Must Love Kilts

by Allie Mackay

  Even now, she glared at him.

  “You call me a witch. Don’t you think I would’ve have used my craft to conjure clothes if I were?” She jutted her chin, defiance in her tone. “Or maybe cast you into a three-toed, wart-backed toad!”

  Magnus spluttered.

  Beside him, Orosius hooted.

  “Keep out of this, you loon.” Magnus bent a look at the seer. He’d forgotten Orosius was still there, hovering close by, his good ear tilted toward them.

  “She speaks true, what?” The seer’s words proved he hadn’t missed a word. “If she were a witch, she’d have made good both those threats, eh?”

  “That’s exactly what I meant.” Margo seized her advantage.

  “Humph.” Magnus folded his arms. He determined to ignore both of them.

  “Your friend only stated half of it.” She was suddenly toe to toe with him, having moved with incredible stealth while he’d been fuming. “If I had any witchy powers, I’d zap myself out of here. I always thought I’d love to see medieval Scotland. And then when I—” Her voice cracked and she swallowed, her eyes glistening as she pressed a fist to her lips.

  “You’ve upset the lass.” Orosius turned a dark look on him.

  “Bah!” Magnus cut the air with his hand. “I’ve done naught but find a mantle to cover her, you arse.” Even so, heat shot up his neck and a muscle twitched in his jaw.

  He had put the sheen of tears in her eyes.

  He would not allow himself to feel bad for her.

  But he did.

  And the knowledge only made him the angrier.

  So he went over to her and took her chin in his hand and tilted her face upward so she had to meet his eye.

  “I’ll only ask this once, lass. Answer me true. Did you use dark powers to fire-blast the Vikings, knocking them and their dragon ships into infinity?”

  “Something knocked me into the ether and”—her eyes flashed blue sparks at him—“much as I wanted to be here, I’m now sorry I came.”

  She broke away from him and set her hands on her hips, trying to look fierce.

  “You’re not a hero, Magnus MacBride.” Her words gave his heart a jolt. “You’re an ogre.”

  “Hah!” Orosius thumped his shoulder. “She knows you well, aye?”

  Magnus ignored him.

  Tears sparkled on the sea vixen’s lashes and he could see the wild beat of her pulse at her throat. She was distraught, likely terrified.

  And her horror echoed through him like a distant pain, minding him of another young blond woman who’d trusted him to protect her and then died cruelly when he’d failed to keep her safe.

  This woman wasn’t Liana.

  Yet the longer he stood watching her heart beat in her throat and seeing how she struggled to keep her composure, the more he felt drawn to her.

  Steeling himself, he fought against the urge to pull her into his arms again. She was stunningly beautiful and even more desirable than in the kettle vision. But it was her courage that most impressed him. He could feel his heart racing with admiration. And—the admission disturbed him—he had the uncomfortable feeling that she could see into his soul. That it was breaking her heart that he doubted her. Even so, he had to know the truth.

  Much as he was glad to rid his coasts of Vikings, he preferred banishing them on his own and in the tried-and-true ways.

  He did so with the wicked thrusts and slices of Vengeance’s trusty blade. A fine Norse battle-ax, when the need arose. Sea-Raven and his other ships, and as many good and loyal fighting men as he could gather to his banner. That was how a warlord dealt with Vikings.

  They didn’t use dark magic.

  Such was life in his world.

  If Margo spoke true, what he needed to do now was help her return to wherever she belonged.

  So he cupped her face again, this time brushing his thumb back and forth along her jaw, hoping to soothe her. “Tell me how you came to be here and I’ll try to find a way to return you safely to your own realm. Then—”

  “I’m from Pennsylvania, not a realm.” She twisted away from his grasp, the movement causing the bearskin cloak to fall open for a moment, giving him a fine look at her golden female curls and sleek thighs.

  He also caught a glimpse of her breasts, which, just then, jigged enticingly.

  Lust speared him, his entire body tightening.

  “Keep yourself covered.” He scowled at her, his moment of chivalry gone. Too much temptation waited behind the mantle’s furred edges and she’d already pushed him past his limits. “Or are you trying to tempt me?”

  “I’d rather have you believe me.” She looked at him levelly, without her earlier belligerence. She wore an expression he couldn’t quite place. And her eyes shone so brightly that his heart hurt.

  He did want her.

  And he couldn’t look away from her luminous blue eyes, the soft pleading he saw there. He broke the glance and shook back his hair, letting its unbound weight swing about his shoulders, reminding him that he was a warrior. A man not swayed by naked bouncing breasts, sleek, shapely thighs, or even beseeching looks from sparkling sapphire eyes.

  “I don’t know what happened to the Vikings.” She stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. Her touch spilled through him, reaching places he shouldn’t allow her. “I can’t explain how I came here, though I’ll admit I’ve long been hoping for such a miracle.

  “Just not like this.” She glanced at the cliffs edging the strand and Magnus saw a shudder ripple through her. “This was not my dream.”

  Magnus nodded. “I’m sure it wasn’t.” Although he wasn’t sure of anything.

  Following her gaze, he wondered what she saw that troubled her. He saw only a rocky headland, a few dunes covered with marram grass. A morning sky, thick with low, dark clouds. “Where is Pen seal ...” He frowned, unable to pronounce the name. “Pen—”

  “Pennsylvania.” A thread of pride ran through her words. “It’s a beautiful place, very special. New Hope—where I’m from—is especially nice. But it isn’t Scotland and I’ve always dreamed of—” She broke off, her eyes rounding as the color drained from her face. “Oh, my God!” She pressed both hands to her cheeks. “I think I know what happened to the Vikings. I might have done it, after all. I—”

  “Dinnae say another word!” Magnus clamped a hand over her mouth and glared at Orosius, who’d edged so close his big booted feet were almost nudging Magnus’s own. “You’ll hear the tale after I have, you long-nosed rascal.”

  “Could be I already ken how she did it?” Orosius sounded smug.

  Magnus didn’t care.

  Ignoring the lout, he started pulling Margo across the strand, away from the seer and the surf line where his men stood in sullen, suspicious circles. Honorably, they still had their backs to the strand. Some had already boarded Sea-Raven and the other longboats, and were clearly waiting for Magnus’s command to pick up the oars and beat south to Redpoint, where they’d planned to slay more Vikings.

  For now, his men would have to wait.

  Margo—he realized he’d been calling her by her given name, not “sea witch” or “too-rist”—said she knew how she’d banished the Norsemen.

  It was his duty as chieftain and warlord to hear what she’d done.

  Unfortunately, his ears filled with the sound of Orosius’s hurrying feet.

  “Ho, Magnus, wait!” Orosius caught up with them near the bottom of the cliffs. “I ken what it was. She used a Highland Curs—”

  “A Highland Cursing Stone,” Margo finished for Orosius. She looked at him, deciding by his wild and rustic appearance that he was some kind of pagan hermit.

  Or maybe he was a warrior monk.

  Whatever he was, she liked him.

  He reminded her of the bearded eccentric who carved the Elder Futhark rune sets that Patience sold at Ye Olde Pagan Times. Old enough to be her grandfather, Earl Wyndhall was the same kind of big, lumbering man as Orosius. And she suspected that, like Earl, O
rosius enjoyed being cantankerous. She’d also bet that he shared Earl’s soft heart, even if he’d never admit it.

  So she smiled at him now. And the dark frown that settled on Magnus’s face as she did so made her feel all the better.

  She wouldn’t swear it, but she almost believed he might be jealous.

  “So you cursed the Northmen?” Magnus sounded displeased again.

  “Not intentionally.” She hadn’t. “But I might’ve vanquished them when I found myself here and called out the word ‘Viking’ as I clutched a stone I’d picked up on the strand. It might have been a Highland Cursing Stone, a magical stone that will banish a foe if you call out their name while holding the stone.”

  “Aye, just!” Orosius nodded. “That be the way of it.” Magnus looked like he couldn’t decide whether to roll his eyes or laugh.

  He did frown. “I ne’er heard of such stones.” Orosius gave him a reproving look. “You would have done if you’d paid more heed to my tales beside the fire at Badcall, rather than sitting alone at your high table when everyone else left the dais to make merry in the lower hall.

  “Highland Cursing Stones hail from the days when time itself was young.” Orosius’s voice swelled importantly. “They’re relics of the Old Ones and inscribed with ancient runes. If danger is near, you need only to grasp the Cursing Stone and speak the name of the offender.”

  “Once the name is uttered,” Margo put in, “the foe will disappear.”

  This time Magnus did snort. “If such wonder stones existed, everyone in the Highlands would be scouring the hills to find one.”

  “That’s just it.” Margo remembered the legends from Patience’s books on Celtic magic.

  She shifted beneath the bearskin, not wanting to seem ungrateful. But the cloak was terribly itchy.

  “Such powers were often misused by those who sought to wield them to their own gain and not, as intended, as protection for the innocent.” She looked at Magnus, pleased that she still had his attention. “As a result, it’s believed the Old Ones took action, scattering the indestructible stones across the land.

  Only a few were said to exist and they were all hidden in remote places.

  “Areas where there were many similar-looking stones.” She took a breath, remembering how the stone’s warmth and energy had flowed through her fingers and up her arm, filling her body with its power.

  “The ancients hoped that doing so would lessen the chances of the Cursing Stones ever again falling into the wrong hands.

  “If they should”—a chill rippled down her spine at this part—“a further spell was cast over the stones so that the magical runic script inscribed around their edges will appear to most as an ordinary quartz band encircling the stone. Only those of—”

  “Pure heart” —Orosius boomed the rest, flashing a meaningful glance at Magnus—“and in dire need can see the enchanted runes, and then only briefly.”

  “Aye, well.” Magnus looked at Margo. “You’re saying you picked up one of the Cursing Stones and then banished the Vikings by calling out their name?” Margo shrugged. “I told you, I don’t know. But I can guess. And so I think that’s what happened.” guess. And so I think that’s what happened.” She paused to tuck her hair behind an ear. His suspicion hung in the air between them, the guarded look in his eyes making her defensive. “I was holding a stone and it did have a band of white quartz around the middle. And”—she stood straighter—“I did see runes flash red along the quartz ring. That’s all I remember before, well, what happened.” Magnus nodded. “I will think on the possibility.” It wasn’t the response Margo had hoped for, but as it wasn’t a full denial, her heart soared.

  “She speaks true.” Orosius sided with her. “I saw her find the stone. It’s why—”

  “Saw her where?” Magnus rounded on him. “Here at Loch Gairloch or in your kettle steam?”

  “Here, you nosy brine drinker.” Orosius tapped his head, glaring at Magnus. “I dreamed it. That’s why I came along on Sea-Raven.”

  He jammed his hands on his hips and thrust out his bearded chin. “Belike I knew you’d think the poor lassie was the devil’s own helpmate or something worse. I wanted to be around if you had any fool ideas when you saw what I knew would happen here this morn.”

  “I see.” Magnus did.

  Orosius might make him grind his teeth, but he didn’t lie.

  “So you believe me now?” Margo touched his arm, the light graze of her fingertips sending warmth all through him. “Please say you do. If you don’t”—she glanced at the sea, then back at him—“I don’t think I can bear being here.”

  “I . . .” Magnus pulled back his arm and reached to rub his nape.

  But the truth stood in Margo’s eyes just as the tight, burning knot deep inside him had been trying to tell him the while.

  She was what she said she was.

  A too-rist, though he wasn’t about to admit the term baffled him.

  Traveler, he could accept. But no woman journeyed about full naked and unescorted.

  “If you saw Donata, she will have spelled a vision-image of herself from behind St. Eithne’s walls.” It was the closest he’d go to admitting he accepted such an outlandish tale. “That means she possesses greater powers than we knew.”

  “She was evil.” Margo shivered again, visibly.

  “You know what we must do?” Orosius spat on the pebbly strand.

  “I’ll no’ kill a woman, howe’er vile she is.” Magnus was firm. “We’ll order the good abbess at St. Eithne’s to keep a constant guard on her, even while she sleeps. If she’s e’er under someone’s eye, she’ll no’ sleeps. If she’s e’er under someone’s eye, she’ll no’ be able to spin her foul deeds and curses.”

  “Say you.” The seer looked doubtful.

  “I do.” Magnus threw a glance at the Sea-Raven, where some of his men now stood on the steering platform, watching him. “Margo”—he turned to her now, setting his hands on her shoulders—“my men and I have business at Redpoint, a wee fishing village south of Gairloch. You cannae stay here on your own.

  Are you for joining us on the Sea-Raven?” She didn’t hesitate. “I’ll come, yes. Th-thank you.” The hitch in her voice split Magnus’s heart. And the same sweet, heady warmth that had washed through him when she’d rested her fingers on his arm poured through him again now. The sensation was stronger than before, this time melting places that had long been crusted with ice.

  “Aye, well.” He spoke briskly, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

  Then, before he could change his mind, he gripped Orosius’s arm. “Orosius.” He put respect into his tone.

  “You have a fine way with words. We’ll be leaving for Redpoint anon. It’d be a fine help if you’d gather our men and tell them something, anything that comes into your mind, to explain what happened this morn.

  “And let them know”—he glanced at Margo—“that we’ll have an additional passenger on board the Sea-Raven.”

  “I shall.” Orosius grinned and turned on his heel, striding swiftly across the strand.

  When he was out of earshot, Magnus slid his hands down from Margo’s shoulders, gripping her lightly by the hips. “Donata is dangerous. If she saw what you did with the Cursing Stone, she’ll use all her powers to find you, hoping to get the stone. And you as well, I vow.”

  “She wanted to use me to hurt you.” Margo confirmed what he now knew to be true. “She said I would distract you and then you’d be—”

  “Cut down?” Magnus was beginning to understand the sorceress’s scheming.

  He grinned, the knowledge empowering him. “You do distract me, sweet. But”—he reached to smooth his thumb lightly over her lips—“no one is going to cut me down.

  “Nor is anyone going to hurt you.” He looked deep into her eyes, willing her to trust him. “From this moment onward, I’m no’ leaving your side.”

  “That’s good.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, looking relieved.

&n
bsp; As he watched her, the warmth inside Magnus swelled and spread. His need to protect her was fierce as the hot flames of desire burning at his loins.

  Only his wish not to frighten her, and the staring eyes of his men, kept him from pulling her hard against him and kissing her hungrily.

  He would soon.

  But for now, he was pleased to escort her onto the Sea-Raven.

  The more he thought about it, the more he liked the notion.

  Chapter 12

  Margo’s second thoughts kicked in as she let Magnus lead her across the strand toward his warship, the Sea-Raven. Pausing at the tide line, she stood with one hand holding the bearskin cloak against her nakedness. She puffed her bangs off her forehead, wondering where in the world she’d find the courage to board a medieval ship.

  She’d never been keen on boats.

  And in addition to looking like a fire-breathing sea serpent, this one was crewed by hard-faced, fierce-bearded men who bristled with arms and surely whetted their sword tips every morning. They were all staring at her. And each one appeared eager to test his blade’s sharpness on her. Without exaggeration, they looked hostile.

  Some might even say murderous.

  Only Orosius was friendly, flashing a broad grin at her before he threw back his plaid and strode into the sea. Head high, he splashed through the surf as if he loved every step, and then vaulted over the side of the waiting longship.

  Margo swallowed.

  She had to board the Sea-Raven.

  It wasn’t like she had an alternative.

  Even if she scrambled back up the cliff, the coastal road would no longer be there. And the Old Harbour Inn wasn’t even a blip in anyone’s imagination. Empty hills and wilderness would greet her. Perhaps a few villagers who’d take one look at a naked, bearskin-cloaked woman and, thinking the worst, do what Magnus had implied could so easily happen: they’d burn her as a witch.

  Hanging around here alone, waiting for the real witch to return, was equally unappealing.

  The dice had been cast.

  And, as so often, she didn’t much care for the luck of the throw.

  “Oh, dear.” She could feel her eyes rounding as the Sea-Raven tossed in the surf. Men were raising the ship’s square red-and-white striped sail. Others already sat at the rowing benches, ready to get going.