“Not your fault, sweetie,” Julie said. “You didn’t know you’d be meeting him, let alone exchanging gifts.” She winked at Tiernan then stood on her tiptoes to get the whisky down from the cabinet. “You’re my best-kept secret, Tiernan.”
Was he ever. She couldn’t talk about him to anyone. On the rare times she saw Vivienne, she refrained because she suspected Viv held out hope Julie might end up in Scandinavia. Still, she could have shared because there’s no way she was meant for him. Yet every time she had started to, she’d bitten her tongue. Maybe she just hadn't wanted her friend to remind her of the cold hard truth.
To drive home the fact Julie was in love with a man she could never have.
“Am I then?” Tiernan murmured in her ear, standing so close his front brushed her back when he grabbed the whisky for her. “Yer best-kept secret then, lass?”
She stilled at his closeness, the heat of his body, at the way his brogue thickened, which only happened when his emotions were high. As a rule, MacLomains said ‘you’ instead of ‘ye’ so that their twenty-first century counterparts understood them better, but occasionally they slipped.
Her heart leapt when his eyes fell to hers, and he didn’t step away.
Where she had sensed sparks between them his last few visits, what simmered between them now was so much more. Sizzling heat flared under her skin, and her breath caught. When his pupils flared, and his gaze fell to her lips, she knew he felt the same.
“Oh, wow,” Chloe gushed. “These are beautiful!”
Though tough, she dragged her eyes away from his face only to see Chloe and Madison admiring the contents of the velvet box. Five gorgeous platinum Claddagh rings were lined up inside, just waiting for their destined Broun.
Despite knowing full well she had no Broun blood and could never be meant for Tiernan, her foolish heart sank. When had she started growing so hopeful? When had she begun praying for a miracle? Because she had and realized it when that box was opened. She’d begun fantasizing that by some amazing twist of fate, there would be six rings in there. That despite possessing no magic or having the correct lineage, she might be destined for him anyway.
But no.
There were only five rings, and all hope was lost.
Until that is, she remembered he had given her a box too.
Chapter Two
HE HAD SWORN he would seek out his destined Broun when he arrived in New Hampshire, but after one look at Julie, he knew it was a lost cause. How could he ever love another? How could anyone but her ever be meant for him?
“They’re gorgeous,” Julie murmured. Though she stared at the rings, she hadn’t moved. Rather, she seemed disinclined to shift away from him. To put any more distance between them.
Lord, she was beautiful. He wanted to finally run his fingers through her curly dark red hair. To lose himself in her thickly lashed deep emerald eyes flecked with pale green. Taste her plush lips at last. He dared not think about what else he wanted to do to her because this was no place to get aroused. Especially when no amount of magic could eliminate an untimely erection.
Not when it came to her.
“You really shouldn’t have,” Chloe gushed, still admiring the rings. “These had to have cost a fortune.”
Only if he let clan and country down because he wanted nothing to do with those rings. Not if Julie wasn’t wearing one of them.
Right now, however, they served a purpose.
“Please,” he urged Chloe. “Pick out any one you like.”
Because the magical rings would find precisely who they were meant for.
Not only that, but they would make Julie’s life a lot easier once they were on her friends’ fingers.
“You should open yours as well,” he said to Julie.
He almost wished he hadn’t gotten her anything after he saw the quickly masked disappointment in her eyes at the contents of the other box. Then again, while she might grow more disappointed at the contents of her own box, now he knew with certainty that his feelings for her weren’t one-sided.
His father had started bringing him here to visit her when he was very young. Though Julie was but a friendly face then, she became so much more when he was around fifteen. He supposed that made sense considering his age, but it made for far too many excruciating years since then pining for her. Worse still, when he finally caught up with her age-wise, he was not allowed to act on it. Now he was roughly three years older than her and still unable to move beyond their bloody friendship.
Or at least that had been his mindset before arriving.
Now he intended something else entirely despite how very wrong it was.
“It’s lovely, Tiernan,” Julie whispered, having opened her box. Her eyes were misty, perhaps from both disappointment and being genuinely touched. “Truly.”
“You remember then?” he said softly. “What I promised you?”
“Yeah.” She offered a wobbly smile and admired the magically blown glass encasing the small thistle flower. “You said you wanted to bring me something from your homeland.” She fingered the delicate pendant. “This. A thistle.”
He pulled out the dainty chain and pendant then urged her to turn around so he could put it on her. “Do you recall why?”
“Of course.” She held her hair out of the way. “Because though the thistle symbolizes many things, graciousness and protection suited me best.”
“Aye.” He inhaled her soft floral scent. It had been hers for as long as he could remember. “Because you are a gracious protector, Jules,” he murmured softly in her ear so her friends couldn't hear him. “One way or another, you have watched over both this house and the Maine chalet for years, and been there when we needed you. Without these two properties, we MacLomains and our Viking ancestors might never have found our destined loves, and so much might have gone wrong.” It took everything in him not to kiss her cheek, then turn her lips to his. “The world as we know it might not exist. Certainly not Scotland.”
“I think you’re giving me a bit too much credit.” Julie admired the pendant as he secured the clasp. “But it’s lovely all the same.” She met his eyes over her shoulder. “Really. I love it. Thank you, Tiernan.”
Even the sound of her saying his name affected him. He wanted to pull her into his arms. To finally kiss her once and for all. How could he care so much for a woman God didn’t want him to be with? Surely, magic was askew this time because the good Lord must want this for them.
“It’s a perfect fit,” Chloe declared, admiring her ring. “And...”
“What is it?” Madison asked, sliding her own ring on as well.
Just like Chloe, a strange look came over her face.
Julie glanced from woman to woman and frowned. “Are you guys all right?”
“Yeah,” Chloe whispered. “I just had the strangest feeling come over me.”
“Me too,” Madison murmured. “Like warmth and anticipation...”
When she trailed off, Chloe continued. “Like something amazing is about to happen.” Her eyes narrowed a fraction. “Something a little scary too.”
“Right.” Madison yawned. “Wow, I’m suddenly super wiped.”
Chloe yawned as well. “I second that.”
Julie glanced from Tiernan to them, evidently understanding magic was at work because she went with it. “Why don’t we skip drinks and crash early?”
“You don’t mind?” Chloe’s eyes were already drifting. “We haven’t even eaten the lasagna you made for us yet.”
“You mean bought.” Julie chuckled. “I make a killer drink, but cooking isn’t my strong point.” She ushered them upstairs. “C’mon, off to bed with you. We’ll chat more over coffee in the morning.”
“Are you sure?” Madison asked on another yawn, offering Tiernan a little wave goodbye.
“Positive,” Julie replied before the three of them vanished upstairs.
He downed a shot of whisky, poured another, refilled Julie’s glass, and strolled through a h
ouse that had now seen five generations of MacLomains come and go. As to his own direct line, four generations. It was hard to believe his great-grandfather Iain had stood in this very foyer. That he had been in this living room with Tiernan’s great-grandmother Arianna, who had lived here in the eighteenth century.
He admired Julie’s Christmas tree, sad that she had spent so many holidays alone, caught in limbo as she was. Or that was how he had always seen it. She had inadvertently helped bring several couples together, but what about her? Who was she meant for?
Him if he had any say in it.
Which, as it happened, he now did because of his intentions to go rogue and break all the rules. He stoked the fire with a flick of his wrist and noted the picture of her and Sean on the mantle.
“He was a good friend,” Julie said softly, back downstairs in record time. She joined him in front of the fire and set the bottle of whisky on the mantle. “The last time I saw Viv, she said he and Svala were doing well in tenth-century Scandinavia.”
In truth, Julie had been interested in Sean at one time, but it wasn’t meant to be. Which again made Tiernan wonder at her role in all this beyond the obvious. He’d always suspected she must be destined for someone. It seemed too unfair otherwise. His father Adlin and now deceased great uncle Grant surely would have had someone in mind for her. She deserved love like all the rest. More so, in his opinion.
He handed Julie her wine. “Are your friends off to sleep then?”
“They are.” Her knowing eyes met his. “So, what was that all about? What did you do to their rings?” She cocked her head. “And where’d you get them from? Your dad?”
“Naturally,” he replied. “With a touch of Grant in there too, I’m sure.”
“Right, from the afterlife.” She shook her head and chuckled. “Sometimes, I forget just how crazy things can get with you MacLomains.” She sipped her wine. “So my friends are what, cast under some sort of spell?”
“You could say that,” he replied. “The rings will take whoever wears them on their own journey and help them to understand all of this. Make them believe and accept their circumstances easier than they might have otherwise.”
“Ah,” she murmured, understanding. “So basically, I won’t need to explain what’s going on and what lies ahead.”
“If the rings work as they should,” he said, “your friends should find their way along just fine.”
“If they work as they should?” She narrowed her eyes, knowing him far too well. “What’s going on, Tiernan? While I love seeing you, why are you here? What’s happening in Scotland?”
“We’re still trying to figure that out.” He downed his whisky and set his cup on the mantle. “My magic started fluctuating when I was helping my Viking ancestors. When I returned to Scotland, I discovered that magic was fluctuating in all corners of my country.”
“I’m so sorry.” Worry drew her finely arched eyebrows together. “Any idea why?”
“Nay,” he said. “All we know is the source of the disturbance originated around the year thirteen twenty-nine. Specifically, when King Robert the Bruce’s five-year-old son David II ascended to the throne upon his father’s death.”
“Though tempted to say that’s awfully specific, I know what you and your father are capable of.” She poured him more whisky. “And, yet again, Grant from the afterlife.”
“What I was capable of,” he corrected and sighed. “I barely came through for my Viking ancestors, and I fear it’s only going to get worse.” He shook his head, troubled, more open with her than anyone about his true feelings. When he was at home, being chieftain, he had to remain strong, but here with her, he could let his guard down and finally share his concerns. His true feelings. “My magic waning feels like a piece of my soul is being ripped out, Jules. I feel...weak...helpless.”
“But you’re not.” She handed him his glass, urged him to drink, and said everything he needed to hear. “You’re a seasoned warrior with a good head on your shoulders. Always remember that, Tiernan. You’re far more than an arch-wizard. You’re kind, a good friend, a protector, and a damn good leader.”
“You’re prejudiced.” He nearly brushed a tempting curl back from the corner of her eye but refrained. “But thank you.”
“I might be prejudiced,” she conceded. “But I’m also right.” Then, because she wasn’t one to let him dwell in misery any longer than he would her, she remained focused on the facts. “So little David becomes king, and somehow that ignites something that affects magic in Scotland in your day and age, thirteen forty-six, roughly seventeen years later, right?”
He nodded. “Precisely.”
“Thoughts?”
“The only thing of consequence that has happened recently in my era is King David losing to the British at Nevillie’s Cross near Durham.” He shrugged. “The consequence of that is him being taken captive for eleven winters.”
“Then what?”
“Then, under the Treaty of Berwick, a ransom of one hundred thousand merks will be agreed upon, and he returns to Scotland to continue ruling.”
“How long will he rule for?”
“Nigh on forty-two winters.”
She sipped her wine and thought about that. “What would’ve happened had he not ruled that long?”
“’Tis hard to know.” He shrugged. “Edward Balliol might have become king, or mayhap another would have risen up against him.” He shook his head. “Having known us MacLomains and our Viking Sigdir ancestors this long, you know there are too many possibilities to count when it comes to historical outcomes.”
“Very true,” she murmured, still thinking it over. “So chances are pretty good that whatever went wrong happened between David becoming king in thirteen twenty-nine and your era, thirteen forty-six.”
“What makes you say that?” He eyed her curiously. “It could just as easily be something that happened after thirteen forty-six.”
“I don't know,” she said softly. “Just a feeling.” She eyed him. “You agree, though, don't you?”
How curious for her to have such a specific feeling. One more aligned with his thoughts than seemed entirely natural. Could there be something to that? Or was he just grasping for anything right now?
“Aye, I do agree,” he said. “Though ‘tis always a possibility, I dinnae think anything that happened after he’s captured in my era has to do with this.”
She nodded before she cocked her head and focused on what else he had said. “Who’s Edward Balliol?”
“The son of a former Scottish king and a traitor to his country in the first war,” he revealed. “He felt he had more claim to the throne than David.” He shook his head. “From what I’ve heard, he’s a bloody bastard. Once David was declared king, Balliol rallied the disinherited to his cause and—”
“The disinherited?” Her brows snapped together, and she frowned. “Who are they?”
Caught by the strange look in her eyes, he explained.
“Bloody traitors just like Balliol,” he muttered. “They were Scottish nobles who supported England rather than the Bruce during the First War of Scottish Independence. When the war ended, and The Treaty of Edinburgh-Northampton was signed, King Robert didnae allow them to keep their land. So ‘twas no surprise they didnae want the Bruce’s heir to be king.”
He downed his whisky and went on.
“One of those "disinherited" was Edward Balliol himself,” he explained. “With the discreet backing of Edward III of England, Balliol demanded the return of his ancestral lands. When he didnae get what he wanted, he invaded Scotland.” He bit back a sneer. “Then the bloody arse had himself crowned King of Scots, despite wee David II, the rightful king, already holding the title.”
He could see her mental wheels spinning when he finished.
“What is it, Julie?” he said. “What was that look I saw in your eyes at the mention of the disinherited?”
“I had a look?”
“Aye, you had a look.”
Though tempted to question her, he saw a plausible reason, better yet, an eventual explanation for what he had intended to do since the moment he laid eyes on her. Was he risking everything? Aye. Did he care? Naturally.
But he was going to do it anyway and said so.
“Then you will be needed,” he said firmly, trying to sound like he spoke with logic rather than emotion. She might not possess magic, but she was clearly on to something here. Certain knowledge that might blossom into even more knowledge as time went by. “You will come home with me this time Julie.”
Chapter Three
“NO,” SHE REPLIED automatically to Tiernan’s declaration that she return home with him. She ignored the way her heart leapt with hope. The excitement his words invoked. It was her role to hold down the fort here, not travel back in time. Not embark on a grand adventure and fall in love.
Why was that, though?
Because you’re not a Broun, she reminded herself. You’re not meant to find an unbelievable connection across time.
But why?
Because you’re not a witch or dragon, that’s why. You’re just a mere mortal.
“You’re so much more than that, Julie,” Tiernan said softly.
“Why?” she whispered, convinced he really was hearing her thoughts.
“Why do I think you’re more than just a mere mortal?”
“No.” She shook her head and found her tongue. “You can hear my thoughts, can’t you?” She narrowed her eyes, still far too hopeful. “Why is that when you never could before?”
It must be a glitch in the system.
A bizarre side effect of his magic fluctuating.
“I dinnae know.” He clenched his fist for about the fifth time since they were standing there.
“And why do you keep doing that?” She gestured at his clenched fist and frowned. “I’ve seen you pent up before, but you never did that.” She searched his eyes. “What the hell’s going on, Tiernan? Truth time. Why are you saying I should travel back in time with you when we both know that’s impossible? I won't be needed for anything because I'm not a Broun, and I have no magic.”
A Scot's Pledge (The MacLomain Series: End of an Era, #1) Page 2