The Charm Stone (28 page)

Connal merely grunted, not up to sparring with the little guardian today. A week had passed since their talk on the beach and she'd yet to come to him. He'd been relieved when the ferry had come and gone and she'd remained, yet there would be another ferry, then another.

He looked to the skies. Though blue and cloudless today, he knew another storm brewed out over the waters and was heading this way. Were the Fates proving he'd done the right thing, that his faith in the stone's promise was being rewarded by stranding her here longer, giving them more time together? He'd struggled long and hard with the decision to leave her be, to trust in that faith that had delivered the stone back to him, along with Glenmuir's future.

But this sitting about and doing nothing was driving him mad. It was one thing to await the stone and his promised one, even for what had felt like eternity, but to stare down upon her, day after day, and trust that it would all work out as he believed… as he had to believe-

“Three hundred years to ponder the meaning of it all and ye still are too stubborn to see it.” Bagan made a tsking sound and shook his head.

“Too stubborn to see what, Guardian? Am I no’ supposed to trust the stone? The gods and Fates have conspired to fulfill the destiny I so dearly bargained for. Surely they wouldna allow her to leave without seeing the rest of the bargain met. The storm on the horizon is proof of their commitment, is it no’?”

Bagan rolled his eyes. “They had no deal wi’ ye, Connal, other than to allow yer miserable carcass to haunt this tower waiting on the stone.”

“A stone which has been delivered… and yet here I remain. If no’ for the promise of an heir, then what for?”

“The stone has already delivered on its promise. Tis only waiting on you to fulfill it. And yet, here ye sit, doin’ nothing to secure it. Yer father and his father before him were smart enough to seize the opportunity provided and make it theirs.” He hopped down from the portal ledge and waddled closer. “Your opportunity is finally at hand. And if ye fail in this, ye have no one but yerself to blame.”

“But I canno’ force myself on her, Bagan. I will no’.”

Bagan merely smiled and took Connal's hand. “How many times must I say it? 'Tis not about the babe, laddie. It's about yer heart. And hers. Where the heart goes, the rest will follow.”

Connal looked to the tower window, and when he looked back, the imp was gone. He sighed heavily and, thoughts swirling like the black clouds that would soon cross the horizon, his attention was drawn inexorably to the scene below once again. He watched Josie smiling, her father's booming laughter filled the air as well, as they guided the islanders through the vagaries of wave hunting. They were
starting in the shallows, which, he thought, was wise. If she could keep them there, perhaps they'd survive this insanity they'd undertaken.

Her father looked to be a hale sort and it was clear there was a deep well of love and respect between them. It caused him a momentary twinge near his own heart. Not for the lack of such a relationship of his own. His father had loved him well and he knew it. The pang came from imagining having such a relationship with his own child… and realizing that would never come to be.

But watching her, he knew he could trust her to do it for him. She had the heart and the love for it. And yet she'd told him once that she'd only bear the child of the man she loved.

“So, how do I make you love me enough to bear me a son?” he murmured.

'Tis not about the babe, laddie. 'Tis about yer heart.

Bagan's words floated through his mind. What possible good could come from him gaining her heart? Or losing his own to her? Unlike his father, and his father before him, he was not destined to share a life with her. Wouldn't losing their hearts only bring pain to them both when the inevitable happened and his time here came to an end?

But if she would only commit to bearing the child of one she loved, what other path did he have to travel?

He looked down at her as she helped guide one of the ladies toward a small swell, showing her how to steer the board to the left, then the right. And as he stood there alone, apart from her and the zest and excitement for life that seem to radiate from her every movement… he admitted something to himself in the quiet of the tower room. His heart was already compromised.

It was what had made the waiting unbearable, he realized. And worse, despite what he'd said to Bagan and even to himself these past long days, his wanting of her had precious little to do with getting a bairn in her belly. He wished it were so, had tried to will it to be so. But, if he were to be brutal in his honesty, he was actually fearful of that moment ever happening, as it would mean never seeing her, touching her, hearing her, tasting her… ever again. There should be guilt to accompany those selfish thoughts and guilt he indeed had. It was the only thing that had kept him in this tower. Yet he could not take his eyes off of her, nor stop thinking about her.

That and the hurt. The hurt he felt because his heart was the only one involved. Care for him she might, enjoy his attentions she did, but she didn't feel for him the depths of emotion he'd come to admit he felt for her.

It shouldn't matter. He was laird first, man last, if at all.

And yet it was the man who stood there and wanted. Wanted like he'd never wanted before. It had nothing to do with his people, or the prosperity he'd bargained his soul to reclaim for them.

It simply had to do with him. Wanting her. And more than that, wanting her to want him back. Not for the pleasure he could give her body… but for the pleasure she would have in just being with him. A pleasure he well knew existed, because he felt it every time he looked at her.

Because he knew he was done waiting. Only this time when he left the tower, he didn't leave it as a laird. He left it as a man. A man determined to have his woman's heart. The rest would have to sort itself out.

Josie waved at her father as he and Dougal climbed into Griffs rental car. She'd offered to have her father stay in the croft back when he'd first arrived, even though she could only offer him a couch. Typically, he'd already found himself a place to stay before the fashion show had ended that first night in Roddy's pub. And hadn't that been an evening! She smiled in remembrance of Clud in his neon green-and-black body suit. But the capper of the evening had been Bidda in her bright pink-and-black neoprene. Where she'd found the bright yellow plastic flower she'd somehow adhered to the side of the hood, Josie didn't know. And wasn't sure she wanted to.

But her dad had told her he was taking Dougal's spare bedroom. “We young bachelors prefer to hang together,” he'd told her with a grin.

She'd teased Dougal about not initially offering her a place to stay, to which he'd blushed furiously and babbled something about it being unseemly for a young woman to stay with a man alone. If he only knew, she'd thought at the time, about Connal.

But Dougal was obviously thrilled to host their newest guest, so she'd happily waved the two of them off when they'd left the pub that night, just as she did now.

But as she closed the door behind her and turned to look at the croft, she wished she'd been more selfish and had begged her father for some company.

She didn't think she was up to facing another night alone, thinking about Connal. Wanting him. Bewildered at what to do about it.

She'd gotten so desperate she'd even hoped for Bagan to show up, but apparently with all the islanders coming and going at all hours, he'd decided to remain out of sight.

She sighed and climbed the stairs to the loft.

She'd take a shower, then find something to eat, maybe dive into that romance novel she'd been surprised to discover on Gregor's shelves. The clouds had begun to roll in as their lessons had ended for the day. Apparently the storm that had been predicted was going to happen after all.

Her father hadn't said anything about them leaving on the next ferry. In fact, he'd said nothing about leaving at all. He looked to be having quite the time here, so much so that she hadn't had a moment alone with him to ask him about the funeral, or what he was doing a half a world away while his business was left sitting. Well, with the storm coming, they'd have the time now since lessons would likely be called off for at least a day or two and the ferry grounded.

She wanted to tell him about Connal. Ask him for advice. She laughed as she peeled out of her wet suit. Asking her father for relationship advice was like asking Jerry Springer for family counseling. Her laugh softened to a wistful sigh. He had loved her mother, though, so he did know something about it.

She sank down on the edge of the bed. Surely she didn't think she actually loved Connal. She hadn't been with him long enough to have developed that depth of emotion for him. Had she? She'd always thought love was something that came about slowly, evolving over months and years of time spent together.

And yet… when she thought about him, her heart raced. And her heart raced often these days. She found herself looking at the tower all the time, hoping for a glimpse of him. A crush, lust, that was what it was. After all, he was gorgeous, virile, great in bed…

She sighed wistfully. He also had integrity and
honor, he respected her and her wants and desires, despite the conflict with his own. He was loyal and determined.

And he'd looked at her with those dark eyes of his and told her that waiting three hundred years for her hadn't been in vain.

Her heart swooned anew. She flopped back on the bed and sighed. So maybe she wasn't
in
love with him. Maybe. But she was falling in that direction. Hard and fast.

“So what do I do?” If she went to him, they'd end up in bed at some point. And her pills, despite Maeve's fax, hadn't arrived on the ferry. She certainly couldn't pop into the store and pick up some condoms. Josie snorted as she tried to imagine explaining them to Connal, much less showing him how to use them.

There was a crack of thunder just then and she sprang off the bed. She peeled the rest of her gear off and hopped into the shower while she still had light. Scrubbing her hair and skin, her thoughts strayed right back to Connal. Hearing the rain pounding on the roof made her think of that night in his tower, when they'd made love during the storm.

Made love. She paused under the hot spray, soap running down her body. There was that word again. She'd always been careful to think of it as merely having sex. Really hot sex. Highland fling sex. Never lovemaking. That was something that couples did, people with relationships.

“How in the hell am I supposed to have a relationship with a three-hundred-year-old ghost?”

But the fact of the matter was, she was caring less and less about the immortal aspects of the man in her life. And she knew then that she wasn't spending
another night alone in bed, thinking about him. Wanting him. They needed to talk.

She finished rinsing and got out, only then realizing that the part of the pounding she'd been hearing was coming from below, not above. Someone was pounding on her door. Her first thought as she hurriedly pulled on sweats and a T-shirt was that her dad had come back, worried about her. She could tell him-he'd have to know at some point if she was going to continue carrying on with Connal, right?-and get his reaction.

“Dad? Hi, I wanted to talk to you,” she practiced saying on the way to the door. “I met this guy and I think I'm falling in love with him. What does he do? Well, see, he haunts this tower, has for three hundred years, and he wants me to have his love child.” Yeah, right. She groaned, feeling a headache coming on as she opened the door.

Only, when she flung it open, it wasn't Griff standing there.

“Connal.” It was all she could manage.

The storm tossed behind him, the dark castle ruins highlighted as lightning streaked the sky. The pelting rain plastered his dark cape to his shoulders. Rivulets of water ran over a face made more taut by the way his hair had been pulled tightly back from his face.

Her heart pounded harder than the rain, her body leaping with joy even as her mind raced ahead of it.

“Will ye let me in, Josie?”

She backed away, almost stumbling, and motioned him inside.

He took his cloak off and shook it outside before coming in and closing the door behind him. The croft suddenly seemed smaller, more confining. He
was all-consuming. He'd certainly taken her breath away.

She grabbed his cloak, clutching it and the few precious moments hanging it up afforded her. But when she turned back to him, she was still at a loss about what to say, what to do. Which was a partial lie. She knew what she wanted to do.

She wanted to tell him she'd been on her way to see him, that she'd given in, that she wanted him and damn the consequences. But he'd come first, and she had to know why before she laid her heart out. “Why-why are you here?”

He stood there, white linen shirt damp and clinging to his chest, black fitted pants somehow making his legs look even longer and stronger, leather boots completing the picture. “For you,” he said, his voice barely reaching her above the sounds of the storm.