Once Upon A Highland Legend (9 page)

“Ye shouldna speak of her that way. She has the ear of the gods, they say.”

“
Chan eil agad ach a' bhreug
!”
Nothing but lies!
“She’s but an old crone,” the elder maintained. “If’n ye ask me, she’s off to drink the summer away—as we should be doing. She’s no’ Cailleach Bheur!”

The storm that had threatened earlier had fled entirely. The night sky was clear without a breath of wind, but from within the caverns, a cold mist rolled out, settling over the hillside.

“Anyhow,” the elder continued. “Giric wadna want anyone to know his coronation was no’ consecrated—especially now that MacAilpín’s grandsons have both fled Scotia.”

As far as the elder was concerned, they had but three choices now. Only one was palatable. One would have them siding with Giric, the usurper, who was even now prepared to wed one of their blood and realign the royal houses. Another would see the noble houses of Pechtland rot, alone, in this vale, along with that accursed Destiny Stone, while the new kingdom of Scotia set its own path, giving its kingship to the sons and daughters of Gaels. And then, of course, they could return the stone publicly, for which they would all likely hang. And, of course, Giric might as well, and the line of succession would return to men who cared not a wit about the Pechts. At least Giric mac Dúngail was willing to wed the elder’s daughter, but no one else knew that, save the man at his feet. But just in case he thought to change his mind, the elder reminded, “Giric will pay in gold if we return the stone—with positions in his court. It canna be worse than this—a cauld, hard ground in the middle of the Mounth, with the ides of winter on the way.”

And then for a time, both fell silent, staring into the starry night.

When all was said and done, hiding away the Stone of Destiny to keep those Gael bastards from slitting each others’ throats was not their duty. Not even Callum was convinced of it. The elder had nearly had him cajoled to go back…nearly. And then
that woman
had arrived…

“We have failed to persuade him,” the man at his feet said soberly, as though reading his thoughts.

“Nay—
you
have failed,” the elder countered. “A fact which aggrieves me to no end, for it forced my hand.”

The man nodded, eyes shadowed. “At least Finn died quickly. Poor bastard.”

“Poor bastard? He always had aught he desired—whenever he desired. Did he not woo everyone to this end with nary more than a drunkard’s tale? Nay, I dinna feel an ounce of regret for what is done. Finn could ha’ taken his place at Giric’s side simply for the asking, yet he appointed himself the guardian of the Stone instead. All men must live by their choices. He but died for his.”

“Because he believed the stone to be cursed.”

“Bollocks!” The elder exclaimed. “That stone is naught more than a worthless slab some bampot toted here on his back from Erin. We are defeated if we remain in this vale, dinna forget it.”

Both men fell into silence again.

The elder determined they must not fail. Not at any cost. There was too much to lose. He could not allow the man to waver, but just in case, he had already begun to whisper in Angus’s ear. Like Fergus, Angus was an elder, much respected by his clan.

“I thought mayhap Callum suspected…when he questioned what any might have to gain by siding with the sons of MacAilpín…”

The elder gave him a sideways glance. “Of course he asks the wrong question and dismisses Giric out of hand.”

“How many know why Máel remained in Scone?”

“None,” the elder reassured. “Why would anyone question a daughter’s right to remain with her ailing minny?”

The man nodded. “So now Callum has returned to repairing the crannog.”

“Fool.”

Silence. “Should we kill the lass?”

The elder heard hesitation in the man’s voice. He scoffed. “Lest ye believe she’s a fae and ye’re afeared to anger the gods? But nay, I’ll do better,” he assured with a slow grin. “I’ll let Callum do it for us…then, once he leaves the vale, our task will go all the easier, for although he doesna realize as yet, he is the one who keeps the others constant. Once he leaves, ’twill be a simple matter to convince them that returning the stone is to our greatest advantage.”

“But what if killing the lass isna enough?”

The elder shrugged. He thought about it only a moment, then suggested, “Then we must kill Callum as well.”

Half expecting to find it had all been a dream, Annie’s lashes fluttered open to find she was lying beside Callum upon a pallet in a strange room. On the floor. Covered by tartans. Below the floorboards, she heard the distinct sound of sloshing water.

She had slept so soundly that she had only a vague memory of him carrying her here, snuggling her against his warm chest, walking gently, so as not to wake her.

She smiled knowingly. Right, so he wasn’t attracted to her and he didn’t like her?

She tried to rise, but he must have been awake, because his arm shot out to keep her next to him. His morning voice was gruff. “Ye’re here for ye’re protection,” he explained, despite that she didn’t ask.

“Really?” Absurdly, she welcomed the weight of his muscular arm across her breasts, and she stretched, pressing them into his arm, taunting him. “Not even a wee bit because you want me?”

“Nay,” he answered, without hesitation.

Feeling smug at the thought of checking her Winter Stone now, Annie pushed his arm aside and sought her crystal, intending to show it to him. “Oh, no!” she exclaimed, realizing it was no longer with her. “Where is it?”

She sat straight up, searching the empty room. There was not a stitch of wall covering or furniture here. The room was bare and her Winter Stone was gone. He merely shifted to look at her, pulling the cloak back so she could clearly see he didn’t have her crystal. “Haud yer wheesht, lass. Your keek stane is safe.”

It was only then she realized he was completely bare beside her and her natural reaction was to scramble out of the pallet, though her alarm was quickly tempered by the fact that he hadn’t bothered to touch her all night long. And very quick on the heels of that realization was a keen sense of disappointment—which made about zero sense.

He lifted a brow. “Ach, lass, ye’d think ye’d ne’er seen a mon’s
bod
before.”

“A what?”

His lips curved entirely too roguishly. “That thing you’re ogling now as though it were a one-eyed demon.”

Annie’s cheeks heated. “Well!” she exclaimed. “I’ve never seen
yours
!” And she wished she hadn’t even now, because there it was—well, hardly…hard. He was without a doubt the most well endowed man she had ever seen without pants, but he wasn’t the least bit aroused.

Maybe he really wasn’t attracted to her? She wasn’t Kate, after all…but she wasn’t chopped liver either. Maybe her cousin was right and she did need a makeover?

“Are ye done yet?” he asked with a conspicuous note of laughter in his voice. “And yet if it please ye…take a closer look, and mayhap I’ll change my mind.”

Annie blinked away the confusion from her mind. She stood, brushing off her poncho, and finally pulled off the price tag, crushing it in her fist. “Where’s my stone?” she demanded.

He was still grinning, and the sight of his smile was maddening. She could see the way he was looking at her and she was certain he was attracted to her, no matter what he claimed.

She wanted her crystal back!

“Ye blush well for a faerie,” he said, ignoring her question. “Di’ ye no’ say so…I would think ye were flesh and blood same as me.”

“Why wouldn’t a faerie blush?” she challenged.

Callum’s grin widened at the question.

She was a true Highlander—spirited and bold, no matter where she had come from. Aye, she would fit in very well with the women of his clan—all of whom would as soon box a mon’s ears as to bow down before him.

“If you’re thinking of ravaging me, don’t,” she warned. “I know karate.”

Callum chuckled. He didn’t move from where he lay, though he did cover himself to give her eyes respite. “I dinna know what karate is,” he assured her, “but rest ye well, lass, for I dinna have ravaging in mind. Why the hell would ye say such a thing?”

She narrowed her green eyes at him. “Why else would you sleep like
that
in the middle of winter?” she demanded, her tone full of censure. “You
are
attracted to me.” she persisted, “Why don’t you admit it!”

Callum screwed his face at her. “Winter? Nay, lass, ’tis summer yet, and I slept this way…” He rose from the pallet, retrieving his breacan. “… because ye were shivering like a willow and I meant tae keep ye warm.” He lifted a brow. “Ye dinna show much appreciation, and yet ye’re welcome nonetheless.”

“Oh,” she said with far less sass, and then she had the good graces to look disconcerted and mayhap a little chastened. “In that case…thank you…I guess.” But her lovely face screwed with what he read as disappointment.

Callum’s shoulders shook again with mirth. She stood before him, looking for all the world like a wildling, ready to flee, but her eyes begged him to know her as a man would know a woman. He wrapped his breacan about himself, covering his nakedness so she might finally look at him straight in the face—not out of the corner of her eyes—for he had the sudden yen to spy the color of those eyes: green rimmed by the color of aged
uisge
.

Unlike Callum, she had slept fully dressed. And despite his claims to the contrary, aye, the sight of her lovely bare legs tested his resolve.

If the gods be willing, he fully intended to bed the lass, but she would be the one to ask. He’d make her beg, in fact, and then he would hold her by his side forevermore, guarding her jealously, for after seeing her in the morning light, with her lovely black hair, mussed from sleep, and those sweet rosy cheeks, he knew she would make him the envy of every man. But inasmuch as she seemed intrigued by his
bod
, he sensed it would take far more than the
gift
he was blessed with to truly win her heart and make her stay here with him in the vale. Nay, lust would not be enough—not for him either—for he craved something more—something that had eluded him with all the women of seven clans.

But right now, he needed to know for certain what had brought her to this vale and he intended to set a test for her. For her sake, he hoped she’d pass. “I have something I wish to show ye,” he said with a slow grin, sensing he knew how to tempt the winsome lass. Her gaze slid toward his groin and he laughed, and reassured, “Nay, lass, not
that
.”

Annie’s cheeks were still burning as Callum led her out of the crannog—a cone shaped dwelling that sat out on the lake. She had visited one a few years back out on Loch Tay. Only this one was quite some larger, built with smaller dens encircling a big hall. It was clear that the structure had seen better days, but they were busy making repairs. Already this morning the men were at work, hauling in timber, and now that they had abandoned the chieftain’s quarters, the noise level increased.

A single door led out to a narrow pier that stretched out toward the shore. Once off the pier, Callum took her by the hand. Stunned by the gesture, Annie allowed it, wondering when the last time was that she’d held a man’s hand.

While her thoughts were entirely pre-occupied with the strange way Callum made her feel, he led her across the vale and up a hill, apparently not caring that his kinsmen were all watching. They knew he liked her, and his actions only illustrated that fact—if only she could get him to admit it. “I really,
really
need my Winter Stone,” she fretted.

“Dinna fash yerself, lass.”

Annie had never really considered herself obsessive in nature, but clearly she was, because she seemed to have a one-track mind where Callum was concerned. “Where I come from, men only hold a woman’s hand if they
like
them.”

“In that place ye say you’re from?” he asked without looking at her. “What is it? Merica?”

“
A
-merica,” Annie replied. And then she brooded, because he simply refused to confess. She couldn’t possibly be the only one experiencing these feelings? She had half a mind to throw herself at him and kiss him right here in the field. She combed her hair with her fingers and tried to find the nerve.