My Tempting Highlander (Highland Hearts #3) Read online

  Ronan broke her tortured reverie when he shifted in place. He stared at her, eyes cold and unreadable, jaw locked as though waiting for the death sentence he knew he deserved.

  “Granny or Trulie can heal them.” Mairi kept her gaze locked on Ronan. Her eyes burned with the need to blink, but she didn’t care. If she blinked she might miss another clue as to why he’d gone to such lengths to hurt her. She could already read the guilt and pain in his eyes; this trickery was as much his doing as Granny’s. “Why didn’t you just take them to MacKenna Keep instead of coming here to get me?”

  And that was another thing—he couldn’t be a male time runner. There was no such thing. Someone would have had to help him and she had a pretty good idea who it was. This power play to get her back to the past had Granny written all over it.

  “Who are you really?” Mairi leaned across the table. “And I want the damn truth this time.”

  Ronan drew in a slow deep breath, sadness and emotions Mairi refused to allow through the wall around her heart reflecting in his eyes. “I am Chieftain Ronan Sutherland. I come from a land hidden in a shifting mist because of an ancient curse. I am three hundred and fifty-three years old. I canna die—and I came here for the help that only you can give me.”

  Mairi wanted to scream bullshit and knock him out of the damn kitchen. She knotted her hands into shaking fists. Why the hell couldn’t she have just one precious thing in her life that was normal? Her knuckles ached and her palms stung as her nails dug into her flesh.

  The way he had paused and the way his gaze kept flitting to Eliza as he spoke fanned her rage even more. “You’re lying. None of what you’re saying adds up. If you can’t die and your mother is still alive then apparently she can’t die either. If she can’t die, then why does she need to be healed?”

  Mairi shook an accusing finger at Ronan. “And both my grandmother and my eldest sister have the gift of healing. All you had to do was go to them. You don’t need me.” Mairi jabbed her finger at him again, pumping her fist with every accusation fired. She wanted to hit him, hurt him as much as he’d hurt her. “Who sent you? How did you travel through time?”

  “Nia propelled him across the web.” Eliza stood and slowly paced back and forth across the small kitchen. “Neither Nia nor Trulie can break the curse and heal the chieftain’s mother or his friend. Yer the only one who can break this bit of wicked magic trapping their souls, and time grows short for the doin’ of it. Yer the only hope against this evil that’s so determined to escape its hell.”

  “Bullshit.” Mairi pushed away from the table. “Why would I be the only one who could break some random curse and heal people I’ve never met?” Mairi sensed there was a great deal more to the story, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Eliza might not be lying, but Mairi knew her elderly guardian was the queen of omitting details to twist the truth to her advantage. Eliza was a lot like Granny.

  Eliza stopped pacing, crossing her bracelet-covered arms atop her heavy bosom as she leaned back against the kitchen counter. “Ye’ve been chosen to pay the debt for all that the Sinclairs have done.”

  “What debt?” Mairi’s mind raced, rewinding all of Granny’s tales, searching for whatever crime this mess might be about. It had to be Tia. Granny’s twin sister was the only one who’d openly defied the rule about not manipulating history. But Tia had finally been condemned and executed by witch hunters. Eliza still didn’t answer and Ronan looked as though he was about to choke on whatever he’d eaten for breakfast. Mairi repeated the question—louder. “What debt, Eliza?”

  “To the Fates—to the cosmos.” Eliza closed her eyes, pressing her slightly trembling fingers against her temples and massaging them with tiny circles. “For too long, the Fates have looked the other way whene’er the Sinclairs dabbled with time—altered events. They’ve grown weary. The slate is bursting with the list of transgressions—most verra minor, mind ye, but transgressions all the same. The slate must be cleaned.”

  “Tia was executed. Wasn’t that enough?” Mairi wasn’t letting this go. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. If they’re going to stomp on my heart, I’m at least going to find out the truth.

  Eliza deflated with a weary sigh, dropping her hands away from her temples as she shook her head and stared down at the floor. “It’s no’ just Tia’s wrongs, lass. Think about it. All the Sinclairs—yerself and Lilia included—have altered events in time. Perhaps not seriously, to be sure, but altered them just the same. Yer sister Kenna smuggled modern-day conveniences back to the past. Trulie’s changed the ways of the MacKenna clan—changed them for the better, mind ye, but she’s changed them in ways they would ha’ never known if a woman from the twenty-first century had never landed in their midst. Anytime a Sinclair has visited a different time, they’ve been unable to resist dabblin’ just a wee bit, and the Fates have grown as weary as parents tired of tellin’ their child ‘no.’ ”

  Eliza finally lifted her gaze. A sad smile made her look years older as she locked eyes with Mairi. “The slate must be cleaned. The debt paid. And yer the one charged with the doin’ of it. I’m truly sorry, lass.”

  Mairi swallowed the sob trying to burst from her chest, holding her breath and tensing her fists until tiny sparkling bits of light clouded her vision. This is so not fair.

  So there it was. The truth. I hate the truth. Mairi closed her eyes and pulled in a deep breath. What she wouldn’t give to rewind time back to when Ronan arrived. She’d kick his ass to the curb and the Fates could figure out some other way to amuse themselves.

  Maybe what Eliza said was true. Maybe all of them had altered history whenever they’d jumped to different centuries—hell, they’d probably changed things simply by showing up. But if that was the Fates’ issue with the Sinclairs, then why in the hell had they made them time runners in the first place? It didn’t make any sense—but then, that was the Fates. They rarely made sense. Granny had even remarked on that once. Logic never comes into play when it comes to the druthers of the gods.

  Fighting against the mixture of heartache, frustration, and rage churning inside her, Mairi slammed her fisted hand upon the countertop—desperate to prove them wrong. They had to be wrong. “How do you know for certain it’s me? How do you know I’m the only one able to break this curse and save everyone from this evil?” Mairi hated the shrewish tone her voice had taken. Damn them both for turning her into a walking mountain of bitterness.

  Ronan stepped forward and held a silencing hand up to Eliza before she could respond. “According to yer grandmother, the demented witch who spoke the curse was also the most high priestess to the Fates. She was privy to their fondness for the Sinclairs and also their weariness of yer family’s wee indiscretions. The wicked one kent well enough that the mighty Fates would charge the Sinclair line with the remedying of her darkness as punishment for all that they had done. Máthair said when the curse took hold of her body, she heard these words floating on the wind: Only she who is light of step shall remove the weight of the witch’s words. She who possesses the soothing touch shall wipe away the witch’s pain. Only she with the sight for the unseen can restore hope for the future. Find these things in a single woman and all debts shall be paid.”

  Ronan stood with his hands clenched in front of him as though struggling to keep himself from reaching out to her. His barely contained emotions etched lines in his face as he shifted in place. Even wearing nothing but a plaid, his strength and power filled the room, and right now she hated him for it.

  “Ye must go,” Eliza admonished in a quiet voice barely above a whisper. “Ye know in yer heart yer the one of which the riddle speaks. A time runner. A healer. An artist able to see beauty where none exists and bring it into creation. Ye know how ye always said ye saw yer dragons hiding in the blocks of clay? Ye always said ye merely released them.”

  Mairi shifted her attention back to Ronan, willing him to hurt with the same excruciating pain currently breaking her heart in two. “Why did the
witch curse you?”

  Ronan lifted his chin just a bit, nervously shifting in place as though standing trial. And in her opinion he was—the one stark difference being that she’d already condemned him. “The witch was my father’s queen. His wife.” Pulling in a deep breath, he stood straighter, clasping his hands to his back as he continued, “But she was barren, so my father sought an heir from his beloved leman. My mother was his mistress.”

  “So the jealous witch put a curse of immortality on you, your mother, and your best friend? That’s it?” Mairi studied Ronan closely. If the jilted queen was pissed enough to stir up a curse, surely she would’ve been a little more creative. “You’ll have to forgive me”—Mairi poured every ounce of sarcasm she could muster into both her stance and her words—“but immortality just doesn’t seem that dire a punishment for your father being unfaithful.”

  Ronan’s rigid posture visibly wilted a notch, his gaze dropping to the floor. “She cursed my father to die before I was born—forbidding him to see the son he’d wanted so badly. She cursed my mother, my friend, and myself to walk through immortality alone. ’Tis no small thing to watch all that ye cherish age and die before yer eyes—and to know in yer heart that yer loved ones have gone where ye canna follow.”

  Mairi stared at him, mentally cataloging everything he’d just said, looking for loopholes, looking for more lies. “How did your friend get sucked into this curse?” Why would jealousy make the witch lash out at a supposedly innocent bystander?

  “After the witch spoke the curse, my father sentenced her to be put to death. Graham witnessed her public drowning.” Ronan lifted his gaze from the floor, bleak sadness deepening the lines of his face. “She attempted to cast an erotic geas upon him, thinking that—young lad that he was—he’d ne’er refuse the seductions she placed into his mind, the things she’d do for him, if he’d but save her. But he saw her hideous soul reflected atop the water and refused. She tied him to the curse as she disappeared beneath the water.”

  Mairi turned away, blinking hard against the stinging threat of tears. She massaged the knotted muscles at the back of her neck, rolling her shoulders against the cramping pain. Damn it all straight to hell. No wonder Granny had stopped nettling her about jumping back to the past. She knew that by tricking her heart, Chieftain Sutherland would end up forcing her into doing something she really didn’t want to do.

  Mairi closed her eyes. Last night had been so much more than just unbelievably fantastic sex. She’d felt such a connection to Ronan. Mairi glanced back over one shoulder at his scowling face. She’d thought he’d felt it too. Apparently she had been dead wrong. Now she knew exactly why he’d been such an incredible lover. What better way to trick her into helping him? Ronan didn’t give a damn about her. He just needed her to break the curse so he could move on with his life.

  She dropped her hands away from massaging her neck, turned, and faced Ronan and Eliza. “Fine. I’ll take you back to the past. I’ll heal your mother and your friend and send this supposed evil packing.” She lifted her chin and mentally hardened the final seal around her heart as she nodded to Eliza. “But don’t you get rid of any of my stuff. Once I get that curse broken and fulfill all my requirements, I’m coming back.”

  Chapter 14

  “Make her come down. She willna open the door t’me.”

  Eliza shook her head but kept her attention focused on the crackling fire between the opened doors of the brightly painted cast-iron stove squatting in the corner of the parlor. “Leave her be. Ye best learn straight off when to give a Sinclair woman time to cool down.”

  How the hell could he leave the woman be when his heart and soul demanded he make things right? “We must make her see reason and understand the way of things before we return to the past. This morning went badly. What the hell will she do when she sees I am the wolf she thought lost?” Ronan paced over to the wall of rain-streaked windows looking out upon the bedraggled winter garden. He fisted one hand against the cold damp glass. “How in blazes will she react when she sees Máthair and Graham? The woman already hates me for deceivin’ her. How badly will she despise me once all is revealed?”

  Eliza motioned for Ronan to join her in front of the fire. “Come. I’ve opened the fire portal. Nia will help ye know what best t’do.”

  Ronan didna care for the gleam in the old woman’s eye. He also was nay so sure he wished to hear what Granny Sinclair had to say. That sly old woman was more dangerous than a battle-honed warrior. He remained rooted to the spot beside the windows. “I shall listen from here.”

  Eliza rolled her eyes and backed into the chair she’d pulled in front of the stove. “Verra well, my fine chieftain. I’ll leave ye to yer druthers.” She leaned forward, peering into the fire. “Speak loudly, Nia. Our lovely chieftain is none too fond of the fire portal.”

  “Where’s Mairi?”

  A chill rippled across Ronan’s flesh, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Aye, that was Granny Sinclair’s voice echoing from the flames.

  “She isna here.” Eliza stirred the coals with the cast-iron poker.

  Ronan couldna help himself. He inched a step closer. “Pray tell, how are Máthair and Graham?” He wasna sure how either his mother or friend could have fallen gravely ill so quickly. He’d hoped the evil of the curse wouldna poison them so soon.

  “Weak.” The flames sputtered and danced as though Granny had breathed upon the fire. “ ’Tis the curse. I’d thought surely we’d have a bit more time, but apparently I was wrong.” Granny’s voice sank lower but still came through loud and clear. “The witch thought through the curse quite well before she unleashed it. The priestess knew the Sinclair born to free you from the curse would more than likely come from a different century. The longer you’re separated from them, the weaker they will get.” Granny’s voice brightened. “But take heart; as soon as you arrive back in this time, they should immediately recover.”

  Ronan clasped his hands to the small of his back, staring at the floor as he slowly circled the parlor. Son of a bitch. Mairi’s anger would grow even worse when she arrived in the past and found there was none needing her healing touch. “We told Mairi she was the only one who could heal them. Yer granddaughter already hates me for deceiving her. I’ll never hope to wed her once she sees Máthair and Graham in good health—and may the gods help us all when she sees them to be a wolf and dragon, no less.”

  “Ye shouldha thought o’ that before ye shared her bed.” Eliza shook a finger at him as she leaned closer to the fire. “Quite typical, Nia. The man did his thinkin’ with the wrong head.”

  A noise akin to a clucking hen chortled through the flames. “Mairi’s slow to anger, but once you’ve triggered her temper, she never forgets. She’ll hold a grudge to her grave.”

  “She doesna like to be duped. Ye ken how hard it is for our girl to trust.” Eliza squirmed in the confines of the small armchair until she managed to cross her plump legs. Her blood-red tights gleamed in the firelight as she bounced a sparkling wedge-heeled tennis shoe in time with her words. “Ye ken he’s—”

  “—I’ll thank ye to leave off talking as though I’m no’ in the room.” Ronan crossed the parlor in two broad strides and planted himself beside Eliza’s chair. “Tell me how to make things right with yer granddaughter. I canna lose her.” Ronan swallowed hard, trying to ease the aching knot burning in his chest. “And the way I feel about needin’ her has nary a thing to do with the damnable curse or the wants of my cock.”

  A pleased chuckle set the orange and white flames to dancing. “I’m very glad to hear that.” The red coals glowed brighter as Granny’s voice strengthened. “Give her time. Charm her. If she didn’t feel the same about you, she wouldn’t be so angry. Truth be told, knowing my Mairi, she’s angrier with herself for trusting you too soon. Mairi’s heart will eventually force her to come around. Just be patient.”

  “Aye, well…” Ronan returned to pacing. He couldna bear standing still. Every fiber of his be
ing silently shouted, Do something, fool! “For once in m’life, time is a luxury I dinna feel I have. As soon as we enter the web of time and my wolf takes over, the woman will be ready t’skin me and use my sorry hide for a new pair o’ slippers.”

  Again, Granny’s chuckle filled the parlor. Ronan could almost see the slight old woman laughing. “Hold Mairi tight in your arms as you pass back in time. Not only will this give you strength against your wolf, it will soothe your beast’s soul. Holding Mairi will bring balance between you and your wolf.”

  “ ’Tis a daring task to hold tight to someone who swears they hate ye.” Ronan sank to the settee, sagged forward, and cradled his head in his hands. Mairi was so angry; she’d clearly rather slip a blade between his ribs than slide into his arms. He’d seen it in her eyes. He feared her hatred more than any sword.

  “You’ll figure it out.” The edging of white ash widened, creeping across the orange red glow of the fiery coals at the base of the flames. Granny’s voice lowered to a hushed tone. “Time is precious. Get here, Ronan. Soon. I must go now. I’ve risked enough opening the fire portal here at the keep.”

  Eliza scooted to the edge of her seat, her face drawn down in a worried scowl. “Come back to the future, m’dear sister. Ye’ll be safe here.”

  “I belong here. With Tamhas. My sweet man would never leave this time. Not even for me.” Granny’s soft laugh sounded sad and hollow. The flames flickered lower and the gray white ash nearly covered the bed of coals. The fire was dying. Granny’s voice faded in and out, becoming muffled as the portal cooled. “We’ll be fine here once everything is settled.”

  Eliza rose and slowly closed the cherry-red doors of the cast-iron stove. She pressed trembling fingers to the inside corners of her eyes and hitched in a tearful sniff.