A Highlander's Obsession (Highlander's Beloved) (11 page)

He placed his hands on Paisley’s upper arms and drew her back against his chest. “Lean on me, lassie, while ye listen to me brother spin his yarns.”

Paisley pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose. “No. I’m good. Thanks.” She shifted her shoulders and sat ramrod straight, which amused him.

He wrapped a protective arm around Colleen’s back as he leaned forward to whisper in Paisley’s ear. “ ’Tis an apology I’d be owin’ ye, then. I was wrong fer what I said earlier about yer fiancé. I didna have the right to hurt yer feelings.”

She turned her head toward him, their lips nearly touching. Her sky-blue eyes regarded him behind those glasses that never stayed where they belonged. Long dark blonde lashes, like delicate feathers, fanned her cheeks when she blinked those mesmerizing eyes. Slowly her eyes darkened to the shade of heather on the Highlands in springtime. Heaven help him, he was gazing into the soul of his mate. He ground his back molars.
She has a fiancé back in Virginia. I’ll do well to remember that—if I can
.

Something about this lass enticed him, and her appeal was stronger than any other woman’s. For the first time in his life, he wanted something he could never have if she returned to America.

“I don’t know what to make of you, Creighton Matheson.” A wrinkle buckled between her eyebrows and he yearned to kiss it away.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her back against his groin, ignoring his cock’s immediate reaction. “Perhaps we need to work harder at becoming friends, then. We’ve
gotten off to a rocky start. I didna mean to insult ye in any way.” No doubt he should remove his arm from her, but it felt too good holding her close. Perhaps if he kept talking, she wouldna notice. “What tale would ye like Ronan to tell next?”

“Well, on the way here from the airport, he said there was a story about how bears became extinct in Scotland.” As she spoke, her hand covered his and pried it from her waist.

For some reason, her movement pleased him. He never cared for a woman who was too easy to get. A man loved the chase, after all. “Ronan.” His gaze stayed locked on hers as he spoke. “Our American guest would like to hear the myth about the bears and the Vikings.” He slipped his arm around her again and snuggled that appealing arse of hers to his groin.

The room grew quiet as eyes turned toward them. A few eyebrows arched at Paisley’s proximity to him. None of them would dare say anything. Nay, none of them would dare remark on a woman obviously in the protection of his attentions.

Bryce removed his daughter from Creighton’s shoulders. “Aye, and do ye ken she can’t hear with yer breathin’ heavy into her ear like that?” A few smirks and giggles filled the large room.

No one, except his smart-mouthed baby brother, that is. “Mind yer manners, Bryce.”

Ronan was the experienced peacekeeper of the clan. “Aye, the Viking story.” He glanced around the room. “Who’s up for the hearin’ of our favorite legend?” Several voiced their approval and the wee ones clapped. Earnan, their great uncle, pounded his cane on the floor.

As the wind howled and icy rain pelted the windows, the fire crackled and popped behind Ronan. “Aye, ’tis no fit time to be out and about as night closes in around us. ’Tis best ye stay here in the walls of our ancient castle, drink yer tipple, and honor our ancestors with pride.” Ronan raised his glass in a mock toast as he spoke.

Creighton leaned over her shoulder to whisper in her ear. The sweet fruity essence of her smell wrapped itself around his senses. He inhaled deeply. He wanted to remember her scent forever.

She scowled at him over her shoulder. “Did you just sniff me?”

He fought to suppress a smile. “Aye, lassie, I did. What is that sweet perfume ye wear so well?”

“It’s body lotion. Cherry blossom. Now, stop invading my space.” Her arched eyebrow issued an order, or a challenge, and it stirred his loins even more than her nearness. He’d never
cared much for timid women. Nay, spark and sass were more to his liking.

“Watch me brother as he weaves his spell. ’Tis an accomplished storyteller, he is. Taught by our uncle Graham, famed storyteller of our clan for decades. Likely Ronan will lay it on extra thick to impress ye.”

“Do you really think so?” She favored him with a small smile, and he wanted to kiss those luscious lips in the worst possible way—damn her fiancé.

His hand splayed across her from midriff to abdomen. “Aye,
leannan
.”

“Leannan?”
Her forehead crinkled in question. “What does that mean?”

“It’s a Scottish term of endearment.” He gave a nonchalant shrug so he wouldna make her feel uncomfortable. “We have many we enjoy using.” He motioned toward his brother’s movements to deflect her attention. “Watch, now.”

No doubt seeking to mesmerize his audience, Ronan lit the candles on the mantel behind him. Bryce, familiar with the procedure, turned out the track lighting along the ancient beams running the length of the room, once the great hall of the castle. Shrouded in semidarkness, and backlit by candles and the roaring fire in the large, stone hearth, Ronan began.

“ ’Tis proud I am to share with our American guest a wee bit of the Matheson clan’s oral history.” He clasped his hands behind his back and stood with his feet braced apart. “Here in Scotland, fair and beautiful country that she is, we value the telling of times gone by. ’Tis a gift we give our children, the passing on of our history. For we are a hearty people. Aye. Strong. Brave. Fearless.”

Nearly everyone in the room nodded. Most men mumbled “Aye.” Earnan pounded his cane and nodded his white head.

Paisley placed her hand on top of Creighton’s. “Oh, this is wonderful. He’s so good. Look how he has everyone eating out of the palm of his hand.”

He drew her closer and she rested her head against his chest to listen to his brother.

Ronan, take yer time in the telling of our tale. I love the feel of her body close to mine
. An unexpected feeling of contentment swelled within his chest, while concern niggled at his mind. She wouldn’t stay long. Soon she’d return to her country and her man. Though, if she were truly engaged, why wasn’t she wearing a ring? Didna the man love her enough to buy her a shining symbol of his sentiment? If she were his, she would wear—

Ronan’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “ ’Twas the year 960. Our band was growing
and prospering. We fished and hunted. Aye, we grew as a sleuth. When the Vikings, thievin’, murderin’ bastards that they were, sailed to our shores in their long ships, we fought them.” He leaned forward, his fists clenched near his shoulders. “And they feared us.”

A round of
Ayes
rose to the ceiling. The wee ones imitated Ronan’s gestures.

“Our battles were long and fierce. Our victories many. A Norseman by the name of Vulund the Flatnose led the attack on our shores.” Ronan held two fingers to the tip of his nose to flatten it as did everyone else.

Creighton flattened his nose too and nudged Paisley. “Flatten yer nose, lassie. ’Tis part of our oral tradition to repeat the actions of our forefathers every time the name Vulund the Flatnose is mentioned.”

She smiled as she complied, obviously enjoying the practice. “Well, far be it from me to interfere with tradition.”

“Aye, we’ll make a Scot of ye yet.” Lord, but he was enjoying the lass.

“I am half Scottish. I’m of Scottish and Danish descent.”

Bryce stepped behind them and leaned down. “ ’Tis not our tradition to hold private conversations during the telling of our tale.”

Creighton rumbled a low growl and Bryce laughed. “Go on with the story, Ronan. The whispering blackhearts won’t be marring yer oration anymore.”

Ronan nodded. “During this era, there were many bears on our shores and in our Highlands. Large, fierce, combative bears.” He stood straight and held his hands in the shape of paws with claws. The children imitated his posture, and Ronan nodded his approval. “Aye, me wee ones. The bears were meant to be feared—and they were.

“Vulund the Flatnose requested more longships and men from Eric Bloodaxe in York, the last Viking king of Jorvik, to battle the bears. And so, more Vikings came. But the bears fought them off. Aye, they were
victorious
.” His voice bellowed and the word was echoed by everyone in the room.

“Not to be outdone, Flatnose, devious bastard that he was, devised a plan. His men blocked off the entrances to the bears’ caves, save one. With pry bars to gain leverage, his men moved large boulders into the caves’ openings, blocking them. Once that was done, large teams of Vikings were dispatched to round up the bears. They captured the momma sows and their cubs and forced them into the one remaining open cave. Then they set about killing as many
male bears as they could. Aye, over time, they killed them all.”

Ronan, the storyteller, approached the wee ones, no doubt for effect. “The bears imprisoned in the caves were smart.” He tapped a finger against his temple. “They knew they couldn’t escape, for Vikings guarded the entrance to the large underground chamber. Aye, they cut down large trees along our shoreline and cliffs, dragged them to the cave’s opening and set them afire. Roaring flames imprisoned the bears.

“So, the bears hatched a plan. Aye, the female bears were intelligent and cunning, above all other animals and the Vikings.” This time the ladies in the room voiced their agreement to Ronan’s praise. “When the Vikings, with all their weapons, came into the cave to kill the bears, they all appeared to be dead.” With great flourish, Ronan dropped to the floor and feigned death. The children gasped, just as children no doubt had throughout centuries of the telling of the tale.

Ronan raised his head off the floor. “The Vikings left, but before they did, they rolled more boulders in front of the last cave’s opening. For years the bears were trapped.” He stood and made reaching motions over his head. “They ate roots of plants and herbs that grew downward from above. In one of the chambers branching off from the main cave opening was a pool of water, fed by an underground spring. They survived.

“Many years later, another group of Vikings, led by Olaf the Yellow, sailed to our shores to rape and pillage our countryside. They sought a place to hide their stolen loot and, not knowing what they’d find, rolled away the rocks from the bears’ underground prison. Imagine the Vikings’ surprise when human beings walked out. Proud, strong, fierce human beings.”

Ronan pointed as he spoke. “Men. Women. Children. And they were feared. Aye, invincible. Indomitable. Victorious.” His roar echoed in the room as did the cheers of elders, adults, and wee ones.

He made a sweeping gesture with his hands. “And so we remain today, survivors from those fierce, warrior mathes, or bears. We are Mathesons. Sons of bears.”

Even in the midst of the cheering that followed, Paisley’s gasp was both heard and felt. She began to tremble. Her blonde head whipped around to stare at Creighton, her eyes wide, her mouth agape in shock.

Creighton wrapped both arms around her waist and held her to him even as she struggled to stand, no doubt to flee. “Easy now, lassie. Suppose we go somewhere private where we can talk about things ye dinna understand?” How much could he tell her? With her being able to read
his thoughts, he’d have to be careful. Verra careful.

Sons of bears? What did Ronan mean, sons of bears?
Paisley reached for Creighton’s hand when he stood and extended it to her. “What … what was Ronan implying when he said you were sons of bears?” Her heart pounded in her ears. A shudder of unease jittered through her system. Suddenly Ronan’s oral legend seemed downright freaky.

“ ’Tis merely a tall tale to tell on a dark, stormy evening such as this.” Creighton’s black eyebrows furrowed in distress. Was he hiding something?

Her gaze swept the large room as elders drank and talked, and women tried to calm their children after Ronan’s rousing story. “Almost everyone I’ve met today has the same last name. Matheson.” Jagged pieces of a puzzle slowly coalesced in her mind. “Tell me, why is that?” She folded her arms and glared at him.

“Matheson is our clan name. Most take it as their surname to show solidarity. To proclaim their allegiance.”

“Allegiance?”

“Aye.”

“Why does everyone defer to you?”

Creighton exhaled an audible sigh. “Because I am the head of Clan Matheson. Their laird.” He wrapped his long arm around her waist and escorted her from the great hall. “I think yer suite would be the place to have this conversation. We could go to me office, but someone’s likely to interrupt. They know I keep a large stock of whisky there and, with the fierce storm raging outside, tonight seems a time fer drinking. Most will spend the night. The castle’s big enough to accommodate everyone. We have before.”

As he led her to the stairway and hurried her up the steps, his hold on her was tight, as if he feared she’d break away.

Under normal circumstances, she’d remark on his handling of her, but Ronan’s tale kept swirling through her mind. Bears fighting Vikings. The Vikings rounding up bears and herding them into a cave. Bears exiting the caves some years later as humans. Dear God, had he meant shape-shifters, like in books and movies?

Paisley unlocked the door to the suite she shared with her grandmother. The sitting room
was empty. “Give me a minute to check on Gram. Then I’ve got some serious questions for you, and you better have some satisfactory answers.”

“Fair enough.”

She opened the door to Gram’s bedroom and peeked inside. Gram snored softly, her slight frame snuggled under a pile of blankets. Tiptoeing into the room, Paisley saw the bottle of her grandmother’s favorite herbal sleeping remedy and an empty glass on the nightstand. She bent to kiss Gram’s cheek. The old woman moaned and snorted before rolling over, snoring louder than she had before.

When Paisley returned to the sitting room, Creighton was stirring embers, creating a red glow in the stone fireplace.

“On a night such as this, ye need to keep a roaring fire in this drafty castle.”

She rubbed her arms, glad he was doing something to warm their suite. Gram wasn’t used to the cold. Neither was she, for that matter. The howling wind seeped in around the frames of the windows, causing the heavy drapes to undulate slightly. “How old is this castle?”