and considered her word law. “Stay wi’ me, lad. I appreciate yer strength,” he whispered down to the dog.

  Karma thumped his heavy tail against the floor.

  Mother Sinclair and Lady Trulie settled in the cushioned chairs pulled close to the hearth. The band around Graham’s chest loosened the barest bit as the MacKenna strode over to the waist-high cabinet filled with bottles, pitchers, and assorted cups and glasses. He wouldna mind a wee nip if the MacKenna was so inclined.

  Gray promptly filled two pewter goblets with the deep ruby contents of one of the pitchers. He carried the glasses to the women then returned to the bar, filled three tankards from an amber bottle, and waved the men forward. “Come. I’ve whisky for the both of ye and I’ve a feelin’ ye’ll be a-needin’ it.”

  Angus beat Graham to the bar, snatched up one of the mugs, and then, with a fearful glance at Mother Sinclair, obediently returned to the bench.

  Coward. Graham shook his head at Angus then purposely sauntered across the room as though he had nary a care in the world. He’d do as they bid him but he’d damn sure no’ sacrifice his backbone in the doin’ of it. He looped his hand through the handle of the tankard then strode back to his position at the hearth.

  “Sláinte.” Gray lifted his glass and nodded to each of the men.

  “Sláinte,” Graham repeated as he lifted his glass first to Gray then to the ladies before taking a deep draw. He welcomed the burn of the fiery liquid. It reminded him a great deal of when he’d been a dragon and housed burning coals in his gullet. A bitter laugh snorted free as he stared down at his reflection in the bit of whisky left in his cup. At least he could say his life had ne’er been dull.

  “I think you and Lilia are a wonderful match,” Lady Trulie said while turning to slide her goblet to the small arm table snugged between her and Mother Sinclair’s chairs. “She’s strong-willed just like you. I bet there’ll be sparks.”

  Sparks? Hell’s fire. Tha’s all I need. Sinclair sparks t’singe me arse. Graham finished his drink in one quick gulp, silently wishing there was more. He politely nodded. “And ye ken the lady will be agreeable to this match ye desire?”

  “Probably not,” Mother Sinclair observed. Her soft chuckling echoed in her cup as she took a long slow drink. Merriment glistened in her eyes as she placed her glass beside Trulie’s. “Lilia’s quite the hellcat. Stubborn. Opinionated. And if she thinks it, you can damn well bet she’s going to say it.”

  Then all mirth faded from her as she reached for Trulie’s hand. “But our strong, stubborn Lilia thinks allowing anyone to help her is a sign of weakness…of failure. Only a year ago, this isolation and selfish guarding of her insecurities nearly caused her to end her life.”

  Lady Trulie patted Mother Sinclair’s hand then rose from her chair and stepped closer to Graham. “We’re sending you to the future not only to woo Lilia but to save her from herself. She needs to be loved whether she wishes it or not. She can’t survive in this world alone—no matter what century. She’s an empath and isn’t always able to shield herself from the cruelties around her.” Trulie cleared her throat an
d turned away, but not before Graham noticed the moisture of unshed tears shining in her eyes. An empath? What the hell is an empath? Be she crippled?

  Trulie sniffed and pressed the back of one hand against her mouth. Recovering quickly, she lifted her head and smoothed both hands down the folds of her skirt. She returned to her chair and sank into it, slowly blowing out a deep breath through pursed lips. “And even with the prophetic visions the Fates send her, Lilia doesn’t realize she’s in danger.”

  “What is this danger she faces?” Graham placed his empty tankard on the shelf above the hearth. He couldna stomach the thought of a helpless woman facing danger alone. Perhaps empath meant the poor lass was under some sort of curse or being hunted down by demons. He understood the feelings of utter helplessness well. Curses did that to a soul. The verra idea grated against his hide. Women were to be protected and cherished from such unpleasantness. “What danger?” he repeated.

  “The danger of depression—of a dark hopelessness.” Mother Sinclair shook her head. “Lilia’s blessing from the Fates is also a curse. She’s able to see future events—usually dire events. Sometimes she can save those she sees in the visions. Sometimes not. And when we say Lilia is an empath, we mean she feels the pain and suffering of the world more than most. She can stand inside a crowded room and experience what every individual in that room feels—be it sorrow or joy or anything in between—and she’s not always able to shield herself from others’ emotions. Soon she’ll be alone. The guardian I sent to watch over her is dying. Lilia must not be left alone. Alone, the darkness of despair could very well overpower her and pull her down to her end.”

  Mother Sinclair rose from her chair, crossed the room, and thumped Graham on the chest. “But if she is properly wooed and married—the greatest energy of all would help keep her from that darkness.”

  Graham clasped his hands to the small of his back, fighting the urge to fidget beneath Mother Sinclair’s intent gaze. “What energy do ye speak of? I’ve no magic, nor powers to keep the woman safe. I can only protect her with m’sword—and would consider it an honor t’do so.”

  He’d gladly do that if that’s what they wished. He sorely regretted endangering the clan with his behavior. They’d welcomed him in and named him as one of their own when he’d declined to return to Draegonmare Keep with his beloved friend, Ronan, and Ronan’s new wife, Mairi—another of the Lady Trulie’s sisters.

  The thought of returning to Loch Ness, the land he’d been anchored to for so verra long, had rankled his soul. So the MacKennas had adopted him and bid him stay as long as he liked. Graham’s gaze lowered to the floor, his heart sinking to his gut. He was keenly aware of all that the MacKennas had done for him. And look how he’d gone and repaid that kindness.

  Mother Sinclair moved forward and rested her bony fingers atop his arm, her touch gentler this time. She leaned in close and smiled. “You can protect her with the greatest energy of all. You can protect her with your love and understanding.”

  Graham sucked in a deep breath, uncertainty threatening to squeeze the air right back out. Love? Surely the woman jests. I’m no’ capable of love. He’d hardened his heart against that fickle emotion whilst he was cursed. After all, ’twas the foolishness of enchanted love that had drawn him to the beauty of the vile witch that had damned him to the form of the dragon. “I will give her my honor and protection. I can guarantee no more than that.”

  Mother Sinclair wrinkled her nose, resettling her wire-rimmed spectacles a bit higher. Her sparse gray brows knitted together in a disapproving frown. “You will have one full month.” She held up a slightly bent finger, knotted and twisted with age. “Just one full cycle of the moon to win Lilia’s heart and convince her to be your wife. The Fates aren’t the patient sort—especially since we’re blatantly tinkering with their web by attempting to permanently relocate you to the future. They will not permit you an extended stay in a time other than your own without a proper anchor to keep your heart and soul grounded. If, at the end of that month, you and Lilia aren’t as one, your happy ass will be yanked right back here to the past—and to the Buchanans.”

  Mother Sinclair spoke as though that were a bad thing. Surely after a month in the future, the Buchanan clan’s ire wouldha cooled enough for him to safely return to his life in the thirteenth century. Graham felt more settled, calmer with the certainty of it. Aye. I’ll be back here in no time a’tall. All will be well.

  “Nay. I ken what yer thinkin’.” Gray stepped forward, shaking his head. “If ye return to this time, I’ll be forced to turn ye over to the Buchanan to avoid clan war. His ire toward ye willna be set aside so easily. Ye ken, at the verra least, the man wishes to see ye drawn and quartered. Ye cuckolded the man within his own keep, and ’tis said his women keep his hatred fanned and well fueled by singin’ of yer ‘talents’ to any and all who’ll lend an ear.” Gray watched Graham over the rim of his glass while drawing in another long sip. He lowered the mug and slid it to the cabinet beside him. “The Buchanan has accepted the offer that yer to be banished from Scotland—forever. ’Twas the only option other than yer head on a pike that came remotely close to coolin’ the man’s rage. Ye can wager his people will be watchin’ and willna fail to report if ye return—no matter how long ye’ve stayed away from yer beloved Highlands of this time. Clan MacKenna can no longer be yer sanctuary.”

  Well, damn me arse straight t’hell and back. But surely the chieftain errs in his thinkin’. Surely I can return after a bit of time. Graham stood taller. A Sinclair woman. To wife. May the gods have mercy on his soul. Surely ’twould no’ be that bad—no’ as bad as torture, or even worse—the dungeons. And eventually…perhaps he could someday return and reunite his new wife with her kin. Aye. Surely that would be his future.

  “I’ll make certain the woman agrees to be m’wife.” A growing sense of uncertainty stirred uncomfortably in his gut like a poorly digested meal. God a’mighty. What the hell am I to do with a wife?

  “See that you do.” Mother Sinclair returned to her chair and scooped up her goblet in a pale knobby hand. She put the glass to her mouth then paused and instead lifted it to Graham in a toast. “Know this—if you cause my granddaughter any pain, the Buchanan will be the least of your worries.”

  Chapter 3

  Graham tightened his belt and checked his sword for the third time since they’d gathered in the garden beside the reflecting pool. He flexed his calves, finding some small comfort in the leather straps biting into his muscles. Aye, good. Both daggers, especially the most cherished one that ne’er left his possession, felt securely sheathed against his legs. Shield and bow rested on the ground beside him. He’d take them up as soon as Mother Sinclair bade him ’twas time to do so.

  The old woman and Lady Trulie had spent the past week preparing—nay, no’ preparing—’twas more like the two women had waged a full-blown attack on him and Angus, training them both for this wretched trip into the unknown. Even little Chloe had solemnly shown him her precious picture book the family kept hidden—the strange book with parchment pages that were oddly slick and smooth and the images colored so brightly they couldna be of this world.

  Graham glanced around at the tense faces, shadowed and yet glowing in the flickering torchlight of the night-shrouded garden. Every face clearly reflected the same uncertainty eating at his gut. Damnation. I’m such a swivin’ fool. He was about to forsake all he’d ever known because of one woman easily lured from her husband’s bed. Lore a’mighty—I’ll ne’er touch another man’s woman again. He swallowed hard, suddenly remembering the real purpose of this trip. God’s beard, what the hell will I do with a wife of me own?

  Graham rolled his shoulders, muscles tensed and aching. Part of him thrilled at the prospect of this journey but a bigger part of him cowered at the great unknown leap he was about to make. He snorted out a huffing laugh. Aye…I suppose ’tis well and good t’do this after all. I’ve spent the last three centuries yearning for freedom and excitement.
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  Angus fidgeted at his side, taking up his pack and slinging it across his shoulder then dropping it back to the ground before taking it up again. He shuffled and circled around in the dust like Mother Sinclair’s cat searching for a place to shit.

  Graham clapped a hand to Angus’s shoulder and squeezed. “Be still, man. Yer frettin’ worse than a wormy hound.”

  “Be still?” Angus glared at him with a dark, incredulous smirk. “Be still he says when we’re about to jump into the verra jaws of hell itself and we’ve no way of knowin’ if we’ll come out alive on the other end of it or no’.”

  “Of course you’ll come out alive on the other end.” Mother Sinclair thumped her staff against Angus’s shoulder and pointed for him to back up a few steps. “Stand over there so Trulie and I can go over the final details.”

  Lady Trulie slowly meandered back and forth in front of them, studying them closely as though sizing them up as prey. She arched a brow, cleared her throat, then leaned in close to Mother Sinclair and spoke in a hushed tone. “You’re positive they’ll both make it through okay? You know it doesn’t always work very well with males.”

  “Oh holy hell.” Angus flung a hand to one side then raked his fingers through his already wildly unkempt hair. He whirled about and jabbed a stubby finger in the center of Graham’s chest. “This is yer fault, ye randy bastard. I told ye she was no’ a whore.” He jabbed his finger hard against Graham’s breastbone again. “I canna believe I’m gonna die just because ye couldna resist a bit a skirt.”

  Graham grabbed Angus’s hand before he could jab him again and squeezed. Hard. Without releasing Angus’s fist, he turned to Mother Sinclair. “Send me alone. Leave this coward behind. He shouldna be punished for my poor choices.”

  Mother Sinclair shook her head. “No. The vision clearly showed Angus in the future with you. He must go too—and his ability to stay, if he so chooses, also depends on your connection with Lilia.”