My Seductive Highlander

by Maeve Greyson

  “What vision?” Graham’s blood ran cold. Not once had they mentioned any visions. He’d heard about the Sinclair women and their gifts of prophecy. This couldna bode well at all.

  Mother Sinclair scowled down at the ground, slowly marking strange glyphs in the dust at their feet with the tip of her staff. “Eliza MacTavish, your blood kin, has cried out across time and space with the last bit of her energy. She’s watched over you for centuries, suffering whilst the curse held you prisoner and tied her hands against helping you. But now that you’re free, her most heartfelt wish for you is the greatest gift of all. She wishes you to find love and contentment, Graham, and she feels you can find it with my Lilia.”

  Graham swiped his sweating palms against the wool of his plaid, opening and closing his fists. The seriousness of this task grew greater by the minute—so many damn people depending on him. He jerked his chin up a notch, bracing himself against the uncertainty and fear churning in his gut. “Tha’s no’ a vision. Tha’s more a request.”

  Mother Sinclair clucked like a nesting hen, shaking her head as she turned away. “When Eliza made her energy and wishes known to me—that’s when I received the vision. You and Lilia are meant to be. The strength and surety of your match came easily to me across the ages. Rarely do the Fates ever allow me any insight into the lives of those I love, but this time, they were overly generous so I might save my sweet Lilia’s life.”

  “She truly is in danger then?” Graham rested his hand atop the pommel of his sword.

  “The greatest danger to Lilia is Lilia herself. Remember all that we’ve taught you about the future.” Mother Sinclair turned to Angus, still fidgeting in the dust. “And I have no idea why the Fates have chosen you but you’re going with him, so man up and stop your whining.”

  Lady Trulie stepped forward and looped a leather cord with a softly glowing blue crystal around each of the men’s necks. She patted the crystal against Graham’s chest and smiled. “A little extra protection while you’re both in the time tunnel. Hold tight to these crystals and remember to keep your eyes closed.” She turned and took her place beside Granny, her arms loosely folded across her chest. “It’ll be nighttime in Edinburgh too. Hopefully, no one will see you drop from the time cloud. Don’t forget to lay low until you get your bearings and figure out where you are. Remember the description of the town and its layout. The high points are on the map we gave you. You should be able to find Lilia easily.”

  “Lay low,” Graham repeated with a hesitant glance over at Angus.

  “Aye.” Angus glared back at him with an angry toss of his head. “That means keep yer ugly arse hidden until ye figure out what the hell yer supposed to do instead of wadin’ into a place and expectin’ everyone to fawn at yer feet. Yer no’ a dragon anymore. Yer nothin’ more than a man.”

  “Yer a surly bastard, I gi’ ye that.” Graham shouldered his pack higher up on his back then turned and nodded at the two women. “Let’s be on with it, then.”

  Lady Trulie and Mother Sinclair each took a torch out of the metal sconces built into the stone wall surrounding the garden and carefully lit the ring of dried tinder piled knee high around the reflecting pool. The flames spread quickly, eating through the wood and sending showers of sparks up into the night sky.

  “When we say the words, the flames will freeze, the water will turn to a mirror, and the portal will open. When you see us lower our torches, you must jump into the center of the ring of frozen fire. Timing is of the utmost importance since neither of you have a drop of time-runner blood in your ancestry.” Mother Sinclair paced back and forth in front of the two men then softly touched the blue crystal of her staff to the crystals each man wore about his neck.

  Graham did his best not to flinch against the strange warming vibration of the stone against his chest. The last time he’d witnessed the powerful Sinclair magic, the accursed witch and the darkness she commanded had nearly drowned him. Goodwill or no’, he was none too anxious to see the Sinclair powers at work again.

  A low humming filled the air as the fire crackled and popped ever higher. The wind picked up, swirling around the reflecting pool with increasing force. Graham strained to see through the debris filling the air, struggling to watch the women and hear their words.

  May the gods help me and protect me, he silently prayed. The mystical haze filling the clearing shielded the women. All he could make out were their shadowy silhouettes and their musical singsong chanting as they passed back and forth on the other side of the burning ring.

  The reflections of their torches and the crackling circle of fire danced and flickered across the water. The din filling the air grew louder. The bone-shaking hum finally exploded and the flames solidified into tall frozen curving spikes straining upward. The water of the reflecting pool popped then hardened, its surface turning black as ebony.

  Graham tensed. It had to be time. With a glance to Angus, Graham nodded and crouched with arms outspread. He watched the torches raised high over the women’s forms, the hollow rush of his own blood pounding in his ears. The torches fell. A bloodcurdling battle cry burned free of his throat as Graham launched forward. A higher-pitched roar sounded behind him as Angus followed.

  Spiraling through the darkness, Graham clutched both hands around the amulet at his chest. He locked into a tight tuck and roll around his shield and bow, squeezing his eyes tightly shut against the wind howling in his ears.

  A constant stream of high-pitched Gaelic cursing placed Angus slightly behind him and to the left. Graham hugged his weapons tighter against his chest and clenched his teeth harder together. He’d save his cursing for whene’er they escaped this strange roaring hell.

  An ear-splitting pop shook through him. He flinched and rolled forward even faster. The ground rushed up at a nauseating speed, then he hit with a bone-shaking thud.

  “Arse-swivin’ sons a bitches!” Angus crashed down beside him, rolling out of control across the grassy hillside.

  Graham finally stopped tumbling, then slowly teetered to one side and cracked open an eyelid. A gentle breeze wafted through the tall clumps of grass and brushed a calming touch across his skin.

  The stars are no’ as bright here. ’Twas the first difference he noted. The night was no’ as dark. A strange orange glow settled across the horizon before fading up into the deep blues and eventually the blacks of the star-spattered sky. What strange magic could it be that made the city at the base of the hill flicker wi’ such an eerie light?

  Graham sat up, propping his shield under one arm as he scanned the city below. Lights. Lady Trulie had said the candles with no flame that lit the night were called lights in this time.

  “Think we be in the proper time?” Angus scurried over to him on all fours, pausing every few feet to stretch up and glance about the hillside. “This time…” He paused, nostrils flaring as he looked around. “This time has an odd stench to it.”

  “Aye.” Graham agreed. This place no’ smelled of the sweet heather from whence he’d come. “What think ye the stench might be? ’Tis worse than the garderobe cesspit.”

  Angus shook his head, still kneeling as he peered across the waving grasses covering the hillside. “I dinna ken. I see no carnage nor scrap piles. Mayhap this time just smells like shit.”

  Graham reached inside his tunic and withdrew the hand-sized leather flask tucked into the fold of his shirt. He uncorked the skin with his teeth and took a long fortifying swig. He welcomed the burning down his gullet. Thank the gods. At least that had no’ changed in this time. “Here. Uisge beatha. ’Twill gi’ ye strength.”

  “Aye to that, m’friend.” Angus snatched the leather flask out of his hand and upended it over his mouth. The golden stream of whisky poured down until Angus uprighted the skin and recorked it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rolled back on his heels. “There’s barely enough in this to properly wet a man’s gullet. Methinks we best be findin’ that pub the old woman told us about.”

 
Graham slowly stood and studied the glaring chaos of lights and noise at the base of the hill. ’Twas a damn sight more confusing than the simple map Lady Trulie and Mother Sinclair had sketched out on the bit of parchment snugged safely inside his belted tunic. “Aye,” he said, snorting at the uncertainty he heard in his own voice.

  He attempted to wet his lips even though his mouth had gone suddenly dry at the prospect of diving headlong into the melee below. He shook free of the indecision and foreboding like a dog shaking free of the rain. Enough of this. He waved Angus forward. “On to the pub.”

  Chapter 4

  EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND

  TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY

  Three perfectly white crisp tickets slowly rose behind the screen of her laptop, bouncing back and forth just beyond the edge like dancing cardboard puppets. A teasing singsong voice kept time with the hopping tickets. “Lookie what I’ve got!”

  “I’m busy, Vivienne. Go pester Alberti.” Lilia massaged the corners of her burning eyes then resettled her black-framed reading glasses back in place. She had to get the marketing campaign nailed down for store number three well before the projected grand opening. Something fresh. Something new. Something spectacular. Those words haunted her every waking hour, even bleeding over into her dreams—they constantly hummed in the back of her mind like a demented mantra.

  Carefully targeted marketing plus word of mouth about her all-natural line of cosmetics and skincare products had boosted sales and built a large enough following to easily support a third store but nothing could be left to chance. It had taken a full year to recover from the gross error she’d made when she trusted the wrong person to help her make her dream a success. I have to make sure this is right—absolutely perfect.

  She closed her eyes and thumbed her pounding temples. After countless hours of staring at the computer and studying demographics, she very much doubted she’d recognize something fresh and new if it bit her on the ass.

  Maybe that should be store three’s angle: Want your sweetie to nibble you straight to ecstasy? Vanilla-scented argan oil will guide your sexy bee straight to the honey pot. Lilia massaged her aching neck. Coming up with unique marketing and ad campaigns sucked balls.

  “Here. Drink yer coffee, m’wee grumpling. Have ye bothered eating today or do I need t’bring ye a biscuit?” Vivienne slid a steaming bright pink mug to the glass table then plopped down in one of the art deco steel chairs, wiggling in the seat until the black leather padding squeaked in protest.

  Lilia curled the chunky ceramic mug between her hands, breathing in the blissful caffeine-infused aroma. Vivienne knew her well and took excellent care of her. Thank God for the day that Vivienne had burst into the first natural-beauty boutique Lilia had opened. The way Vivienne’s shriek had split the air that day, Lilia had thought someone was trying to kill her. But then she had spotted Vivienne’s hair and face and understood completely.

  Lilia immediately suspected a botched home color job as the culprit. She’d never seen quite that shade of greenish purple before—except maybe in a Godzilla B-movie. Vivienne had also sported an inch-wide stain of bile green crawling down out of her hairline. The lizardy shade had striped down her forehead and zigzagged down the back of her neck as well.

  It had taken nearly two full teacups of Lilia’s stash of whisky at the shop to calm Vivienne enough to get the details of what concoction she’d used on her hair. After several hours, when Lilia was done, Vivienne’s porcelain complexion was free of monster-green stains and her chicly spiked “do” was her now trademark electric fuchsia-red. Vivienne had sworn love and loyalty to Lilia that day, and even though that had been barely two years ago, it was as though they’d been the best of friends for a lifetime.

  Vivienne tapped the glass table with a perfectly manicured nail. “Ye’ve wandered away on me again, ducks. I said we’ve some of those delightful cinnamon biscuits left from the preview party for the coconut oil line last night. Want I should reheat one for ye?”

  “Believe it or not, I actually had a scone this morning.” Lilia took in a deep breath, struggling against the darkness and stress squeezing her heart until she thought it would surely crumble. “Eliza seemed a bit more stable today so I had breakfast with her.”

  “Oh. Well…tha’s good then.” Vivienne paused, her mouth pursed downward into a sympathetic frown. “I’m so sorry, lovie,” she whispered. Her deep brown eyes glistened with unshed tears. She cleared her throat and nervously fluffed her fingertips through her short spiked hair.

  Lilia took another sip of the strong black coffee. Vivienne’s unconscious habit of spiking her bright hair into an even wilder bush of abandon somehow consoled her. Vivienne only fiddled with her hair when extremely upset or royally pissed off. By the somber hue of her friend’s aura and the echo of sadness emanating from her, Vivienne was just as upset as she was about Eliza’s worsening condition.

  “So what are the tickets for?” If she didn’t change the subject, she and Vivienne would both be bawling. She slid her cup back to the table, saved the PowerPoint chart, then powered down the laptop. Enough planning for store three for one day.

  Vivienne’s face lit up and she excitedly patted both hands atop the table. “Ye know Fringe Festival starts tonight. And look”—she grabbed up the tickets, fanned them out, and waved them under Lilia’s nose—“the Highland LARPers are putting on a special performance. The tickets were sold out in just under an hour but I scored three of them so you and I and Alberti can go and do a bit of covert surveillance.” Her voice had deepened to the deliciously wicked tone it always took whenever Vivienne was in full plotting mode. She excitedly bounced up and down in her chair as though prepping for liftoff. “We’ll totally win the competition against them later this fall. There’ll be no stopping us at the Grand Highland Games if we can study their bit of swordplay and horsemanship and plan our attack accordingly.” Vivienne pointed both index fingers at Lilia. “Ye could win the title of Grand Swordsmanship Champion two years straight! A pair of trophies would balance out a shelf quite nicely.” Vivienne squealed and patted the table again. “Wouldn’t that be bangin’ hot?”

  LARPing, or Live Action Role Playing, had been Lilia’s saving grace when, just over a year ago, she’d nearly lost her constant battle against the crippling darkness of depression. Gifted—or cursed depending on your viewpoint—with prophetic visions and painfully fine-tuned empathy, life got overwhelming fast. Drugs hadn’t helped, and neither had therapy—especially when she couldn’t exactly be totally honest with the doctor when it came to her family history. If she’d told the psychiatrist she was the youngest member of a family of time-traveling women, born in thirteenth-century Scotland then whisked to the future by her grandmother to save her life, the doc would’ve surely locked her in a padded room and thrown away the key.

  But the intense physical workout and the strategic planning involved in their LARP war games and swordplay competitions had helped—that and Vivienne and Alberti’s close watchful care.

  Vivienne had introduced Lilia to Alberti after the infamous screaming match she’d had with her former business partner, David Sommers, over some entries in the company’s accounts he couldn’t explain. Vivienne had never trusted or liked David, but as Granny would say, “The man could charm a dog off a meat wagon” and he knew how to double-talk better than any politician. Whenever Lilia had lowered her shields and scanned David, she’d never come up with any sense of guilt from him so she’d liked him and took him at his word. Of course, now she knew he never felt any guilt because the bastard hadn’t possessed a conscience.

  But then Vivienne had brought in Alberti. She’d known him since college and anyone Vivienne recommended was fine in Lilia’s book. A savvy businessman, financial whiz, and even a licensed physical trainer on the side, Alberti had jumped at the chance to invest in Lilia’s beauty business—a business that for all intents and purposes should have been thriving but, strangely enough, seemed to be losing money.

  Tha
nk God for Vivienne and Alberti. Not just for being business partners but also for being non-judgy confidants and friends. They knew and unconditionally accepted the parts of her heritage she’d risked sharing. And if not for those two, she would’ve gone off the deep end and drowned in her sorrow a long time ago.

  A sharp clap startled Lilia back to the present.

  “Yer worse at yer wanderin’ today. Did ye no’ sleep last night? If yer gonna get lost in yer thoughts, snag a juicy moment of goin’ up against the wall instead of that dark shit that puts the shadows ’neath yer eyes.” Vivienne scooped up the coveted tickets and waved them under Lilia’s nose again. “Come on, ducks. Ye know a bit a swordplay always cheers ye up. Say ye’ll come.”

  Lilia plucked the tickets out of Vivienne’s hands, leaned back in the plush office chair, and slowly swiveled back and forth. “The Highland LARPers, huh?”

  “Aye.” Vivienne patted her hands on the table in rapid-fire drumming. “We’ll have a grand evening of swords, archery, and horsemanship and then it’ll be off to the pub to toast our warmongering genius at strategizing the perfect coup for the upcoming battle this fall!”

  “Have you told Alberti?”

  “Has she told Alberti what?” Alberti, tall, slender, and attired in his usual state of impeccable fashion perfection, leaned through the partially opened office door. “What debacle has Vivienne embroiled us in this time?”

  “Piss off, Berti.” Vivienne affectionately extended her middle finger with a casual flip of one hand. Only Vivienne could turn a rude hand gesture into a sign of endearment.

  Alberti rolled his eyes, ignoring Vivienne with a sleek dark brow arched directly at Lilia. “Have you forgotten we’ve a meeting with the zoning commission today and—as God is my witness—please tell me that is not how you intend to wear your hair?”

  Lilia fingered the heavy blonde braid hanging down the right side of her neck. The tethered tip of the long ponytail nearly brushed her lap. “What’s wrong with a braid? I just re-blonded everything so I’m trying not to stress it out by taking the flat iron to it.”