To Love a Highland Dragon (21 page)

“Then what do we do?” Her voice shook, and Maggie understood how rattled she was.

“It depends which form he shows up in. Come.” He got out of the car and walked around to her side. She pushed her door open and got out. The air smelled like summer, ripe with growing things; the lake’s clean scent was calming.

He placed a hand beneath her chin and brushed his mouth across hers. “Sweet. I could do with more kisses, lass.”

She smiled. There was something about Lachlan that was so genuine, it was impossible not to care about him. Never mind the hotness factor. He was the most sensual male she’d ever laid eyes on. “I rather like the idea myself—after I’ve gotten a few hours’ sleep.”

“Mayhap we could find a gentlemen’s shop here.”

Maggie turned, got her purse, and locked the car. “That’s right. We never did get you different pants at the airport.” She jabbed her chin in the direction of town. “Let’s go that way. Fort William has lots of shops. It’s pushing nine, so they’ll just be opening up.”

Her feet scrunched over damp grass full of little, wild daisies. At the far end of the green, they crossed a footpath and moved onto old-fashioned cobblestone streets crowded with merchants. “Look!” Lachlan pointed at a kilt displayed in a shop window. “I’d much rather get another plaid—even though ’tisn’t my house tartan, and ’tis skimpily cut.”

Maggie glanced at the other people wandering the streets of Fort William. Every man wore trousers. “Look yourself,” she countered. “Not a kilt in sight. You want to blend in, not stand out.”

“I doona see why.” He shrugged. “Rhukon already knows where I am. It doesna matter what the rest of these folk think of me.”

Maggie leaned close. “Speaking of Rhukon…”

“I doona sense him.”

She relaxed, but only fractionally, and kept her voice low. “Is it possible he’s doing something to make himself undetectable now he knows you’re awake again?” Maggie thought about the little she understood about magic. “If he were, um, keeping tabs on us, he’d have known you were asleep. I’m a much more vulnerable target.”

“I know ye’re worried and edgy, lass. Try to believe naught can happen while I’m by your side.”

“You were there when I fell off Kheladin…” Her throat thickened.
Damn it. Got to get hold of myself. Nothing happened. I was just scared. It isn’t like Kheladin didn’t catch me, even with Lachlan distracting him by screaming we had to leave.

“I am verra sorry about that, lass. Most humbly sorry—”

“Let’s try in here,” she said brightly before Lachlan could apologize again and tugged him toward a men’s store. They were rooting through stacks of pants in the back of the establishment when a clerk approached them.

“Needin’ help, are you?” The young woman had white-blonde shoulder-length hair and the bluest eyes Maggie had ever seen. Dressed in a micro-mini, tank top, and teetering on her high heels, she looked vaguely Goth with blackened lips and white eye shadow.

“I think we’ve about got it. Where are your fitting rooms?”

“Off to the left-hand side. May I hang those in a room for you?” The clerk held out a hand, but Lachlan just stared at her.

“Why are ye wearing so little, lass? And painting your mouth black?” Lachlan sounded outraged. “Surely your kinfolk—”

“Um, we’ll manage. Thank you,” Maggie said and poked Lachlan in the side. “Come on, let’s try them on. That way you won’t have the same problems as last time.” As they found their way to the dressing room, she whispered, “Many young women dress like that. As I recall, I wasn’t wearing much when you first saw me, either. It doesn’t mean a thing. Just custom.”

“Hmph. At least your lips were flesh-colored.” He went through the door she pushed open. She followed him inside. “Och aye, and ye’re going to watch?”

“No, I’m going to help, so we get out of here quickly. I’m still worried Gran might beat us back to Inverness.”

“Why is that a problem?”

“She doesn’t wait well.”

He unbuttoned his trousers. “Somehow, that doesna surprise me.”

Twenty minutes later, Maggie headed for the front counter with a pair of black sweat pants and two pairs of corduroy ones. She’d left Lachlan in the dressing room lacing his boots—quite the production number, but he’d had to take them off to get into the corduroy trousers. The pants hadn’t been a perfect fit, but he’d agreed they were far better than what he’d worn into the shop.

The same clerk stood behind the register. She arched plucked brows and grinned with bleached teeth. “A bit of a Neanderthal you’ve got, eh?”

Maggie made a noncommittal gesture that she hoped conveyed something like,
Men! Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.
“I’d like to purchase these. Plus my, er, husband has another pair just like these corduroy ones that he’ll be wearing out of the store.” Maggie grinned at the clerk. “Maybe you could dispose of the jeans he wore in here. He’s never liked them.”

“Of course, ma’am.” The clerk rolled her eyes in a show of solidarity at men’s vagaries.

Maggie slipped her Visa card from her wallet and held it out to the clerk. Swiped, signed, and finished, she headed toward the door with her purchases wondering what the hell was keeping Lachlan.

I’m just grumpy. Too much caffeine, not enough sleep.

What about too much excitement?

Yeah, that, too.

She stuck her head out the front of the shop and looked up and down the street. A bakery was two doors down. Maggie moved back inside the store and made a hand sign to get the clerk’s attention.

“Aye?” The young woman hurried to her side.

“Say, when the Neanderthal emerges from the dressing room, could you tell him I’ll be in the bakery just down the street?”

“Sure.” The clerk frowned and tugged at her short skirt. “He’s been in there for quite a while. Do you suppose he’s all right?”

“He’s fine. His boots take time to lace, is all.”

“Aye.” The clerk’s eyes gleamed with sudden interest. “I noticed them. Never seen the like. Would you know where he got them? I’d love a pair.”

“Sorry.” Maggie shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t.” She pushed the shop’s door open and walked briskly to the bakery.

By the time she carried a pot of tea and chocolate scones to a table, she’d begun to worry. Lachlan should have shown up by now. She set her things down and looked outside the bakery door, expecting to see him striding toward her, but he wasn’t there.

She went back to the table, took a sip of tea and a bite of scone, but the food and drink tasted wrong somehow.

Something’s happened.

Calm down. Nothing’s happened. He’s all right. Just taking his time. Maybe he’s talking to the clerk. She was a hot little number.

Maggie pulled her phone out. She kept an eye on its clock. When five more minutes passed with no Lachlan, she couldn’t stand it. She got up, gathered her bags, and hurried out the door. Something heavy pressed on her chest. She recognized the sensation as out-of-control anxiety, but that didn’t make it any easier to breathe.

She hastened back to the men’s shop and nearly ran headlong into the clerk on her way out the door. “Ma’am,” the girl said breathlessly. “I was just about to close up shop and try to find you. Your friend…” Her voice shook. Bright color splotched both cheeks. “You see, it was seeming like it was too long, so I went to the changing room and knocked. He didn’t answer. I knocked again.” Words rushed out of the young clerk in a torrent. “So I opened the door, and he wasn’t there.”

Maggie winced. It felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach. “Is there a back door?”

“No, ma’am. That’s just it. There’s no way he could have left the store without me seeing him.”

Maggie scarcely remembered stumbling from the shop and the brief walk to her car. She tried to ward herself, but shook so badly, she couldn’t concentrate. She’d wanted to calm the shop girl down, but she’d been so distraught, she hadn’t had anything to offer. The young woman, who probably wasn’t a minute past twenty, had snapped up her phone and said she was going to call a constable. Maggie told her not to bother, that it wouldn’t make any difference.

“Och, and it’s like that is it?” the girl had said, curving her fingers in a sign to ward off evil.

“Och, and that’s how it is,” Maggie repeated dully as she unlocked her car and got inside. She locked her door and felt like a fool. If Rhukon and his cronies could nab Lachlan, what hope did she have? A locked car door wouldn’t even slow them down.

Maggie slid her iPhone from her bag and brought up its memory. She stared at her grandmother’s number—and at Chloe’s. It didn’t take a genius to decide Chloe couldn’t help, not from thousands of miles away. Shame swept through her, making her feel ill. Gran was right; she really was stubborn, and she’d done an incredibly thorough job of shutting herself off from everyone who’d ever cared about her.

Maggie closed her eyes for a moment, swallowed hard, and tapped her grandmother’s number. “Yes?” Annoyance underscored that one word. Maggie opened her mouth, but the only thing that came out was a croak. “Margaret. Whatever is the matter? Say something. I’m still stuck in this goddamned airport. They’ve lined us up and are interviewing us separately.”

Maggie choked back a sob. She hadn’t felt this helpless since her parents died. Around a tongue that felt thick and uncooperative, she managed, “It’s okay, Gran. I’ll—”

“From the catch in your voice, I’d say something is definitely not okay. What the fuck happened? Don’t beat around the bush.”

A tear rolled down her cheek, followed by another. Maggie wanted her grandmother’s arms around her, needed her witch magic to set the world right again. “First,” she said shakily, “if I get out of this, I’m going to beat a path to coven headquarters and sign that blasted pledge—with blood. This psychiatry fellowship in Scotland was a stupid idea.”

“Hush! You have no idea who might be listening.” A shock radiated through the cellular lines. It stung Maggie’s fingers.

Damn!
She switched the phone to her other hand and flexed reddened fingers. “Mmph. If I can’t say anything, how can I tell you what happened?”

A sharp intake of breath. “Never mind, Maggie. I can pick it up in…other ways.” A minute ticked by before Mary Elma spoke again. “So, he disappeared about twenty minutes ago?”

Maggie nodded, and then remembered Gran couldn’t see her. “Yes.”

“I know you’re not astute in certain, um, methods, but can you sense anything?”

“No. Earlier, when we were driving here—”

“Where’s here? Are you home?”

“I’m in Fort William, not all that far from home. Maybe an hour. It’s about sixty miles.”

“Earlier, when you were driving there, what?”

Maggie leaned forward. She pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. Conversations with her grandmother were often like this: odd and disjointed.

“Maggie?” Mary Elma’s tone was so severe, it surprised her.

“I felt something, um, dark, following us.”

“Do you feel it now?”

Well, do I?
Maggie did her best to send her power outward. “I don’t think so.”

“You have to do better than that. When you were getting all those worthless years of medical training, what would your professors have said if you’d told them you
weren’t sure
about some deadly illness?”

They would have chastised me just like you’re doing now.
“Point taken. Look, Gran. I’m scared. I’m running on almost no sleep. I’m not thinking very straight. I feel like I’m so far out of my depth I may as well take my things and go home, except that’s not an option.”

“What do you want to do?” A sly undercurrent underscored May Elma’s question, but for the life of her, Maggie couldn’t pin it down.

“I have to help him. He’s in trouble.”

“That was the right answer, child. By God, I think I finally found the key to getting you to accept your destiny.”

“Fine.” Maggie batted exasperation to a back burner. It was an indulgence she couldn’t afford. “What do I do in the meantime?”
Crap! I sound like a ten-year-old.
“How do I keep myself safe until you get here, so you don’t have two of us to hunt down?”

“Fort William, eh?” Mary Elma murmured. “Give me a moment. Stay put, and I’ll call you back.” The display flared
Call Ended
. Maggie stared at the phone in her hand. And waited. Her eyelids felt ridiculously heavy. When she realized they’d drifted shut, she forced them open. It wouldn’t do to fall asleep. Rhukon had nearly made off with her in a dream. She’d have to be a bigger chump than she already was to make
that
mistake again.

Just when she’d decided to wait outside the car in hopes fresh air would keep her awake, the phone trilled. Maggie punched
Answer
. Before she could get the whole of
hello
out, her grandmother cut in, “I’m texting you an address. Go there and wait for me.”

“But who is it and—?”

The screen flashed. Mary Elma had disconnected. The phone chimed its text tone. Maggie was so tired the letters and numbers blurred, so she made them larger. Clicking keys, she fed the address into the phone’s navigation system. Ever obliging, it spit out a list of directions.

For a moment, she considered ignoring Mary Elma’s edict. The least her grandmother could have done was talk with her, tell her where the hell she was sending her… “This feels like
Mission Impossible
where the tape self-destructs right after I hear the instructions,” she muttered. Seized by sudden panic, Maggie stared at the phone, but the directions were still on its display.

Guess that settles it.
She turned the key in the ignition and headed north toward Loch Lochy. As she drove, she forced herself to breathe deep, cracking a window for more healing air. It took a while to locate the indicated address. As frequently happened with the map system in the phone, it sent her on a wild goose chase, and she had to retrace her steps a couple of times.

Finally, she found the place and got out of her car. A whitewashed cottage was set at the end of a long, brick walkway. Wild roses grew over a fence that was falling down in places. The flowers smelled wonderful: lush and heady. Who the hell had her grandmother sent her to? Would they simply accept her as blood kin of one of the most powerful witches on Earth?