My Tempting Highlander (Highland Hearts #3) (24 page)

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Authors: Maeve Greyson

BOOK: My Tempting Highlander (Highland Hearts #3)

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Mother Sinclair chuckled. “Very good, Kismet. Keep an eye on Angus and make certain he pays attention.”

The tip of Kismet’s long sleek tail flipped a bit faster.

A warm heavy weight leaned hard against Graham’s leg. Without looking down, he leaned over and scratched behind the massive dog’s ears. I thank ye, lad. At least he had one ally in the room. Lady Trulie’s hulking black beast of a dog, Karma, had taken up with him since the first moment he’d arrived at MacKenna Keep. Of course, ’twas probably because the MacKenna’s five-year-old daughter, Chloe, had named him her favorite uncle. The dog worshipped the wee lass and considered her word law. “Stay wi’ me, lad. I appreciate yer strength,” he whispered down to the dog.

Karma thumped his heavy tail against the floor.

Mother Sinclair and Lady Trulie settled in the cushioned chairs pulled close to the hearth. The band around Graham’s chest loosened the barest bit as the MacKenna strode over to the waist-high cabinet filled with bottles, pitchers, and assorted cups and glasses. He wouldna mind a wee nip if the MacKenna was so inclined.

Gray promptly filled two pewter goblets with the deep ruby contents of one of the pitchers. He carried the glasses to the women then returned to the bar, filled three tankards from an amber bottle, and waved the men forward. “Come. I’ve whisky for the both of ye and I’ve a feelin’ ye’ll be a needin’ it.”

Angus beat Graham to the bar, snatched up one of the mugs, then with a fearful glance toward Mother Sinclair, obediently returned to the bench.

Coward. Graham shook his head at Angus then purposely sauntered across the room as though he had nary a care in the world. He’d do as they bid him, but he’d damn sure no’ sacrifice his backbone in the doin’ of it. He looped his hand through the handle of the tankard then strode back to his position at the hearth.

“Sláinte.” Gray lifted his glass and nodded to each of the men.

“Sláinte,” Graham repeated as he lifted his glass first to Gray then to the ladies before taking a deep draw. He welcomed the burn of the fiery liquid. It reminded him a great deal of when he’d been a dragon and housed burning coals in his gullet. A bitter laugh snorted free as he stared down at his reflection shimmering atop the golden liquid. At least he could say his life had ne’er been dull.

“I think you and Lilia are a perfect match,” Lady Trulie said while turning to slide her goblet to the small arm table snugged between her and Mother Sinclair’s chair. “She’s strong willed just like you. I bet there’ll be sparks.”

Sparks? Hell’s fire. Tha’s all I need. Sparks t’singe me arse. Graham took another sip and politely nodded. “And ye ken the lady will be agreeable to this match ye desire?”

“Probably not,” Mother Sinclair observed. Her soft chuckling echoed in her cup as she took a long sip. Merriment glistened in her eyes as she placed her glass beside Trulie’s. “Lilia’s quite the hellcat. Stubborn. Opinionated. And if she thinks it, you can damn well bet she’s going to say it.” Then all mirth faded from her as she reached for Trulie’s hand. “But our strong stubborn Lilia thinks allowing anyone to help her is a sign of weakness…of failure. Only a year ago, this isolation and selfish guarding of her insecurities nearly caused her to end her life.”

Lady Trulie patted Mother Sinclair’s hand then rose from her chair and faced Graham. “We’re sending you to the future not only to woo Lilia but to save her from herself. She needs to be loved whether she wishes it or not. She can’t survive in this world alone—no matter what century she’s in. She’s an empath and isn’t always able to shield herself from the cruelties around her.” Trulie cleared her throat then turned away but not before Graham noticed the moisture of unshed tears gleaming in her eyes. An empath? What the hell is an empath? Be she crippled?

Trulie sniffed, pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, then squared her shoulders. She returned to her chair and sank into it, slowly blowing out a deep breath through pursed lips. “And even with the prophetic visions the Fates send her, Lilia doesn’t realize she’s in danger.”

“What is this danger she faces?” Graham drained his tankard of whisky then balanced the cup on the shelf above the hearth. He couldna stomach the thought of a helpless woman facing danger alone. Perhaps empath meant the poor lass was under some sort of curse or plighted with horrifying dreams. He well understood the feelings of utter helplessness. Curses did that to a soul. The verra idea grated against his hide. Women were to be protected and cherished from such unpleasantness. “What danger?” he repeated.

“The danger of depression—of a dark hopelessness.” Mother Sinclair shook her head. “Lilia’s blessing from the Fates is the curse to see future events—usually dire events. Sometimes, she can save those in the visions. Sometimes not. And when we say Lilia is an empath, we mean she feels the pain and suffering of the world more than most. She can stand in a crowded room and experience what every individual in that room feels—be it sorrow or joy, or anything in between—and she’s not always able to shield herself from others’ emotions. Soon she’ll be alone. The guardian we sent to watch over her is dying. Lilia must not be left alone. Alone, the darkness of despair could very well overpower her.”

Mother Sinclair rose from her chair, crossed the room, and thumped Graham on the chest. “But if she is properly wooed and married—the greatest energy of all would keep her from the darkness.”

Graham clasped his hands to the small of his back, fighting the urge to fidget beneath Mother Sinclair’s intent gaze. “What energy do ye speak of? I’ve no magic, nor powers to keep the woman safe. I can only protect her with m’sword.”

And he’d gladly do that if that’s what they wished. He sorely regretted endangering the clan with his behavior. They’d welcomed him in and named him as one of their own when he’d declined to return to Draegonmare Keep with his beloved friend Ronan and his new wife, Mairi—the Lady Trulie’s sister.

The thought of returning to Loch Ness, the land he’d been anchored to for so verra long, had rankled his soul. So the MacKennas had adopted him and bid him stay as long as he liked. Graham’s gaze lowered to the floor; his heart sank to his gut. He was keenly aware of all that the MacKennas had done for him. And look how he’d gone and repaid that kindness.

Mother Sinclair moved forward and rested her bony fingers atop his arm. She leaned in close and smiled. “You can protect her with the greatest energy of all. You can protect her with your love.”

Graham sucked in a deep breath, uncertainty threatening to squeeze the air right back out. Love? Surely, the woman jests. I’m no’ capable of love. He’d hardened his heart against that fickle emotion whilst he was cursed. After all, ’twas the foolishness of enchanted love that had drawn him to the beauty of the vile witch. “I will give her my honor and protection. I can guarantee no more than that.”

Mother Sinclair wrinkled her nose, resettling her wire-rimmed spectacles a bit higher. Her sparse gray brows knotted together in a disapproving frown. “You will have one full month.” She held up a slightly bent finger, knotted and twisted with age. “Just one full cycle of the moon to win Lilia’s heart and convince her to be your wife. The Fates aren’t the patient sort—especially since we’re tinkering with their web by relocating you to the future. They will not permit you an extended stay in a time other than your own without a proper anchor to keep your heart and soul grounded. If at the end of that time you and Lilia aren’t as one, your happy ass will be yanked right back here to the past.”

Mother Sinclair spoke as though that were a bad thing. Surely, after a month in the future, the Buchanan clan’s ire wouldha cooled enough for him to safely return to his life in the thirteenth century. Graham felt more settled, calmer, with the certainty of it. Aye, I’ll be back here in no’ time a’tall.

“And if ye return to this time, my friend, I’ll be forced to turn ye over to the Buchanan to avoid clan war. Ye ken, at the verra least, the man wishes to see ye drawn and quartered. Ye cuckolded him within his own keep.” Gray watched Graham over the rim of his glass while drawing in another long sip. He lowered the mug and slid it to the cabinet beside him. “The Buchanan has accepted the offer that yer to be banished from Scotland—forever. ’Twas the only option other than yer head on a pike that came remotely close to cooling his ire. Ye can wager his people will be watchin’ and willna fail to report if ye return—no matter the length of time ye’ve stayed away from yer beloved Highlands of this time.”

Well, damn me arse straight t’hell and back. But surely the chieftain errs in his thinkin’. Surely I can return after a bit of time. Graham stood taller. A Sinclair woman. To wife. May the gods have mercy on his soul. Surely, ’twould no’ be that bad—no’ as bad as torture, or even worse, the dungeons. And eventually…perhaps he could someday return and reunite his new wife with her kin. “I’ll make certain the woman agrees to be m’wife.” A growing sense of uncertainty stirred uncomfortably in his gut like a poorly digested meal. God a’mighty. What the hell am I to do with a wife?

“See that you do.” Mother Sinclair returned to her chair and scooped up her goblet in a pale knobby hand. She put the glass to her mouth then paused and instead lifted it to Graham in a toast. “Know this—if you cause my granddaughter any pain, the Buchanan will be the least of your worries.”