Katie's Highlander

by Maeve Greyson

  “Now that we’re out of earshot of your mother, will you please tell me what that battle of wills was all about?” Katie matched her pace to his. “And tell me about your spear. Why is that such a sore subject between you and your mother? And this place? Who designed it?”

  Ramsay gave her a side-eyed glare, walked faster, and hitched his grip to the middle of the spear and carried it at his side instead of banging the end of it against the stone flooring with each step like a lethal walking stick.

  Time to change tactics. Ramsay needs to know I’m not the enemy if I’m ever going to get him talking about that spear and the history of the MacDaras. Katie smiled to herself. Little did Ramsay MacDara know, he was about to get a new best friend—a stubborn best friend. This place had her archeological senses humming. She had to find out its story…and finding it out from a guy like Ramsay was like a cherry on top of the sundae. She smiled. I love it when I get my second wind.

  “You know…” Katie increased her stride to keep pace with his. “You’re going to force me to change my earlier classification of you.”

  Ramsay halted midstep and faced her, groaning out a deep frustrated sound that appeared to have risen clear from his toes and gained momentum until it hissed out from between his clenched teeth. “Yer classification?”

  “Yep.” Katie nodded and lifted her chin. “Knights in shining armor aren’t surly or moody. Now tell me what I said that sent everything straight to the shitter. I know it had something to do with that spear. Talk to me. I don’t like being on the outs with my personal hero and I’m not taking another step until we clear the air.” Katie crossed her arms and gave Ramsay her sternest professor stare that always worked on her research students—especially the newbies who had heard she could be a hard-ass if provoked.

  For the first time since they’d arrived at the keep, Ramsay gave her a slow hard-won smile and huffed out a much lighter snort that could almost be labeled a sound of amusement. “Yer a stubborn one, I gi’ ye that. Is there no end to yer hardheadedness?”

  “Nope. No end at all. Now. The spear…why a sore spot with your mother?”

  “Family relic,” Ramsay finally said as he pointed down the hall with the spear. “The east wing is a bit farther down. Once yer settled in yer room, I’ll answer yer questions as best I can. Will that do ye?”

  “Yes.” One victory down. She smiled and tried not to walk with a bounce in her step.

  They walked down the long narrow hallway in silence until Ramsay came to a halt in front of an oak door that looked like it had been flown in from some castle in Europe. More heavy bolts with hammered hinges. Even the dented latch looked ancient and worn.

  Ramsay propped his spear against the wall, lifted the barred latch, and pushed the door open. “Yer rooms, m’lady.”

  Damn. Say that again…slower.

  What a shame she was just passing through North Carolina. Of course, a guy like him probably already had somebody. But earlier, he did apologize for being in a mood. Maybe it was a just broke up with somebody kind of mood.

  Ramsay cleared his throat and pushed the door open wider.

  Katie blinked. Shit. Stop it before you start drooling. “Um…no key?” Katie hurried into the room and examined the door closer. The latch was a wrought-iron bar that was simply lifted out of the u-shaped hardware attached to both the wall and door on the hallway side of the door. “How do you lock it?”

  Ramsay demonstrated. He thunked a heavy-looking iron bar down in place on the bedroom side of the door. “This bar is placed across the door. None can enter without yer permission.”

  “Interesting.” Why in the world, in their private quarters, would the family live with medieval accoutrements rather than enjoy modern day conveniences? Even something as simple as a door lock? I can’t wait to see the bathroom.

  Katie motioned toward one of the overstuffed sofas arranged in a cozy seating area in front of a fireless hearth. “You sit while I check out the facilities.”

  “Lass…I dinna think—”

  “Oh no…you promised.” Katie snatched her bag out of his hand and pointed at the sofa again. “You owe me the story of the spear and you’re a man of your word—right?” He wasn’t escaping now—not when she had him behind a bolted door. An expectant shivery feeling wiggled its way through her—the same surge of excitement she always got when sensing she was on the verge of a new find. That spear’s authentic. I can feel it. She paused at a set of double doors and looked back at the intriguing kilted hunk of a man she’d never imagined meeting. He’s authentic too. She swallowed hard and gave him a stern look. “Right?” she repeated.

  “Aye,” Ramsay replied as though she’d pried the word out of him. He flipped a hand toward the double doors beside her. “See the facilities and then we’ll talk.”

  Chapter 4

  A MacDara always kept his word—at least as much as he could without endangering the Heartstone.

  I’m a damn fool. I just had t’say I’d answer her questions.

  Somehow, he’d been unable to help himself from doin’ so. Something about that infernal woman made him agreeable t’whatever she asked. He snorted aloud. Would that she’d asked him t’do somethin’ a great deal more enjoyable than explain the story of the spear. Ramsay shook his head. Damn fool. Like this fine woman would ask such. He’d do his best t’make certain the lass’s questions were few because something told him that she wasna the type t’partake in a harmless dalliance. Of course, neither was he. That was another of his own personal problems—or so his brothers said.

  While Katie explored the rest of the suite and checked out the facilities, Ramsay helped himself to the long tin box of matches on the mantle and hurried to light the trio of thick pillar candles placed in the hearth for the summer season.

  Good. He watched the dancing flames a moment longer then turned and surveyed the rest of the battlefield. Battlefield. Aye. ’Twas exactly what this was: a battle with a lovely stubborn lass…an intriguing lass with entirely too many questions. She was too…risky. As much as she intrigued him, he had t’convince her there was nothin’ of interest about the spear nor the keep. And for his own sake, ’twas best t’keep her at arm’s length. If not for the lateness of the hour, he wouldha escorted her into town for a room. But the small town of Brady turned off its lights and rolled up its sidewalks after eleven o’clock at night.

  The full decanter of whisky from the small bar built into the bookcases beside the hearth caught his attention. Aye—that’ll do. ‘Twill suit m’plan perfectly. He carefully selected a couple of glasses from the cabinet, fine crystal tumblers with wide heavy bottoms, squat and round and able to hold a healthy snort of liquid without lookin’ as though the drink was entirely too much to handle. He placed the glasses on the table in front of the sofa.

  Looking over at the couch, he hurried to plump and rearrange several of the throw pillows and created the perfect nest for Katie to relax into and rest. Relax. Aye…relax and grow comfortable…and then to sleep with the dear lass to end her natterin’ questions.

  He stood back and double-checked his efforts, then gave the room an approving nod. Aye. Good enough, I reckon. He would do his best not to lie to Katie but he couldna tell her a great deal about the spear or the history behind MacDara Keep. Surely if he plied her with enough of his family’s strongest whisky while she watched the hypnotic flickering of candles in the hearth, she’d drop off to sleep fairly quick after such a trying day. He pulled in a deep breath and blew it out. Aye. ’Twas all set. He’d make his escape without revealing any of the MacDara legacy.

  His inner self nudged him—the lonely man within him was his constant companion of late—demanding to be heard. Stay. Avoid her questions another way, a more enjoyable way. Aye…if he was honest, he wouldna mind stayin’ the night with Katie—if the lady was so inclined. She wasna like other women. She didna seem t’be such…
a threat.

  “None a that,” he scolded under his breath. “She’s but passin’ through…fleetin’ as a welcome breeze in the night and ye ken verra well ‘twould no’ be right.” Again, he reiterated to himself that Katie didna have that way about her. Besides—he respected the woman too much to even court such an idea.

  Yer a lyin’ bastard, Ramsay. He could almost hear Dwyn’s voice in his head—the perennial voice of his conscience. A soft chuckle escaped him. Aye, well. Mayhap, he was lyin’ just a wee bit to himself. He’d most assuredly courted the idea of discovering the sweet-smellin’ lass’s most intimate secrets—but he doubted verra much that his wishes would e’er come to fruition. As he’d said, sadly enough, the lass was but passin’ through.

  “Nice suite,” Katie announced as she returned to the sitting room. “The bathtub’s big enough to swim in and I’ve never slept in a canopied bed with curtains before. It’s gorgeous.”

  Ramsay welcomed her over to the couch. “I’m glad t’hear it meets with yer approval. Sit, why don’t ye? I thought we’d enjoy a glass of fine MacDara whisky while I keep m’word and tell ye about the spear.” He poured a generous splash of the golden liquid into each of the glasses waiting on the table.

  Without hesitating, Katie made herself comfortable in the pillowed corner of the couch and accepted the glass of whisky with a smile as she kicked off her shoes. “Don’t tell your mother, but I’m not much on wine.” She took a sip of the whisky, closed her eyes, and breathed in a deep breath, obviously savoring the rich sweet burn before swallowing. “MacDara brand—one of Scotland’s finest I’m sure?” She opened her eyes and wiggled deeper into the pillows.

  “Aye.” Ramsay followed suit with a sip from his own glass, welcoming the delicious slow heat as it trailed down his gullet and warmed its way through his veins. Liquid courage. The perfect weaponry for this evenin’s battle. He lifted his glass and swirled the shimmering nectar in the light of the flickering candles. “Uisge beatha.”

  “Water of life,” Katie translated after taking another sip.

  “Ye speak the Gaelic?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve got a rudimentary understanding of it. Helps with research.” She patted the cushion, then took a deeper drink as Ramsay settled down beside her. Her eyes grew wide and she fanned herself as she blew out a breath. “Whew—potent. I’ll have to be careful. Now—time to talk of spears, castles, and all things MacDara.”

  “A toast first, aye?” He quickly rose and picked up the crystal decanter of the wonderful elixir that guaranteed this sweet lass would soon go peacefully into her dreams.

  Katie paused but an instant, then held out her glass, her gaze locked on the mesmerizing liquid gold as it filled the tumbler. “What shall we toast?” she asked as she rose from her seat and lifted the glass in the air.

  Ramsay placed the decanter where it could be easily reached then followed suit. “To chance acquaintances—may they always be allies and friends.”

  “To chance acquaintances,” Katie agreed then added with a wink, “Sláinte mhath!”

  “Sláinte mhath!” Ramsay repeated, tossing down the entirety of his glass and reveling in a surge of victory as Katie emptied hers too. He refilled both their glasses then seated himself close to the increasingly rosy-cheeked lass once she’d settled back down in her pillowed nest.

  “Can I hold it?” She perked forward and slid her glass to the table.

  “B-beg pardon?” Ramsay scooted to the edge of the cushion, heat from more than the whisky making him wish he’d taken the time to check the thermostat of the room. A bit of cooling air would be most welcomed about now.

  Katie pointed to the spear propped next to the hearth, thankfully, failing to notice his social panic. “The spear. I’d love a closer look at it, if that’s okay. I’d love to hold it and check out those carvings all along the shaft.”

  Silently cursing his idiocy, Ramsay quickly recovered. “Of course.” He fetched the spear but before he presented it to her, he motioned toward the back of the couch. “ ’Tis quite a bit heavier than it looks. Ye’d best scoot back into the cushions t’be better supported.”

  Katie immediately complied and sat cross-legged with her forearms supported on her thighs. She held both hands, palms up. “I’m ready.”

  Aye, lass. So am I. Perhaps, the whisky was no’ such a good idea. Ramsay had forgotten how quickly it lowered his cock’s inhibitions. He swallowed hard and gently placed the spear in her upheld hands.

  Bringing it closer into her lap, Katie gingerly cradled the spear as though Ramsay had just handed her a newly birthed bairn. She stole an excited glance up at him before returning her full attention to the spear and dancing her fingertips along the meaningful symbols carved the length of the blackened shaft.

  “It’s incredible,” she whispered. She leaned closer and frowned down at the carvings. “Absolutely incredible,” she repeated under her breath.

  An uneasiness stirred within him. A subtle but intense warning. This woman was an archeologist. How many of the symbols might she understand? As nonchalantly as possible, he lifted the spear out of her hands and placed it on the floor in front of them. He refilled their whisky glasses and handed hers to her with a smile. ’Twas best if the lass drank herself t’sleep. Now.

  “Celtic. Goddesses. Bride for sure,” Katie mused between sips of the whisky, her gaze locked on the spear as she emptied her glass without realizing it—just as Ramsay had planned.

  Not much longer now, aye? He’d noted that Katie was struggling to form her words and properly string her sentences together. Aye, verra soon. Mistress Katie Jenson would be well on her way to her dreams and all her questions would be forgotten.

  “Sc-scota.” She frowned as she swallowed and looked at Ramsay, dangling her empty glass in one hand. “Couldn’t quite make out the other…ones. What do the other symbols mean?” She made an attempt at a rubbing motion with her fingers, her eyelids dipping low before she forced them wider open as she continued, “The s-symbols. Kind of worn in spots, probably where it’s been gripped the most.” She concentrated on making awkward clenching motions with her hand, trapped in the effort to demonstrate the word gripped. “Wornnn,” she carefully repeated with an endearing whisky slur.

  Even in her cups, Mistress Katie knew entirely too much for both her and his own good. Ramsay filled her glass again. “I dinna ken,” he lied, immediate guilt jabbing him in the gut. “The weapon’s been in the family for a verra long time but the meanin’ of the cuts upon the shaft were lost long before my generation.” He scooped up his glass from the table and lifted it in the air, silently begging forgiveness for his untruths. A MacDara and, more important, a protector never lied unless forced. Disgrace filled him.

  “A drink to the generations before us!” he said with a strength he didna currently feel.

  Katie complied then peered at him over the rim of her empty glass as she paused with it propped against her bottom lip. “Other generations,” she enunciated carefully, and Ramsay was relieved to see she was losing the struggle with her drooping eyelids. “Danu!” she suddenly exclaimed, bouncing as she lifted her empty glass high into the air. “That’s the other goddess—Danu!”

  Time for more whisky. Ramsay hurried to pour her more, filling her glass extra full this time. “Danu, ye say?” he remarked, maintaining an air of disinterested stupidity about the spear as he eased back down beside her on the couch.

  Katie licked her lips, frowning as she squinted at the level of whisky in her glass first, then blinked hard and refocused on the spear. “Last glass,” she advised as she attempted to scoot forward toward the spear but lost her balance and fell back against Ramsay with a thud.

  “Oops! Sorry.” She wiggled sideways, attempting to correct her course out of his lap, but only succeeded in sloshing whisky on his exposed leg. “Sh-shit! Sorry, again.” With her still half-full gla
ss curled to her chest, she rubbed her other hand across his whisky-covered thigh, attempting to wipe her clumsiness away.

  “Damn—I don’t wanna get it on yer kilt,” she slurred. She shoved his kilt up closer to his crotch and proceeded to blow on his leg. “I’ll make it ‘vaporate.”

  “God a’mighty,” Ramsay groaned through gritted teeth, praying first that the height of his kilt over his hardening cock wouldna draw the inebriated lass’s attention but the more she blew on his bare leg, the quicker his prayers changed to hoping she would notice and decide to help him find relief.

  Unable t’take anymore, he gently lifted her by the shoulders and settled her back beside him with an arm curled tightly around her to keep her from moving. “Dinna fash yerself, lass. ’Tis but a wee bit a whisky.” He showed her his own untouched glass. “See? We’ve plenty more, aye?”

  Eyelids half-closed and her head bobbing from side to side, Katie snuggled close, then propped her chin on his chest as she attempted to look up at him. She laboriously worked her whisky glass up to her mouth and downed the remaining contents then gave Ramsay a scarlet-cheeked smile. “All gone,” she reported in a breathy tone. Still gripping the empty glass, she draped that arm across his chest, nestled her head into the dip of his shoulder, and scooted and squirmed like a pup making a nest for the night. Finally, she grew still.

  At last. I’ll sit here for just a bit then make my escape.

  Katie suddenly shifted. Her whisky glass fell out of her hand and her arm slid down and came to rest on top of his rock-hard cock.

  “You know what?” she asked in a low purring slur that made his bollocks tighten and scream for mercy.