The Munro Clan Highlander Collection (The Munro Clan Highlander Romances)

by Marilyn Stonecross

  “And if the Gunns come to remind us of them?”

  Ramsey frowned and pulled Logan behind a tent, away from the general crowds. “That is why we are here, Logan. To protect those who would attend. If ye see anything of a devious nature, ye must see to it no one comes to harm. These are our people.”

  “We should not have held the carnival this year,” Logan argued. “It’s not safe!”

  “I do not disagree, but I could scarcely turn them away, could I?” Ramsey asked. “Every few years it comes about, and there’s little we can do to stop it. They would have settled elsewhere, put themselves at greater risk. At least here we can offer them some bit of protection. And ye, Logan, ye will be my eyes and ears. Doona let me down.”

  “Of course not,” Logan muttered as Ramsey strode away. The man was preoccupied; concern over the harvest and pressure from his wife Sabrina for a fourth child weighed heavily on his mind. Between Ramsey playing father hen and Alec’s increasingly strained missives from the McHugh lands, Logan was starting to feel like the only Munro that hadn’t fallen victim to the curse of women and children.

  He’d managed to avoid all of Sabrina’s attempts to unite him with women from neighboring families, and had even scared away some of her friends from England. She had finally given up after little Isabel was born, and Logan had enjoyed a blissful two years of freedom from her matchmaking attempts.

  Logan strode back out into the throngs of people, nodding and smiling and generally attempting to be pleasant to all those he passed. Most of the attendants seemed to recognize the youngest Munro brother, and many of them smiled and bowed to him as he walked. The carnival participants did not seem to recognize him, though, and indeed seemed quite ensconced in their own worlds.

  The world of the carnival. Had he ever loved it, or was his enthusiasm for the carnival the same joy he’d felt for other youthful pursuits? The world looked brighter when he was younger. Now, in the years following the battles with the Gunns, the deaths of his parents, and his own gradual acceptance of his aloneness in the world, he was beginning to wonder if he’d ever truly enjoyed anything.

  He paused in front of a small purple tent. There was something vaguely familiar about this particular spot; he recalled the gold slash through the curtained doorway, the silver stakes that held it all to the ground. Had he been here many years ago?

  The curtain moved, pushed aside by a hand as worn as old leather. “Logan Munro,” the old woman rasped, pushing back a curtain of wild white hair. “You’re right on time.”

  Logan stopped in his tracks. “I beg yer pardon?”

  “I told you I’d see you again, twelve years hence, and so I have.” The old woman edged forward, her work-roughened hand grasping his. “Come, lad, come, I’ll tell you the fortune you wanted to hear.”

  Fortune? He had no recollection of this woman, or of any promised fortune. “Did my brothers put ye up to this?” It seemed the sort of thing Ramsey would attempt in some misguided effort to make Logan feel the carnival spirit. “It’s very funny, I assure ye, but I’ve no interest in having my fortune read.”

  The old woman’s hands were surprisingly strong, and she pulled him into the tent with her. He was struck by the scent of incense and dried flowers, and was briefly dazzled by the flickering of candles. The smell was familiar…

  “Have I been here before?” he asked in spite of himself. “Who are ye?”

  “It’s not my name you need, Logan Munro. Nor did you care back then.”

  She gestured to a cushion on the floor, taking her spot on the pillow opposite it. A low, varnished table lay between the two, scattered with charms and large cards. Logan reluctantly knelt on the cushion, wondering where Ramsey had gone off to. He must have put her up to this…

  The old woman grasped his right hand and pulled it open, examining his palm in the light. “You still have that scar, my lad,” she said, “and it’s not faded as your mother thought it would.”

  He barely glanced at the scar. “Every man bears scars.”

  “And do you not remember how you obtained this one?”

  He shrugged. “I cut meself one day, or so I suppose. Or fought with a brother.”

  “Your mother said otherwise.”

  Had mother come with them to the carnival? “Ye must mistake me for another. My mother did not come with us, and she knew…”

  “Your mother asked for advice, as do most other women whose lands I visit. All those lovely lasses, in need of guidance and assistance…and the stars will help them, if allowed. Do ye not remember, Logan Munro, your desire to travel, to see the world? You wished to join the carnival then…”

  He’d had enough. He stood up quickly, nearly knocking his head into the tent ceiling. “I do beg yer pardon, mistress, but I’ll not have any of this discussion—be well, Madame.”

  “You’ll be back!” she called after him as he raced from the tent.

  He nearly knocked into a bushel of skirts and a jeweled bodice. “Bloody—”

  “Forgive me, laird, I did not see you there.” She bowed low, gathering her skirts and pulling them aside.

  He had never seen such a vision of beauty—her long black hair tumbled behind her back, and when she glanced at him, her eyes were an exquisite shade of green. Logan had to catch his breath, holding out his hand to steady her.

  His nerves tingled when his hand closed around her wrist. What’s come over me?

  “Nothing to forgive, lass,” he said, infuriated by how shaken he sounded. True, she was beautiful, but he’d seen many a pretty lass in his day. One should hardly knock him speechless like this.

  It was the old fortune teller, he decided. She’d put a scare into him.

  To his relief, her eyes seemed as large as his; she touched her tongue to her lips, wetting them. “You’re one of the Munro men,” she finally said. “The youngest one.”

  “Logan,” he said after a long pause. He was surprised he’d remembered his name at all. His hand released her wrist, only to slide down to clasp her fingers properly. The tingling spread all over his body, and he became dimly aware of a rather pressing sensation in his nether regions.

  Who was this woman? What was she doing to him?

  “Well-met, Logan,” the woman said. “Thank you for…for…”

  She trailed off, staring at him.

  There seemed nothing else to do but grasp her hand and kiss it, and she blushed prettily at the gesture, her gaze still locked on his. “My name is Katrina,” she said. “That’s my grandmother’s tent.”

  Oh. She was related to the fortune-teller? How marvelous. Logan shook off some of the stupor he’d fallen under. He had work to do, after all. He smiled at her and bobbed his head. “She’s a most interesting woman,” he said. “A blessed day to ye, Katrina.”

  “And you, my laird.”

  He decided it must be courtesy—he was not Laird Munro, and she did not need to call him that. But he smiled in her direction, nodded his head, and hurried from the carnival grounds. A walk by the stream would put his mind at ease.

  Ramsey was going to get it.

  ***

  Katrina watched the handsome Highlander leave, and her stomach did a little flip-flop as he vanished into the crowd. Men of that sort did not frequent the carnival.

  The currents that had run through her hands, arms, and body when he touched her slowly dissipated, leaving her feeling oddly bereft. He was just a man, after all, wasn’t he? A very handsome one, no doubt, but still just a man.

  Yet his touch had set her blood on fire…

  Her grandmother sat in front of her cards and trinkets, most of which were scattered about the table just to startle carnival revelers. “Grandmother, what was the Munro man doing in here?”

  Grandmother got to her feet, pressing her hands against the small of her back. “He came here long ago, when he was but a lad. He doesn’t remember much of it, but I saw then that he had a great destiny before him.”

  “Oh?” Katrina did not share h
er grandmother’s gift of foresight, but she supposed Logan had a rather strong, solid look. Dark-haired and amber-eyed, he certainly bore the Munro stamp, bearing a striking resemblance to his older brother, the Laird Ramsey. She had not heard much of the middle brother, Alec, but she supposed he looked similar.

  Grandmother peered out of the tent, then looked back at Katrina. “What are the crowds like? We’ve not had many visitors.”

  “It’s empty. There is no one to visit.”

  The old woman’s lips twitched, and she pulled one of her scarves across her face. “Trouble is afoot. I’ve heard tell that the Munroes face a dark foe in the Gunns.”

  “The men to the south?” Katrina asked. “The ones that stopped us on our way?

  “The same.” Grandmother moved to the corner of the tent, where she kept a kettle of tea over coals. “They allowed us to pass. I wonder why.”

  “The carnival is to be left alone,” Katrina said. “We are to pass all borders. We’re entertainers.”

  Grandmother gave a short, sharp laugh. “That is a fine motto we live by, but that is not the way of the world, little Kat. I have heard of those Gunns. They are not kind people. I beg you to remain alert, child, lest something go on. If you see anything…you must tell a Munro.”

  She poured them both tea, sweetening Katrina’s with honey. “They are good people. We’ve placed the carnival on their lands for nearly a hundred years, from the time of my father and several Munro lairds. They’ve been good friends to us.”

  “And the one I just met? Logan?”

  Grandmother winked. “Yes, what of him?”

  “What did you mean when you said he had a great destiny?”

  “Ah, child, you don’t have the sight.” Grandmother’s hand swept across Katrina’s brow, her skin warm and leathery. “In our family, the talent manifests and skips in different ways…when I saw Logan as a youngster, I knew his fate would be entwined in that of our people. And when I saw him just now, I knew he would go on to greatness.”

  “But how?”

  “How do you breathe? How do you taste? You just do, Katrina. It happens without thought, without provocation. Just as I look at you and know you are to go to the river and fetch water for the evening meal.”

  Katrina rolled her eyes and finished her tea, setting the leather cup down on the floor beside the cushions. “I shall count myself lucky if I ever understand you,” she said.

  Grandmother smiled at her and ushered her out.

  It was good to get away from the crowds of people gathered in the carnival. Katrina took a shortcut through the forest, strolling with her skirts taken up in one hand.

  Plenty of folk were stopping by, perhaps to have their fortunes read or see the fire-eaters or the insane juggler. Still, they’d had much larger turnouts at other locations, and it seemed Grandmother was right about the Munro lands harboring something of a curse.

  Katrina sat by the stream for several minutes, listening to it whisper and babble. The carnival had always set itself within a stone’s throw of the place, and Grandmother had told her there was a particularly shady grove of trees where she had met Grandfather, and where, according to her, a great many magical things occurred.

  Magic. Katrina had heard plenty of it, and had even seen Grandmother perform what might be considered a miracle or two, but whatever peculiar talents ran in her family had skipped her entirely. She was thoroughly ordinary, almost painfully so.

  When Grandmother had finally accepted that she had no innate abilities, she’d simply put Katrina to work as an assistant. The young men seemed to enjoy her presence, flocking around the tent to have their fortunes read. Sometimes Grandmother sent the handsome ones your way. I foresee a kiss in your future, she’d say coyly, winking at them. That would be Katrina’s cue to place her mouth against theirs, and the young man inevitably walked away starry-eyed.

  A pity she didn’t try that trick on Logan Munro. Now there was a man Katrina wouldn’t mind kissing. He had a fine, firm mouth, the sort of mouth a woman wanted to kiss.

  Of course she’d never try it on a laird, though. That would be asking for trouble. The Munroes were their hosts, not their friends. To dishonor one in that fashion was asking to be shoved from their lands.

  She reached out and picked a single flower from the stream bank. But this isn’t what I want for all time. Where would she go, if she left the carnival? Grandmother would not live forever. Was there room for someone who could not do magic, who could hardly tell the Hierophant from the Priestess?

  “That is a flower of the Munro people, and I’ll thank ye not to harm any others,” a cool voice said behind her.

  Katrina twisted around, and felt her cheeks heat as Logan Munro made his way down the bank to her. “My apologies, my laird,” she said, taking care not to drop the flower. Had she somehow summoned him by thinking of him? “I thought only to admire its beauty.”

  “I’ll not breathe a word to Ramsey, if ye won’t.” He came to a stop beside her, looking down at her from his great height. She felt warm beneath his gaze, as if his very eyes generated a heat of their own. “What brings ye here?”

  “Grandmother sent me for water, but I thought to come and think, and breathe a bit, away from the crowds.”

  Logan nodded, glancing over his shoulder. “I remember many more people were here during my youth.”

  “Grandmother says that, too.” Katrina tucked the flower behind her ear, plaiting it into a lock of hair. Logan seemed to be watching the movement of her fingers. “She says there is some magic grove around here. Do you know what she’s talking about?”

  “Grove? There is a batch of trees that grew strangely. I doona if it be magic, lass, but it might be the one she’s talking about.” He extended a hand. “Ye could come with me for a look.”

  She only hesitated a second before sliding her hand into his, and letting him pull her to her feet. He was a Munro, after all, a laird of this land, and well-known. He could be trusted.

  She left the buckets in place, walking with him along the soft, springy grass. A cool breeze wafted through the leaves overhead, and she knew the sun would soon peek out from behind the clouds.

  It will be a beautiful day soon.

  Logan cleared his throat. “What is yer part in the carnival?”

  Katrina shrugged. “Errand girl, I suppose.”

  He snorted. “Yer far too pretty for such a thing.”

  “Am I?” She allowed herself to feel a moment of pride, then went on: “I’ve not the talent for what brings people to the carnival. So I cook, I clean, I look after the horses, I help those who need it. It keeps me fed and with a tent, and one day, when I’ve saved enough coin, I’ll go elsewhere.”

  Logan nodded, glancing at her. “And where is it ye will go?”

  “Well, I’ve not decided yet.” She realized how odd it was that she should decide to spill her innermost dreams to some man she hardly knew, and decided to steer the conversation back to more acceptable waters. “You have two brothers, I am told.”

  “Aye, Ramsey and Alec. Ramsey is Laird Munro, so ye need not call me by that title. Alec lives in the McHugh lands. He and his wife will be coming in the next few days. They both loved the carnival as children, and are entirely too tickled that it’s back.”

  There was a curious hint of bitterness in his voice. “M’laird?”

  “It’s Logan,” he said. “And I doona the reason for their obsession. Ramsey and Alec have naught but good memories of this place, whilst I…I did not even want to come here, and would not, save…”

  “The Gunns,” she supplied. “Yes, I know of them. We were worried, too. Some did not want to come to the Munro lands at all this season, but others won out. They said you would keep us safe.”

  Logan’s large hand abruptly landed on her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. “And so we will.”

  He felt large and reassuring next to her, and Katrina had no doubt he meant all he said.

  Logan’s hand slid from her shou
lder to her face, tilting it up to better look at her. “Aye, ye will be safe. I promise ye.”

  He pulled her close to him, his sword dropping to the side as he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.

  What is this? Katrina had no time to pull away, no time to do anything but kiss him back. It seemed the only thing she could do.

  And then she went one further.

  Her hands went to his vest, then his tunic, undoing lacings and pulling both garments loose.

  Katrina grasped his hand and pulled him beneath the towering canopy of trees, to the place where the sun’s light did not extend. He fumbled with her clothing, his mouth moving exquisitely against hers.