“If ye’d be excusin’ me for just a wee moment, lass.” The owner of the mesmerizing voice of her vision politely bowed then turned around and grabbed the shorter man by the scruff of the neck. “Come, Angus. We’ll take our money elsewhere.”
“Nay. The bastard insulted me. Called me a thief. I’ll be damned if I leave without showin’ him what for.” Angus locked both hands atop the bar railing and hooked the heels of his boots into the foot rungs close to the floor. “I’ll no’ leave without a fight, Graham. I’ll no’ do it, I tell ye.”
“Aye.” Graham grunted and yanked Angus free of the bar. “Ye will do it and ye’ll be a doin’ it now.” He grappled Angus closer, muttered something against the side of his head, then shoved him toward the door.
Angus staggered sideways, all the while looking back. Lilia glanced first at Angus then turned and followed his line of sight. What the heck had Mr. Honey-Voice told him? She looked back at Angus once more then turned back again and it all became clear. Angus’s attention was focused on Vivienne. Or rather her currently upended leather-covered derriere as she bent over the bar, wrestling the bat away from Frank.
Lilia hurried forward, waving for Graham to follow. A quick glance back assured her that Vivienne and Alberti were now following close behind Graham. Vivienne was grinning from ear to ear as she waved Frank’s bat overhead and dance-walked to the song blaring from the speakers. Lilia shook her head and chuckled as she pushed her way out the door into the cool night air. Leave it to Vivienne to transform a barroom brawl into a dancing conga line.
Angus was stomping up and down the sidewalk, pausing every now and then to shake his fist toward the pub, then grab his crotch and shake his kilt-covered parts in a very clear message to Frank and his place of business. He whirled about, bent over, and was just about to bare his ass when Graham caught up with him and thumped him on the back. Angus straightened with an angry jerk, his narrow-eyed glare fixed on Graham.
Lilia patted Angus on the shoulder. “Ignore Frank. Fringe always gets his panties in a wad.”
Both of Angus’s dark wooly brows arched clear to his tousled hairline. “Panties?”
Before Lilia could respond, Graham stepped forward with a polite bow and an extended hand. “Forgive us, mistress. We’re no’ usually so uncivilized. I am Graham MacTavish and ’tis an honor to meet ye.” He motioned toward the glowering man just behind him. “And this be Angus MacKenna.”
“Did you say MacTavish?” Lilia paused mid-reach of taking Graham’s hand. This was the first time since she’d moved to Edinburgh that she’d run across any MacTavishes other than Eliza. Perhaps Graham was a yet-to-be-discovered relation.
Graham kept his hand extended and bowed again. “Aye. MacTavish. Do ye ken the name?”
Lilia slid her hand into Graham’s calloused palm. Bits and pieces of smoldering erotic scenes flashed through her mind and a pulsing energy surged into her, heating her to her core. Lilia quickly jerked back and curled her fist to her chest. “Sorry. Guess I built up some static electricity inside the pub.” Static electricity, my ass. That warm tingling jolt packed enough psychic sexuality and cosmic energy to blow her socks off and trigger the orgasm of the century. What the hell was that about?
Graham’s eyes widened. With a stiff jerk of his head, he stared down at his hand then rubbed his thumb back and forth across his fingertips. “Stat…What did ye say?” He took another step forward and held out his hand again.
“Static electricity,” Lilia repeated. Dare she touch his hand again? Surely the blood-warming zap had just been a fluke. Probably because she’d just had one of her visions. Some kind of weird residual stuff. That’s it. My energy’s stuck on wide open and my amps are humming into overdrive. I just need to calm down.
Lilia pulled in a deep cleansing breath, rubbed her thumb across her fingers, then firmly clasped Graham’s hand. The seductive energy surged into her again, warming, melding, and sensually buzzing through every particle of her being. She knew this man, recognized him at the most basic level of her existence. But how the hell could that be possible? She’d never met him before.
“I ken who ye be,” Graham breathed out in a hushed tone. “Yer Lilia Sinclair.” He ran his thumb across the top of her hand then reverently lifted it to his lips.
Lilia pulled her hand away, pressing it back to the tightly laced bodice of her leather corset. “You can’t know me. We’ve never met.” She eased a step back, the back of her hand still burning from the addictive touch of his mouth. “I’m sure I’d remember it if we’d ever crossed paths.”
Graham closed the distance she’d just put between them, his brow furrowing as he bent closer and studied her. “Aye. I shouldha seen it straightaway. Ye have the look of yer grandmother about yer eyes.”
Vivienne bounced over to Angus, Frank’s bat propped on her shoulder as though she were next up to the plate. “I’m Vivienne Sands and I must know where you got that exquisite shield. I absolutely adore the pattern.”
Angus’s mouth sagged open but no words came out. The man was powerless against Vivienne’s overflowing leather corset bobbing mere inches from his nose. He pulled the shield out from under his arm and handed it over. “Here. Ye can have it.”
Vivienne snuggled even closer to him, stroking her fingertips across the perfectly round shield decorated with row upon row of brass brads. “So lovely.”
Eyes still locked on Vivienne’s bountiful chest, Angus emitted a strained squeaking noise and nodded. “Aye,” he finally whispered. “ ’Tis.”
Forcing her gaze away from poor Angus, Lilia struggled to breathe against the suffocating conviction that she’d just walked into a trap. Graham and Angus were from the past: hence the authenticity of their attire and the confusion in the bar. “Why are you two here? Who the hell sent you?”
“Lilia!” Alberti sauntered up to the group, his cloak neatly folded across one arm. “It’s Fringe, lovie. You know they’re here for the festivities.” Alberti held out his hand to Graham. “Alberti Peebles. It’s a pleasure to meet another true artist who insists on historically accurate weapons.”
“The weapons are accurate because they are historical.” Lilia squared off in front of Graham and lifted her chin, doing her best to ignore the thudding pound of her heart against her heavy leather armor. Never had anyone affected her so…so…deeply and she didn’t care for it a damn bit. “Did Granny send you…or was it Trulie?”
“Both.” A dark scowl replaced Graham’s pleased expression of only moments ago. “Chieftain MacKenna, the Lady Trulie, and Mother Sinclair worry after ye. They feel I can help protect ye.” He clapped a hand to Angus’s shoulder and pulled him away from Vivienne’s bustline. “Angus was sent along with me because he too appeared in yer grandmother’s vision.”
Alberti and Vivienne shared a worried glance then moved to stand on either side of Lilia. Her knotted hands trembled against her sides and the pounding of her heartbeat thumped in her sweat-dampened palms. She didn’t need this right now. She was already in emotional overload dealing with the impending loss of Eliza. She vaguely felt Vivienne squeeze her shoulders. “Come on, pet. I’ll take ye home. Yer far gone weary. Alberti can see to the men and find them a place to stay. We dinna have to deal with this tonight.”
Graham held up a hand, stepping closer and blocking the path Vivienne had turned Lilia toward. “Stay.” His dark eyes narrowed and his extended hand slowly curled closed then dropped to his side. “I beg ye stay and speak wi’ me for just a wee bit. I mean ye no harm—I swear it.” Then he straightened, chin lifted and chest expanding as though shielding himself from what he knew would be her refusal. “Surely ye ken yer family would no’ send a danger to ye.”
There is that. Lilia eased out from under Vivienne’s protective hug, giving Graham a quick aural scan before shoring back up the shields that kept the world’s emotions from driving her insane. What lovely colors he emits and such a unique aura. Swirls of passionate reds vibrated into spiritual purples t
hen flickered out to rich loyal blues. Even though his aura was laced with strange, inexplicable sparks of what appeared to be golden shooting flames, Graham was safe, emanating the strongest and highest traits of each color spectrum she’d come to know and respect. And Granny and Trulie had sent him. She could at least hear what he had to say.
Lilia gave Vivienne their long-ago agreed-upon signal that everything was okay for the time being: the stand down wink and nod. “Why don’t you and Alberti take Angus across the way for drinks while Mr. MacTavish and I have a chat?”
“Are ye certain, pet?” Vivienne fixed Graham with the look that Lilia had affectionately labeled the stink-eye curse of Vivienne.
“Hmpf.” Graham jutted out his chin and returned Vivienne’s warning scowl with a dark look of his own.
“I’m sure,” Lilia said, pointing across the brick street to a lantern-lit grouping of tables. “Head on over to Lottie’s Close and save us a table. We’ll be there in a bit.”
Angus’s countenance visibly brightened. He wet his lips and agreed with a quick bobbing of his head. “Aye. I could use a pint or three.” He hooked his thumbs into his belt and rolled to the balls of his feet in a quick bounce. “Take yer time,” he said to Graham.
“Very well then,” Alberti said. Ever the leader, he deftly herded Vivienne and Angus toward the outdoor bar. With a backward glance at Lilia, he raised his voice to be heard over the boisterous crowd enjoying the mild summer evening. “I’ll have my phone on the table. You know what to do if need be.”
Lilia reached down into her cleavage, pulled her phone free, and waved it at Alberti. “Gotcha.” Alberti would rally every able-bodied officer in Scotland and not a few friends to save her if she speed-dialed him for help.
Returning her phone to her God-given cleavage-holster, Lilia turned back to Graham’s wide-eyed stare. The poor man looked as though his eyes were about to explode free of his head. Lilia patted her chest. “I don’t have pockets in this outfit. It’s the only place I can carry it.”
“Aye,” Graham reverently whispered as his gaze dipped back down to the designated spot between her corset-plumped breasts.
“Let’s walk while you tell me what this visit of yours is really about.” Lilia motioned for Graham to follow her out into the street. The sidewalks were too crowded to allow any semblance of conversation. The cordoned-off brick stretch of the Royal Mile leading to Edinburgh Castle would serve much better. It was still crowded but not as impassable as the walkways in front of the shops and pubs.
Graham extended his bent arm for her to take, frowning when Lilia refused with a shake of her head. “Why don’t you start by telling me about Granny’s vision,” she prodded. The man could play the ancient gallant all he wanted—they were staying on topic.
With a sound that could only be described as a cross between a guttural harrumph and an irritated growl, Graham fell into step beside her, visibly paring down his strong, long-legged stride to keep her from having to break into a hopping lope to keep pace with him. “I wasna privy to the details of yer grandmother’s vision. I dinna ken what the woman saw other than the fact that I was needed here—by you.”
“By me?” Lilia repeated, her irritation prickling when Graham’s only response was a curt nod. “So what are you? A miracle worker or a healer?” Lilia flinched at the bitterness of her tone. She hated being the shrew with an innocent bystander, but the only thing she needed right now was someone who could help Eliza.
“Nay. I am neither.” Graham’s voice rumbled patient and deep as he walked along beside her, seemingly nonplussed by her tone. “But I do ken the way of things and what must be done to survive. I can help ye battle the darkness that oft attempts to overtake the light.”
Something in his eyes as he spoke touched a deep part of her soul. Lilia forced herself to look away, break his hold. But then she just as quickly looked back and locked into his gaze. She couldn’t help herself. There was so much…so much what? She didn’t know what she saw in Graham’s eyes but she needed it—badly.
“I ken verra well just how cold and wicked the darkness can be,” he gently assured her. “Ye need but trust me, lass.”
Darkness. Funny you should say it that way. Lilia struggled to keep from warming to Graham but her deepest instincts refused to listen to common sense, mocking her with the futility of building any semblance of separation or dislike for the man. The unseen vibrations emanating from Graham reassured her he was genuine—he cared and she might as well stop trying to harden her heart against him. Lilia shook herself free of the annoying inner voice. She didn’t care if Graham had a heart of gold. She had to keep him at a distance—a safe distance—at least until she figured out why Granny had sent him.
“So you came here to take me back as soon as Eliza dies?” That had to be his angle. Lilia stopped walking, turned to Graham, and forced herself to lower her shields. She needed the raw truth of it all and the only way she could trust a single word this man said was to take a chance and set her sensors on wide open to read his feelings.
Graham stopped walking and faced her, widening his stance as he clasped his hands behind his back. “I didna come here t’return ye to the past. I came here t’stay wi’ ye—t’learn yer ways and do me best t’help ye and protect ye.”
He was telling the truth—at least most of the truth. Lilia didn’t miss the thin wavering of uncertainty vibrating at the deepest level of Graham’s aura. “What are you not telling me?” She could plainly tell he wasn’t lying but he wasn’t telling her everything he knew about what she’d asked either. “Graham?”
Graham didn’t say a word, just resettled his footing, lifted his stubborn chin a notch higher, and smiled.
Fine. So this is how we’re gonna play it. An I ain’t tellin’ and you can’t make me attitude was the quickest way to piss her off. Lilia spun about and started back down the street to the outdoor pub where Alberti and Vivienne waited. No more games and dancing around the details with a heart-stirring man she’d just met—a man she was inexplicably drawn to and suddenly missed now that he wasn’t walking beside her.
“Ye canna run from me, lass,” Graham called out above the noise of the crowd.
Lilia huffed out an irritated growl but didn’t bother looking back. You’ve got it all wrong, handsome. I never run. Granny obviously hadn’t warned Graham who he’d be dealing with. She didn’t give a rat’s ass if it was August. She was heading back to the house to crank up the woodstove and Granny was going to give her some answers. Granny had meddled and manipulated Trulie, Kenna, and Mairi into returning to the thirteenth century to find their Highland husbands. She had too much going on right now to be the next one up on Granny’s play list.
Chapter 5
“I’m not leaving ye alone. I know yer…different.” Vivienne shrugged as she plopped down on the overstuffed settee in front of the floor-to-ceiling bookcase. “I don’t care that yer odd as an American two-dollar bill. Weird shit doesna frighten me; ye should ken that well enough by now. Yer m’friend, pet. I worry after ye.” She plumped a pillow behind her back and crossed her ankles atop the arm of the chair.
Lilia shoved crumpled paper up under the crisscrossed sticks then took a long-stemmed match, struck it, and dotted the fire along the edges of the paper. The yellow flame took hold, melting into the thin sheets and dancing up into the bits of wood. She pulled out the silver knob, opening the damper as wide as it would go until the delicate yellow flames grew into a roaring white blaze. “I think the world of you, Viv, but I don’t want to run you off when you realize I’m not batty—all the weird shit I’ve told you about is real.”
And she didn’t want to lose Vivienne’s friendship. If not for her and Alberti, she’d either be locked up in a psych ward by now or pushing up daisies in the local cemetery. She ran a thumb along the white scars on her wrist. They’d found her that night after she’d finally signed the papers to prosecute her low-life business partner David Sommers for embezzling and identity fraud. That
son of a bitch. She’d trusted him, called him friend, and the bastard had nearly ruined her.
Her true friends, Alberti and Vivienne, had found her crouched in front of the television, drunk as hell, covered in blood, and sobbing her heart out at the evening news and all the pain her battered emotional shields had allowed to attack her soul.
Neither Alberti nor Vivienne had ever mentioned that night again. That night when she’d finally given up—and they’d saved her and stayed beside her through everything. Dammit, she didn’t deserve friends like them. She was a freakin’ time runner, for Christ’s sake. An ancient bloodline blessed by the damn Fates. You’d think she’d be able to handle this shit alone.
“So what’s this fire portal thingy like? It sounds a bit like some sort of cyber-meeting webcam-type deal. Is that what it is, lovie?” Vivienne stretched forward, unzipped her boots, then kicked them off onto the floor.
“That pretty much describes it. As soon as I get a good bed of coals built up, you’ll see.” Lilia added more tinder to the base of the fire, shoving in the slivers of wood to keep the blaze roaring until the bigger chunks caught. Maybe it would be easier to confront Granny and Trulie with Vivienne at her side.
“Sounds nifty. I’m gonna pop into the kitchen and fix us a spot of tea.” Vivienne paused at the door to the parlor. “Or do ye want something a bit stronger? Espresso laced with a bit a booze maybe?”
Lilia chewed on her bottom lip, halfway tempted to build up her courage with some highly caffeinated alcohol. She finally shook her head. “No thanks. Conversations with my grandmother are best handled with a clear head.”
The fire popped and hissed. The heated air roared up the flue until the cherry-red cast-iron stove almost glowed. Lilia pushed open every window in the sitting room. A warm August night wasn’t the best time for a fire portal call.
As Vivienne entered the room bearing a tray with cups, biscuits, and tea, Lilia took the cast-iron shovel and scooped away a small pile of ash-coated red coals. Cupping her hand just above them, she gently blew against the chunks of orange and red until they sparked and popped with renewed life.
My Seductive Highlander Page 5