“I came to purchase a shawl for the ceilidh at the inn tomorrow. I’d like to match this green wool skirt.” She pulled the skirt out of her tote bag.
“Do you have a specific clan tartan in mind?”
She hadn’t given it much thought. Shouldn’t she wear her clan’s plaid?
“Do you think the MacIntyre plaid might match?”
“I have a few different MacIntyre tartans.” Douglas searched a shelf containing an assortment of plaid items in plastic covers. He laid several on the counter for her to consider.
One was predominately green and blue with red and white stripes. The green in the plaid matched the green in the skirt perfectly, as if made from the same dyed yarn.
“This one.” Laurie pointed to the plaid she liked best.
“A nice match. ’Tis the MacIntyre hunting tartan. Now, would you like a ruana?” Douglas showed her a small poncho-like wrap, open in the front. “This is the long one. I also have a shorter version. Or, let’s see...”
Laurie leaned forward.
He retrieved a couple more bags from the shelf. “I also have stoles and shawls.”
Douglas laid them out for view.
She considered the stole, brushing her fingers over the soft wool fabric. This would be her first real piece of MacIntyre plaid. She’d been all over the world and bought all types of things, expensive and inexpensive. For some reason, buying this one simple item seemed a momentous occasion, as if she were committing herself to something. She gazed at Douglas through misty eyes.
“I like them all, but for the party the stole makes the most sense.”
“Excellent choice. Shall I put the others aside for you?” he said with what she assumed his most winning salesman’s smile.
She laughed. “Let me think about it and I’ll let you know. By the way, will you be attending the party?”
“I never miss a ceilidh.” His smile reached his eyes. “Will you spare a dance for me?”
“Sure, but if my guess is right, you’d rather spend time with Caitrina.”
“Am I that transparent?” He walked toward the front of the store. “Shall I ring this up for you?”
“Yeah.” Laurie followed him to the register at the front counter where a very large, very old sword secured to the wall above his head caught her gaze.
“Is that what you use when you practice with Iain?”
He chuckled. “Nae, ’tis for a client.”
“Impressive.” She took the bag from Douglas, her gaze lingering on the claymore. Rounding the counter, he gallantly offered his arm and escorted her to the door. Before she left, she gazed back at the sword and shivered.
* * *
Since the garden kept Laurie busy, she was surprised how quickly Saturday evening arrived. Although no one would see them, she put on her sexiest undergarments, a lacy sage green thong and matching under-wire bra with a front closure. They made her feel special. Feminine. She slipped on the peasant blouse Caitrina selected, allowing the string at the neckline to hang. The green skirt went on next, the hem grazing her ankles. Made of lightweight wool, it was perfect for the cool mountain air.
She wiggled her toes. What shoes to wear? She slipped into a pair of black hand-stitched China flats and wrapped the new MacIntyre stole around her shoulders. After clipping her hair up, she was ready to go. The reflection in the mirror proved the deep worry furrows had faded from her brow. She grinned, pleased.
Laurie hummed while walking to the inn, enjoying the short stroll through the meadow’s wildflowers, through the woods, and across the flower-laden gardens.
The atmosphere at the inn struck her with wonder. Candles lit the foyer and the parlor off it, the effect a charming glow. A crowd had gathered in the parlor, everyone seated or standing huddled around the elder Mr. MacNaughton. He sat on a tall stool in the center of the room, telling a story, his audience enthralled.
She stepped closer to listen.
“The lass the prince sought ran across the meadow, stopping at the edge of the Fir-wood to catch her breath. She glanced over her shoulder and her gaze darted from place to place.
The clouds cleared the full moon and shimmering light washed over the wood, its silvery glow falling upon her beauty. Her thick, auburn hair hung loose down her slender back, to her waist, like a river of fiery flames. Her skin was as white as the purest Madonna lily, her lips the precious red of the holly berry, and she possessed sparkling green eyes more glorious than the purest emeralds.
For you ken...the lass was born a princess. The prince’s unusually keen sight allowed him to see her from a great distance. He was not of human blood, but of the Sithichean. This in our ancient Gaelic tongue, the language of our Scottish fathers, means the faeries, although they go by many names in many other countries.
The prince found himself enchanted by the beautiful princess.
Hidden since childhood, she was the daughter of a beautiful mortal woman who captured the heart of Torguil, an ancient sithiche prince, a favorite of the High Queen. The immortal queen was a creature of great power, beyond the ken of mere humans, having descended from the gods who walked in ancient Scotia. Yet she was jealous of the princess.
Now, the halfling daughter of Torguil was unaware of the danger stalking her, not only from the young prince, but also from others...others more sinister.
Unmindful of the fate awaiting her, she ran through the Fir-wood, a place where the veil between the land of mortals and that of the fae was thin and where on full moons, there was an opening.
When the mist cleared, the princess found herself on a large knoll of rich green grass. She saw the prince pursuing her and stepped back, falling through space and time...”
“Hello.”
Laurie jumped with a gasp, disturbing the people standing around her. They stared with disapproval, a finger to their lips, signaling for quiet. Caitrina rolled her eyes, inclined her head toward the foyer and walked out of the parlor. Laurie followed, somewhat disappointed to miss the rest of the tale.
“You startled me.” She smiled. “Wow, you look wonderful.”
Caitrina had traded her dirty work clothes for a gauzy, emerald green silk dress that molded to her tall, slender frame. Around her shoulders, she wore a sash of green and purple tartan with shimmering golden threads. Pinned at her shoulder was a gold brooch intricately crafted with thistle designs and amethyst gemstones. Her rich hair, usually hidden under her floppy garden hat, fell loose past her shoulders to her waist, the auburn strands on fire with highlights that glistened in the candlelight.
“You look like the princess Mr. MacNaughton describes in his story.”
Caitrina shrugged. “You look nice too, but something’s missing.”
She opened her hand to show Laurie an exquisitely crafted Celtic brooch of silver, decorated with intertwining animals and spiral filigrees, adorned with six small moonstones. She pinned it to Laurie’s stole at the shoulder. “There. Perfect.”
Appreciating its fine artistry, Laurie brushed her fingers over the brooch. Moisture filled her eyes. “You are sweet, but I can’t wear this. It must be a priceless antique.”
“Douglas told me you were admiring the jewelry at his shop. He thought you might like to borrow the brooch for the evening.”
“Must be worth a fortune. What if I lose it?”
Caitrina glanced away. “’Tis a mere reproduction.”
Laurie didn’t believe her. She knew jewelry and was positive this piece was very old and extremely valuable, but the last thing she wanted to do was insult her new friend. She’d wear the brooch for the evening and be extra careful not to lose it.
With a mischievous grin, Caitrina dragged her into the dining room where the furniture was pushed to the side. A fiddler played and couples danced. Someone handed her a glass of wine, only for Douglas MacKinnon to take it away and place it on a nearby table as he pulled her onto the dance floor where he taught her the intricate steps. After that, she danced with Iain until he handed her off
to Teddy, who in turn handed her off to another fellow. She giggled with merriment as she whirled around the floor.
The evening flew and when the gathering ended, Douglas and Caitrina walked her home. It was a nice night for a stroll with the full moon shining bright in the clear sky. They took their time, enjoying each other’s company.
At the cottage, Laurie offered them a nightcap, pouring them each a glass of port. They wandered into the garden to enjoy the beautiful evening.
“Do you feel the magic in the air?” Caitrina asked.
Douglas peered at the moonlit sky and chuckled. “Aye, lass. Strong magic.”
Laurie glanced around, feeling a sudden chill.
Caitrina grasped her hand. “Come. I want to show you the foxglove we planted. They’ve flowered. Pink.”
“Pink?” Laurie squeaked.
“Aye, faerie pink.”
Douglas’s eyes narrowed. “What are you up to, Caitrina?”
“Nothing for you to worry about.” She squeezed Laurie’s fingers. “Come on.”
Unease skittered along Laurie’s spine as she walked with Caitrina to the back gate. She frowned when she smelled the now familiar exotic fragrance on her friend. “What the hell?”
A tinkling sound confirmed her fear.
The gate swung open.
He stood just beyond the garden gate. Her pulse jackrabbited. Pulling away from Caitrina, she stepped back in panic.
Caitrina pressed a hand against Laurie’s back and shoved her forward. Terror forced the air from Laurie’s lungs as she tripped through the gate opening.
Nothing held her back, no barrier. She fell forward…over a precipice into a swirling fog, down...down...down through a dark tunnel. The walls spun. She plunged faster and faster. In the distance, she couldn’t tell how far, a blinding, bright light—just a white glow in a tunnel of blackness—showed. What was there? Death?
Oh God, what was happ—
All at once, she was sucked into the white brilliance. She choked on the scream in her throat, cringing against the intense whining assaulting her ears.
She spun, or everything around her was spinning, she wasn’t sure which. Her sensitized skin tingled as if zapped by an electric charge. Laurie squeezed her eyes shut against the brightness. With her eyes closed, she felt lost, more frightened. She opened them just as the light exploded into a million fragments of brilliant color, a dazzling kaleidoscope. Then she was falling again.
Down...down...down, faster and faster. Water flowed below her, a stream. She plummeted toward it. Bracing herself, she thought she’d crash into the rushing water, only to propel across it. She hit the ground hard and saw nothing more.
CHAPTER FIVE
Laurie opened her eyes a crack. Her head pounded, her pulse raced. This wasn’t good. Those couldn’t be two, huge, leather-clad feet inches from her face.
She opened her eyes wider. Raised her gaze higher. Those feet—the ones that couldn’t be there—was it possible they were attached to two muscular calves wrapped in soft napped animal skins?
Higher still. Bare knees. Plaid wool and saffron linen.
Farther up, she took in all of the man who towered over her. Piercing blue eyes blinked. Crinkles appeared in the corners. He was grinning. Not outwardly. The perfectly shaped lips remained tight and straight. But something within this gorgeous man was pleased.
She gasped with recognition. This was her man, the one from her heated dreams and visions. The man she didn’t believe existed. The man who made her insides flip-flop.
Unsure what had just happened, she gave her head a firm shake. Mistake. Dizziness hit in waves. She swallowed hard. When the nausea passed, she pushed her palms against the ground and rose to her feet. Unsteady, she swayed. The stranger’s image blurred.
Large calloused hands gripped her arms. A strange though familiar jolt of energy coursed through her, causing her heart to beat too fast. He quickly released her.
He must have felt it too.
Again, she swayed. Laurie reached for his support at the same time he took hold of her upper arms.
She blinked to clear her vision and moistened dry lips. The flash of desire in his eyes made her shiver. He smiled for real this time, leaned forward, placed a hand behind her head, and brushed her lips with his. Gentle at first, then with vigor, his tongue delved into her mouth.
Instinct insisted she struggle. Holding her body rigid, she fisted her hands, which he’d trapped within his embrace. She forced her fingers open and pressed her palms against his hard chest—a vain attempt to push him away.
The current flowing between them became overpoweringly seductive. No man had made her feel this way before. For several moments, she wavered between fighting him—a familiar stranger—and succumbing to the delicious sensations swamping her. He deepened the kiss, and the internal battle ended. Desire won. She clasped hold of the front of his shirt with shaky hands and kissed him back with pent-up passion.
Satiny lips anchored her in a storm of unfamiliar sensation. Pleasure vibrated along her body. She opened her eyes a slit. The intensity of the man’s shocking kiss matched the masculine power burning in his startling blue eyes.
His grip tightened. His fingers burned through her clothing, searing her skin. She closed her eyes and sank into the reality of her dream lover’s embrace.
Patrick closed his eyes and growled deep in his throat as desire pooled in his groin. Their kiss, potent and deep, an intoxicating aphrodisiac, became more and more heated. At first, he’d been shocked by the arc of power, but he couldn’t stop himself from claiming what he sensed belonged to him. What started as an unconscious display of dominance became a much more meaningful symbol of possession.
His forceful kiss demanded surrender.
She melted against him, and he savored his victory as her response matched his passion. He stroked and caressed her soft curves. Her well-rounded backside fit perfectly into his large hands as if God made her for him. He dragged his lips away from hers for only a moment, grasped a firm hold of her buttocks, and lifted her off the ground. The movement released her hands from the prison within his arms.
She curled her arms around his neck when he repositioned her against his length.
He held her tight against his chest, molding her to the contours of his body. A stranger—he’d never wanted anyone more. The proof of his unrestrained arousal was the hard pressure intimately pressed against the juncture of her thighs. Was she as shocked by his ardor as he? Rational thought disappeared when he rubbed against the lass.
She rubbed back, proving she enjoyed the connection too. A gasp escaped her soft lips. Patrick took her sweet breath into his mouth and released a moan of his own.
Tantalizing pleasure pulsed through his veins. His erection hardened. He wanted the lass in ways he couldn’t comprehend. He felt her nipples tighten into hard buds through the linen of the leine. His need grew rock hard, almost painful, as he captured her mouth again, relishing her unique flavor, inhaling her intoxicating scent. Cinnamon and wine and roses.
A twig snapped nearby, and he jerked his eyes open to the sight of his cousin stepping from the trees. The warrior cleared his throat.
The lass came to herself at the same time, and froze. Patrick reluctantly ended the kiss, stepped back, but held her steady. For a moment, they stared into each other’s eyes. Hers shone with confusion, fear and desire mingling with the passionate heat still flowing between them. He didn’t want to acknowledge what his eyes must reveal.
Again, Stephen cleared his throat.
The powerful surge of energy dissolved, and Patrick released the lass and took another step back. Although he refused to show it, the experience shook him. Somehow, in the deepest elemental part of his soul, he knew she belonged to him. He’d instinctively branded her with his bold kiss, staking his claim.
“You followed me. Why?” He glared at his cousin.
“To guard your back, you dolt. Elspeth is worried. You have been acting odd.” A smirk
curved his lips. “I see ’twas a lass that had you a wandering. Are you bewitched then?”
Patrick uttered a loud, “Humph,” and glanced at the delectable lass.
Slower to recover, she raised a trembling hand to swollen lips. His blood ran heavy and his cock jerked within the folds of his plaide.
“The lass is a wee bit befuddled from your ardor, Patrick,” Stephen said, still grinning. “Is this your vanishing lass then? The one from your visions?”
Her cheeks flushed a lovely crimson before she lowered her gaze to the ground. When she glanced at him again, Patrick ran an unsteady hand over his hair. With a great deal of effort, he forced a blank expression to his face. A beam of moonlight cast a glow over her curvaceous form. He studied her, raking her with his eyes. Starting with the glorious mass of golden hair pinned atop her head, moving downward, lingering for a moment on blue eyes filled with fear and perhaps a spark of defiance.
He slid his gaze farther downward until it reached her toes. He took in everything, missing naught, including the plaide wrapped around her shoulders clasped by a familiar brooch, the fabric clutched in a death grip by a delicate hand with elegant fingers, beautiful, unusual, enticing, each nail the color of oyster shells. He clearly imagined the sensual sensation of those fingernails grazing across his bare chest and other more sensitive skin.
He shivered and his breathing quickened. His heart thudded hard against his ribs as his body tightened more with desire. He fought for control. “A bheil Gaidhlig agad?”
The lass stared at him, opened her mouth as if to speak, and shut it again. He narrowed his eyes.
She blinked. “What did you say?”
Sassenach. She spoke the damn English tongue. And poorly. He tasted bitter disappointment. “Who are you, lass? What are you doing in this wood alone? Where is your escort?” He switched to the language of the Lowlands.
“Could this be a trap? Ambush?” Stephen pulled a knife from his boot, his gaze searching the surrounding area.
Patrick ignored him and returned his attention to the lass. Her eyes widened at the sight of the sharp-edged blade. He pushed her behind him while keeping hold of her arm and responded to Stephen in Gaelic. “Munn believes the lass not to be a threat.”
Highland Charm: First Fantasies Page 83