Hot Blooded (4 page)

She looked into Thomas MacBane's face, noting the laugh lines around his eyes. He was around her age, with a thin frame and pasty white skin. But he had a kind look about him. It was no wonder her father trusted him. “I want to apologize beforehand, Mr. MacBane, but if I seem rude, it's just that it's been a tiring few days.”

“Of course,” he said, his dark eyes locking with hers, his interest plain. “And please call me Thomas.”

She forced a smile. Thomas wasn't bad looking with his light brown hair and infectious laugh, but she couldn't even muster up an attempt at flirting. “Thank you, Thomas.”

He cleared his throat and gathered the papers in his hand. “Your father's will is pretty straightforward, Iona. He leaves all his possessions to you, including the entire sum of money in his three accounts.”

“Three?” she questioned in shock.

“Yes, three. He also had several investments in stocks. All of that will now go to you.”

“I didn't think he had much money.”

At this, Thomas glanced away from her face. “John had the three accounts since before you were born. Your mother had access to only one of them, which he rectified when she left.”

Iona tightened her grip on the arms of the chair. She distinctly remembered the arguments late in the night between her parents over money. Specifically her mother complaining that there was never enough. “And the stocks? Have they always been there?”

“A few. Others he invested in over the past few years.”

“How much money are we talking about?”

Thomas hesitated a moment before he replied, “They total just over five hundred thousand pounds.”

“I didn't think he made that much with his writing.”

“He's made verra good money with his novels. Most of his income went to support the village and charities. He's always lived verra frugally.”

Iona was beginning to feel ill. The image she had of her father and what her mother had told her over the years was conflicting with things she was learning now.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, but your father received a large chunk of his money from inheritance,” Thomas said. “He put most of it aside for you.”

Now she really was going to be sick. Her stomach churned as she broke out into a cold sweat. Why hadn't he contacted her? Why hadn't he tried to see her? She would've learned the truth about him then.

Money didn't matter to her because she made a very good living, but it would've been nice to know his side of the story.

Iona needed time alone. “Is that all?”

“No,” Thomas said with a shake of his head, his eyes sad. “There is one stipulation in the will. The fifty acres of land can never be sold or leased. It must remain in Campbell hands. It can no' be transferred to another Campbell except upon your death.”

She rubbed her temple trying to take it all in. “Does it say why I can't sell?”

“Your father left you a letter. Perhaps this will explain everything.”

Iona doubted it. There were dozens of questions bouncing around in her head. She took the letter as she stood and walked from the office in a daze. If she'd felt numb earlier, she was overwhelmed with emotions now.

By the time she reached her car parked at the church, she managed to calm down a degree. Then she noticed the letter in her hand.

Her father had been rich, rich enough to keep her mother happy and content. Rich enough to have kept them all together. But he hadn't. He let them leave that night, destroying her perfect world and the only home she'd known. He hadn't fought for her.

Perhaps that's what hurt the most. It wasn't like she could ask her mother any of this. The lies her mother told were stacking up hour by hour, and Iona was tired of being lied to. She wanted the truth.

Or did she? She squeezed her eyes closed and battled against the emotions choking her. She and her father had been close. He was her hero. Until he let them leave.

Iona opened her eyes and threw the letter, along with her purse, in the passenger seat of the car as she got in. She started the car and drove out of the village, but she didn't go to the cottage.

Instead, she steered the car in no particular direction and followed the road, needing to think. Twenty minutes later she pulled over when she saw a scenic spot atop a mountain and rolled down her window.

She gazed at the rolling mountains with the sun shining through the clouds. The clouds made amazing shapes along the slopes. Iona turned around in her seat and grabbed the two bags that were always with her—her camera bag, and a travel bag.

It took her a bit, but she managed to change out of her black dress and heels into a pair of jeans and plain white tee. It wasn't the first time she changed in a car, and she doubted it would be her last.

She stuffed her feet into a pair of hiking boots and laced them up before grabbing her camera and exiting the car. Just being away from town helped to ease her somewhat. There was really only one way for her to relax, and that was to take pictures.

Iona walked about twenty paces from her car and got down on one knee. She unzipped her bag, and carefully brought out her camera before lifting it to her eye. She adjusted the lens to focus on the spread of yellow flowers. Several snaps later, she shifted the camera and took more pictures of the mountains, zooming out to get as much of them as she could.

She was smiling by the time she lowered the camera. Some people exercised or drank to calm down, but all she had to do was have her camera in hand. The world looked different through the lens of her camera.

Unable to stay away, Iona traveled farther down the slope to a stream in the valley. At the water she took pictures of the rocks along either side, as well as the larger ones in the middle of the stream that caused the water to flow around them.

Iona snapped away as a butterfly landed on a stone on the opposite bank. She was enthralled by the blue and purple colors on the butterfly's wings. For the next hour, she explored the area and filled up her camera with pictures.

The hike back to her car was as enjoyable as the trip down. So much so that Iona was already planning to do more hiking while she was in the Highlands. It would be a pity not to take advantage of the beauty surrounding her.

She got into her car and started to set her camera bag on the passenger seat. Her gaze caught on the envelope from her father, but that's not what caused her heart to miss a beat. It was because the envelope was setting atop her purse whereas it had been beneath it when she left. It was still unopened, the globe of the red wax seal in place, but it looked as though someone had messed with the edge.

Iona glanced at her open window. If the wind had come through, it wouldn't have put the letter there. Had the wind been fierce enough to pull it from beneath her heavy purse, it might have flipped it to the floorboard or even out the window.

That meant someone had been in her car. Iona hastily looked around as she locked her doors and rolled up her window. There were few trees where she was, leaving no place for someone to hide behind.

Iona didn't wait around. She started the car and turned the wheel to effortlessly pull a U-turn to head back to the cottage. The farther she got from the place, the easier she was able to breathe.

“So much for the peace I found,” she mumbled to herself.

On her way through town she saw a sign for The Fox & The Hound pub. Since she didn't want to stop at the store just for alcohol, Iona decided a drink in the pub might be nice. She could sit and review the photos she'd taken while sampling a good ale.

Iona saw the wooden sign swinging from the metal pole on the side of the road and slowed. Parking was difficult since nearly all the spots were taken, even in early afternoon. It still didn't dissuade her as she parked.

She put the letter in her purse and looped the strap over her shoulder as she got out of the car. She made sure to lock it before heading into the pub. Iona opened the door and stepped inside, instantly taking in the place. The floors and tables were clean, and the walls were covered with news articles and photos from the people of the village.

Iona's gaze locked on a tall man behind the bar in a dark blue T-shirt leaning with his hands on the bar as he spoke to someone. He laughed, the sound hitting her straight in the gut, before he grabbed a glass and tilted a spigot of ale to fill it.

She tried to swallow as she took in his dark blond hair that hung just past his chin. He ran his hands through his hair, causing the thick muscles in his arms to bunch and move.

Even from the distance, Iona knew he was the kind of man that would cause her infinite trouble. The kind that left a trail of broken hearts wherever he went.

She told herself to walk away, to forget about the drink. But she wanted a closer look at him, to see the color of his eyes.

So she walked up to the bar and took a seat, her breath locking in her chest when his gunmetal gaze turned to her.

 

CHAPTER
FOUR

Laith set Keith's ale in front of him and caught a glimpse of someone out of the corner of his eye. He turned with a smile, ready to pour them a drink, and then stopped cold. Iona Campbell had walked into his pub.

He knew her by her picture, but the photo was nothing compared to the woman in the flesh. Her lips, wide and tempting, were quirked in a half-smile, giving her an air of mystery. Her shoulder-length, wavy blond hair was windblown, as if she had been walking among the heather.

She had an air of independence about her that was … enticing. She was tall and slender, her white shirt just tight enough to cling to her breasts. There was a smudge of dirt on her elbow as if she had been lying upon the ground recently.

His gaze returned to her face as she claimed a stool at the bar. She tucked her hair behind an ear, her coffee-colored eyes directed at him. Her skin held a golden glow, denoting that she was often in the sun.

Laith took a step closer, noting the sprinkle of freckles over her nose. “Welcome to The Fox and The Hound. What can I get you?”

“Your best ale,” she said, her lips curving into a deeper smile.

Laith was powerless not to respond. He returned her smile and turned to get her ale. Surely it was a trick of the light or something to cause him to react as if she were the first female he'd seen in a millennia. Once he looked at her again, he would see she was like every other female who walked into his pub.

He finished filling the glass and hesitated for a moment. Laith twisted to the newcomer, and was hit once again by her earthy appeal. If someone asked him, he would call her a child of the forests.

Her smile fell a bit as he stared. Laith shook himself and set the ale in front of her. Their eyes met again, held. He felt an uncontrollable, undeniable pull to this woman and he fought against it. Hard. It was more than just lust. This … feeling … was on another plane altogether.

Nay.

He didn't want to feel anything for Iona. If he did, he might be tempted to be the one to show her the magic of Dreagan and what she guarded.

Bloody hell.

“Thank you,” she said and reached for the ale.

Their fingers touched briefly, but that was all it took for a current of pure, utter desire to heat his blood. She jerked her hand away, proving she felt it as well. Her eyes darted to the left before skating back to him.

Laith wasn't sure if he wanted to scream in fury for fate calling his bluff, or jump over the bar and claim Iona's mouth in a kiss hot enough to set the pub aflame.

Whether or not he played a role in Iona's future, he had a part to play right then. “I have no' seen you in here before. Are you a tourist taking a stop in our beautiful village?”

She took a sip of the ale when he released the glass. “I was born here, though I've been away a few years.”

“You must be Iona Campbell. My condolences about your father. I liked John a lot.”

“It seems everyone did,” she murmured with a hint of confusion.

Laith wanted to walk away and cut whatever ties might begin, and yet he found himself asking, “Do you intend to remain in town long?”

“Actually, no. Once everything is taken care of, I'll be back to work.”

“And where is that?” Laith couldn't begin to understand why he kept asking questions. He told himself it was information for everyone at Dreagan, but in reality, he was more than curious about her.

Damn, damn, damn.

She laughed softly, the sound shooting straight to his cock. He glanced around and noted that he wasn't the only one who couldn't take their eyes from her. The rest of the patrons were staring with interest.

“I'm a photojournalist. I travel the world taking photos of people and events.”

“I'm impressed.” And he truly was. It couldn't be an easy life, but she obviously loved what she did. “The arts run in your family.”

It was the wrong thing to say because a small frown formed on her brow and the smile disappeared. She ran her fingers along the condensation of the glass. “I guess it does.”

Laith gave a nod and reluctantly returned to his other customers. Several times he caught her staring at him through the mirrors behind the bar. No matter how much he tried not to look her way, he found himself doing it again and again.

A little later he saw her with a camera as she scrolled through photos. Somehow he managed to keep his distance until her ale was almost finished.

“Would you like another?” he asked.

She glanced up and grinned. “Please.”

He poured her another ale and placed it before her. Just as he turned to leave, she caught his eye. “Aye?”

“How well did you know my father?”

Laith shrugged and leaned his hands on the bar. “Pretty well. He came in three times a week every week. There was a small group of men he was with, though occasionally he would be by himself.”

“I'm having a bit of trouble reconciling who I thought my father was with who he really was.”