Knight of Wands (Knights of the Tarot Book 1) (34 page)

Her brow furrowed. “What’s the difference?”

“Gaelic is the language of the Highlands and Islands,” he explained, “while Scots is a bastardized slang with traces of English and French spoken by the lowlanders.”

He taught her a few words of both as he drove through the rain, straining to make out the street signs. Passing the pub, he found a parking space a couple of blocks away, and backed in. He shut off the engine and when she started to get out, he grabbed her arm.

“Let me get your door.”

“I’m not an invalid.”

“I know that, but you’re my lady. It’s a matter of respect, Vanessa, not a slight.”

He thought she might argue, but she didn’t. Good. He meant to treat her like a queen for the rest of eternity.

After getting out of the car, he ran around to her side, rain pelting, and opened the door. She popped the umbrella before climbing out and, as the two of them huddled under it, he put an arm around her waist and ushered her toward the pub.

He was more curious than nervous about the meeting with Tom. Was his editor more than human? At the entrance, Callum stopped, let her go, and opened the door. As she stepped inside, she collapsed the umbrella and dropped it in a stand provided for that purpose. Following her into the bar, he surveyed their surroundings.

The place had been refurbished—modernized—since he’d last been there. He wasn’t particularly keen on the new décor, but at least the seats still looked comfy. Putting a hand on her lower back, he guided her past the bar and toward his favorite booth, which occupied a turreted alcove overlooking the street. He liked the view of the bustling capital, which he seldom visited, even through the obfuscating drizzle. Once settled, he ran his fingers through his rain-kissed hair, looked across at her, and warmed all the way to his core.

“At the risk of sounding like a caveman, I like being back in Scotland with you by my side.”

“At the risk of sounding like a dependent female,” she returned with an affectionate smile, “I like being here with you.”

Reaching across the table, he took both her hands in his.

“I love you, you know,” he told her, looking into her bonny blue eyes, “more than anything in the world.”

“I love you, too,” she replied, demurely dropping her gaze, “more than I ever thought possible.”

Her words warmed him and made him want her again. It was late, so they’d spend the night here in Edinburgh and set off for Gretna Green first thing in the morning. He’d booked a room at a boutique hotel in a better part of town.

He squeezed her hands and shot a glance toward the crowded bar. There was no table service, so he’d have to fetch their drinks. “What would you like?”

“Will you still love me if I say I want a Pimms with a twist of lemon?”

He gave her a reassuring smile. “I shall love you until all the stars fall down from the sky.”

At the bar, he ordered their drinks—a Pimms for her and a double Oban for himself. After he paid and got back his change, he counted it carefully before stuffing it in his pocket. In this part of town, the barkeeps made a nasty habit of short-changing gullible tourists. He carried their beverages to the table, set them down, and, this time, slid in beside Vanessa. Moving close, he leaned in, kissed her ear, and nuzzled her neck. The sweet smell of her flesh and hair delighted his senses.

When she loudly cleared her throat, he straightened up. There sat Tom on the opposite side of the table, beaming at him, looking much as he had the last time they’d met here—which was what—more than a year ago? Still the same puckish good looks, bright blue eyes, and sandy brown hair that fell in wavy layers over his forehead and collar.

“You’re looking well.” Callum said, shaking the editor’s hand.

“As are you,” Tom returned with a grin.

“Tom Earlston, may I present Vanessa Meadows, my fiancée.”

Tom smiled broadly as he nodded toward Vanessa. “I congratulate you both. When’s the happy day?”

“Tomorrow, God willing.” Callum was eager to get on with their business, as he was rapidly running out of steam and still wanted to celebrate his engagement to Vanessa. When he’d booked the hotel, he’d ordered the romance package, which included long-stemmed red roses, a magnum of French champagne, and Belgium chocolates.

“So, you’re working with Count St. Germain and the rebels?”

“Aye. That I am.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Gathering support, mostly.”

“What can I do? More than make a donation, I hope.”

“Contributions are always welcome, of course, but that’s not why you’re here.”

“Why then?”

“We need you to keep an eye out for astronomical phenomenon,” Tom told him. “The prophecy says there will be a sign in the heavens when it’s time to take action.”

“What kind of sign? Do you know?” Callum asked.

“I wish I did.” Tom looked down at his drink and ran his finger around the rim of the glass. “Something fairly significant, I should imagine.”

“It could be anything from a planetary opposition to a meteor shower to a lunar eclipse,” Callum mused aloud. All would occur more than once in the coming year.

Tom met Callum’s gaze. “I thought maybe Halley’s Comet.”

Chewing his lower lip, Callum considered the possibility. Halley’s Comet, which was visible to the naked eye every 75 to 76 years, wasn’t due to reappear until 2061. “That’s quite a ways away.”

“I know that,” Tom said, “but there’s no telling how long we’ll have to wait for the sign. Not too many more years, I hope. Finn’s not daft. St. Germain won’t be able to pull the wool over his eyes much longer.”

“When was the prophecy made? Can you tell me that much?”

Tom took a gulp of his drink. “Aye, since I’m the one who made the prediction.”

Callum nearly choked. “You?”

“Indeed,” Tom confirmed with an upward glance. “The premonition came to me in a dream a few hundred years ago—back when I was known as Thomas the Rhymer.”

Callum’s mouth fell open for a moment before he lifted his drink to his lips to hide his astonishment. He took a sip and set the glass back down with a
thunk
. Amazement now mixed with a slight intoxication hummed in his bloodstream.

Thomas the Rhymer was a legendary prophet who obtained the gift of second sight from Glorianna, the queen of Elphame, the Seelie court under Wales. Glorianna, one of Morgan’s many sisters, was a good as her legendary sibling was evil.

Vanessa looked his way, then at Tom before sipping her Pimms. She clearly had no idea who Thomas the Rhymer was. He set a hand on her thigh under the table and gave it a squeeze, hoping she’d take his meaning. He’d tell her the whole story later, when they were alone.

“You made the prophecy?” Callum asked, still struggling to come to grips with the unexpected revelation.

“You seem surprised.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I thought you were an ordinary book editor. A damn good one, mind you, but still rather ordinary in the scheme of things.”

Tom grinned at him. “Didn’t I tell you your books would do well?”

“Aye, but don’t all editors puff up their authors in a similar fashion?”

“It wasn’t flattery,” Tom said with a frown, “I foresaw your success. I just never figured you for a knight of Avalon. But then, why would I when I was given to believe Leith MacQuill was the only one of your kind on this side of the veil?”

The mention of MacQuill gave Callum a qualm. “That’s right. You’re MacQuill’s editor as well.”

“Aye, and I’d like to orchestrate a meeting.”

Callum bristled at the suggestion. Maybe MacQuill hadn’t killed Belphoebe, but he still didn’t like the man. He’d heard from some of the lasses at Madam Pennick’s that MacQuill was into kinky sex.

“Why?”

“Because it’s part of the prophecy.”

“What does that mean?”

“Never mind,” Tom said, still fingering his glass. “I’ll explain it all later.”

“Does MacQuill know about Finn?”

Tom, suddenly grim, shook his head. “As far as he knows, Belphoebe died before giving birth. From the curse Queen Morgan put on him.”

“Are you at liberty to disclose what kind of curse it is?”

“The cruelest sort imaginable. Any woman he comes to care for will die.”

“How awful,” Vanessa said beside him, her tone compassionate. “Thank God she didn’t put a curse like that on you.”

“Only because she believes me dead,” Callum said, which he would be—or worse—if Queen Morgan ever learned of his treachery.

“Nay,” Tom said, shaking his head, “especially if I had MacQuill’s depth of feeling. He rarely leaves his castle and is struggling financially.”

Callum took another slug of whisky and licked the smoky flavor from his lips. His heart had thawed a wee bit where MacQuill was concerned, but was still far from warm. “If he’s broke, why doesn’t he write another bloody book?”

“Writer’s block,” Tom said. “A crippling case he can’t seem to overcome. He’s desperate and wants me to come for a visit, to see if I can help. I thought you might like to accompany me.”

“I’d love to.” Callum forced a smile. In truth, he’d rather chew the glass in his hand then set foot inside MacQuill’s dark lair of perversion.

* * * *

An hour later, Vanessa, heart aflutter, stood beside Callum outside the elevator that would take them up to their hotel room. Tomorrow, they would be married and, against everything she believed about herself, she was excited.

A glance around the elegant, Scottish-themed lobby told her the hotel was a good one. The marble floor had the soft patina of age. Antique portraits of men in Highland regalia covered the oak-paneled walls. A crystal chandelier very like the one in the ballroom at Barrogill hung from the tall coffered ceiling. A pleasing blend of tartans and damasks covered the classy-yet-inviting furniture, arranged around a massive carved mantle. The fire burning within cast an ambient amber glow over everything.

When Callum stepped forward to press the call button once more, she stole a peek at him from underneath her lashes. Their gazes met with a spark that sizzled all the way to her sex. His eyes twinkled like there were stars in their depths and a smile twitched on his lips. He clearly had something up his sleeve.

Anticipation fluttered in her abdomen. What did her ruthlessly romantic double Leo have waiting for her in the room? Champagne and caviar? Oysters on the half shell he’d raised himself? A diamond ring?

No! She mustn’t spoil the surprise by guessing what it might be. Whatever he’d planned was sure to be wonderful.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. They stepped in and the doors closed again. The car, like the lobby, was lined in age-darkened panels. The lighting, from a flush-mount fixture strung with crystal beads, was surprisingly soft and romantic.

Callum pushed the button for the top floor. Vanessa stole another glance at him. The air between them crackled with electricity. Her pulse quickened and her palms began to perspire as desire ignited between her legs.

Claustrophobia was the fear of close quarters. Was there a name for being turned on by small spaces?

The car started to rise. A glance at the panel told her the hotel had twenty floors.

“We’re in the penthouse?”

“The bridal suite,” he said with a nod. “I wanted tonight to be extra special.”

So did she. “What time are we leaving for Gretna Green in the morning?”

“Not until we’ve enjoyed a leisurely breakfast…and done a bit of shopping.”

“Shopping?” she asked, blinking in surprise. “For what?”

His mouth bowed into the beguiling smile of a lion. “I need a ring and you need a dress. We might be eloping, but we can still do it with style.” He caught her hand in his and pulled her against his chest. “What might you like to wear to your wedding?”

The question caught her off guard. She’d not given her wedding clothes the least thought, but now that he’d asked, she knew exactly what she wanted to wear. “Is a bridal gown too fancy for Gretna Green?”

“Nothing’s too fancy if it’s what you want,
mo dearbadan-de
.” He ran his knuckles along her jawline. “There’s a bridal salon not far from the hotel called Butterflies of Edinburgh. Something tells me they’ll have the dress of your dreams.”

Butterflies of Edinburgh? How kismetic. She took a moment to catch her breath. “What are you going to wear?”

“I’ll show you when we get to the room,” he said with a wink. “I had my butler send my wedding clothes by messenger.”

She conjured him dressed in a classic tuxedo and bow tie. He wore it well in her mind’s eye, but then, his body looked good in everything he put on. Better when he took his clothes off, of course, but he could hardly stand up with her in his birthday suit.

Lust surged through her at the thought of him naked. She shot a glance at the panel above the door as she reached between his legs. They were passing the tenth floor, allowing enough time for a little foreplay, but not much else. To her surprise, he wasn’t hard—unheard of for Callum. She rubbed him purposefully through the fly of his trousers, relieved by his rapid response.