My Highland Lover (2 page)

“I refuse to believe my own granddaughter would deny my dying wish.” Granny’s face puckered into a disapproving scowl as she glanced back toward the truck. Kismet immediately wiggled through the sliding back window, nimbly danced along the top edge of the truck bed, and with two graceful leaps joined them on the road.

Trulie sucked in a deep breath and stared up into the winking stars peeping through the tops of the trees. Granny had to be the most stubborn force on earth. She yanked off her cap and raked her fingers through her tangled hair as she recited the arguments she’d chanted to Granny for the past six months. “First: you are not dying.”

Trulie shivered. Her cold, soaked feet squished inside her boots with every step. “And second: our roots, both mine and the girls, are here now.” Trulie spun one finger in an all-encompassing circle. “This is the only place and time any of us really consider home base. I kind of like it here and I think they do too…most days.” Well…she liked it here when her feet were dry, her truck wasn’t in a ditch, and her latest batch of inventory was in clean sparkling bottles lined up on a shelf at the shop.

Kismet trotted regally between them, her long, black tail held high, the end crooked into a question mark. The cat glanced up at Trulie and flicked an ear as though dismissing her words as pure nonsense.

That cinched it. From now on, the cat stayed home. Karma didn’t have a judgy bone in his body. Kismet could use some how-to-play-nice lessons from the sweet-natured dog. Granny strode along with her thin arms swinging. Her brisk pace belied the fact that the tiny woman was on the downhill side of her seventies. Maybe. The chronological age of an elder Sinclair time runner was always pretty much a wild guess. If a runner skated between centuries often enough, they could cheat death for quite a while. A curt sideways glance followed by a sharp shake of Granny’s head confirmed Granny agreed with her cat.

Granny huffed out a frustrated growl and quickened her stomping pace. Glancing down at the cat skipping along beside her, she flipped both hands upward. “She just doesn’t get it, does she, Kismet? The gal is never going to learn all the ways ’cause neither of us will live long enough to teach her.”

The cat aimed another disdainful glance back at Trulie.

“Keep it up, Kismet.” Trulie walked faster to catch up with Granny and the cat. “As soon as we get home, I’m gonna tell Karma where you hide your treats.”

The cat flattened her ears back against her sleek, dark head. Her golden eyes narrowed and she whipped her tail forward, clearly telling Trulie to kiss her ass.

“We must return to the past.” Granny snorted out short, impatient huffs as she clumped through a puddle. “It is very…important and we must do it soon.”

Trulie filled her lungs with the crisp night air and forced herself to remain calm and keep the frustration out of her voice. She loved and respected Granny with all her heart, but this incessant badgering was getting old. Trulie stopped walking, pulled her denim jacket tighter about her and waited for Granny to realize Kismet was the only one still walking beside her.

It didn’t take long. Granny stopped, spun in place, and glared back at Trulie. “Well? Now what?” Granny’s tone had taken on the color of a full-blown scolding.

Trulie widened her stance and tried to ignore the sudden feeling that she and Granny were facing off like a couple of gunfighters from the Old West. “You know how much I love you. I understand you miss the old Scotland, but we belong here. We belong in this now. We’re pretty much settled, and life isn’t too bad when our home remedies aren’t sloshing around in the back of the truck.”

Trulie waited, then took one step toward Granny. “Please forget about relocating. I don’t want to uproot us again. We’re settled. Home base for all our forages across time is right here.”

Six months of this harping was too much. Time to pull out the big guns and aim dead square at Granny’s conscience. “You know you can’t time-jump alone anymore. And you’re not able to maneuver the web as point beacon and connect all of us to you like you could when you were younger.”

Trulie scuffed the toe of her boot in the mud.
Double dammit all to hell.
She hated pointing out anyone’s weaknesses, especially Granny’s. “I haven’t jumped as beacon enough to connect with more than one or two travelers. If I try any more than that, I’m afraid I’ll scatter the lot of us across a string of centuries. If I ran beacon to take you back, we’d have to leave Kenna and the girls in this time. Alone. Would you feel good about deserting the rest of your grandchildren? Do you really think they’d be okay without us?” There. That should stall out this round. Trulie forced herself not to back down. She hated using guilt on Granny, but it was the most effective ammo she had.

Granny’s shoulders sagged and her gaze lowered to the patch of road between them. Her voice fell to just above a whisper as she stared unblinking at the ground. “I do not want you permanently anchored here, Trulie. Your babies are not meant to come from this disturbing patch of time. This place is temporary. A place of trial to help us grow and strengthen.” Granny bent and ran a slightly shaking hand over Kismet’s arched back as she continued. “Kenna and the twins will be fine if we have to leave them here for a bit. Kenna’s grown and the girls aren’t far behind. Don’t think I haven’t got plans for them. I mean to see all my girls properly settled before I move on.”

Trulie blew out the breath she had been holding. So that was it. Granny was afraid Trulie was about to settle down and sink her roots even deeper into the current century with a man Granny didn’t like. Trulie’s relationship with Dan had always irritated the older woman. For what reason, Trulie wasn’t quite sure. Dan was…okay. Most of the time. “Dan is a good man, Granny. He’ll take good care of me. Of all of us.”

Granny stormed forward two steps. She locked her spindly legs into sparring stance and raised a bony hand into a shaking fist. “Do ye really love him, Trulie? Does yer love for him make yer throat ache with tears if ye canna be near him? Do ye pine to hear the rumble of his deep voice whisper yer name in the darkness?”

Granny stomped forward another step. Her voice grew shriller with every word. “Say it, Trulie. Tell me the truth. If ye thought ye’d ne’er see Dan again, would ye rather die than live a day without him? Tell me. Tell me Dan is the other half of yer soul and I will ne’er talk about jumping back again.”

Granny’s voice fell to a low, ominous knell as she shook a knobby finger toward the center of Trulie’s chest. “But don’t ye dare lie to me, gal. Because if ye do, ye won’t just be lying to me, ye’ll be lying to yerself.”

Granny’s ever-increasing brogue, paired with the fire in her eyes, shoved Trulie back a step. Apparently, it wasn’t Dan Granny had a problem with; it was whether the relationship was strong enough to satisfy Granny’s standards.

Trulie swallowed hard. Did she really love Dan? She tried hard to think tingly, I-can’t-live-without-you thoughts of Dan—tall, gangly, always-preoccupied Dan. Trulie blew out an exasperated breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She just couldn’t muster anything more than a vague, foggy feeling of
meh.
Why couldn’t she bring his long, narrow face and soft, brown eyes into focus and feel…something? At least she thought his eyes were brown. Weren’t they?

Instead, she envisioned eyes fierce with rage. Strange-colored eyes, an unusual shade she’d never seen. They were blue. Sort of. They reminded her of a night sky exploding with tendrils of brilliant-white lightning.

Instead of Dan’s lanky, underfed form, Trulie pictured corded, muscular arms bulging like banded whisky barrels as they wielded a sword as long as she was tall.

Trulie started to speak, but then closed her mouth again. Dan was safe. Dan was security. But no, Dan was not her love, and Granny already knew the truth of it. Granny had always told Trulie never to settle, and here she was about to do that very thing. Trulie shook her head against the confusion. No. She was not settling. She was just making sure they were all taken care of. What the devil was wrong with that? “Dan will take good care of us, Granny. Don’t worry. It’ll be all right.”

“It will not be all right!” Granny stomped a tiny, booted foot hard against the muddy ground. “I will be damned if I allow ye to break my oath to yer mother. Ye will not settle for safe old Dan. Yer true future, the future waiting to set your soul on fire, can only be found in the past.”

S
COTLAND—
T
HE
H
IGHLANDS—
T
HIRTEENTH
C
ENTURY

Gray MacKenna jerked away from the hypnotic depths of the roiling orange embers. A cold sweat peppered his chest. He couldn’t stop his hand from shaking as he wiped the moisture from his skin.
Damnation. Had it been real or just a vision?
“What the hell do ye play at, Tamhas? I bid ye show me the traitor and instead ye throw me in the path of some unearthly beast?”

Tamhas didn’t look up from the worktable. His gnarled hands patiently twisted the worn stone pestle into the mixture of herbs and oils gathered in the bottom of a chipped mortar. The only sound breaking the silence of the room was the rhythmic thump and grind of stone against stone and the crackling flames eating the wood in the hearth.

Gray shuddered.
Lore a’mighty. I hate the sound of fire.
“Have ye gone deaf or have ye decided to ignore when yer chieftain speaks?”

The stooped old man brought the herbal concoction closer to his nose. He squinted down into the bowl, barely shook his head, then leaned once again into the grinding motion. When Tamhas still failed to respond, Gray strode to the door of the cramped dwelling and threw it open wide to the cold, clear night. He needed air, fresh, clean air to wash away the disturbing vision wrought by Tamhas’s strange incense and the smoke-filled chamber.

“Return to the bench, m’chieftain, so I might treat yer wounds.”

The old man’s words reawakened the throbbing pain burning down one side of Gray’s back. “Uncover the window first. I canna stomach more of yer wicked smoke.” Gray remained rooted in the open doorway. The muted greens and grays of the night-shrouded Highlands rolled out before him.

Gray glanced back over one shoulder at the old man still standing behind the bench. Perhaps he shouldha sought his answers from the only thing soothing his soul of late. His beloved Highlands wouldha come far closer to revealing the fiend seeking the end of his clan than the damned old man with his magic and strange smoke. “I need clean air, old man. Either throw open the shutter or step outside to treat m’wounds. Yer wretched cave seeks t’smother me.”

“As ye wish.” A muffled thud sounded, followed by a beam of golden light pouring from the small round portal carved into the hillside.

“Come, m’chieftain,” Tamhas called again. “Once the poultice draws the pain from yer burns, the smoke will no longer offend ye.”

Gray slowly turned back into the room. The low ceiling of the domesticated cave nearly brushed the top of his head. The hovel was so small that if Gray swung his sword in a circle, the tip of the blade would surely carve a line in each of the walls. A shiver burned through the blistered skin covering more than half his back and spreading down one side. Gray flinched. The pain of raw, stinging flesh nay bothered him nearly as much as the sensation of walking into a tomb. How could Tamhas endure such a place?

As he straddled the bench in front of the hearth, Gray turned to one side, keeping his face away from the fire. Never again did he desire to see the strange monster lurking among those coals. Gray leaned forward and gripped the rough-hewn edges of the large wooden bench and scanned the contents of the room. “Why do ye stay in this cave when I swore ye could have yer choice of towers in the keep?”

Tamhas hugged the oversized mortar to his chest, still stirring the oily substance as he hitched his way across the cluttered room. “I told ye I have no desire to live in an infested keep.” Tamhas squinted down into the bowl, frowned, then rapped the pestle hard against one side of the mortar. He raised the pestle again, then nodded with satisfaction at the contents. “Once ye rid the place of its vermin, I shall be honored to claim a tower.”

What the hell was the man talking about? There were no vermin in the keep. Gray shook his head. “Yer daft, old man. I admit there might be a wee mouse or two but ye can hardly claim the place infested.”

“Aye. Well…” Tamhas paused as he scooped up a handful of the muddy brown mixture and worked the concoction between his knobby fingers. “Once ye rid the place of the wicked Aileas, I shall deem the infestation under control.” Tamhas motioned toward the length of the bench in front of Gray. “Stretch forward, m’chieftain so I might heal ye.”

Aileas again. Gray clenched his teeth as he leaned over the bench. Gripping the thickness of the plank tighter, he locked his elbows. Aileas’s cold, haughty face appeared as soon as he closed his eyes. What the hell had Father e’er seen in that vile woman?

“A plump dowry overflowing with cattle, land, and coin.” Tamhas splatted a cold slimy hand on the center of Gray’s back. His bemused chuckle filled the room as he glopped another handful of the muck down Gray’s side. “Yet and still…yer father had t’be one hell of a man or blind wi’ drink t’bed the likes of that woman.”

“Dammit, man!” Gray stiffened and dug his nails into the wooden plank. A shiver burned deeper through his wounds as gooseflesh rippled across his skin. “Why the hell did ye no’ warn me the dung would be so cold?”

“Ye nay asked.”

Gray sucked in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “And how many times must I tell ye to stay out of m’mind? When I seek yer counsel, I shall speak it. Aloud.”

“Forgive me, m’chieftain.” Another chilly handful of sliminess followed the apology.

Gray closed his eyes and bowed his head, forcing himself to relax. Unfortunately, Tamhas spoke the truth. His father’s marriage to Aileas had filled their coffers and stables, and increased the lands of the clan quite nicely. That had to be the only reason his sire would take such an unpleasant woman to wife. Well…the massive dowry and the fact Aileas’s father had been o’erly persistent to gain an alliance with Clan MacKenna. The man’s messengers had plied the keep weekly for his father’s decision regarding a union.