My Tempting Highlander (Highland Hearts #3) Read online

  The sudden sensation of the air being squeezed from his lungs settled like a dull ache in the center of his chest. Ronan flexed against the disturbing mix of emotions—the greatest of them being a dark sense of disappointment. Perhaps he’d pinned more hope than he realized on the fact that the Lady Mairi might be the one.

  Or could it be the fact that the old woman had just said she expected him to jump across time and bring her granddaughter back as though it were merely a day’s ride across the Highlands? Ronan’s mind reeled at the verra concept. He shook his head at the absurdity of Mother Sinclair’s suggestion.

  Surely, she jests. Surely, she’s but testing me. “The twenty-first century? She abides in the future. Unprotected? Ye expect me to believe ye allow her to live in the future with no hint of family to care for her?” The old woman had to be lying. He knew Mother Sinclair. She valued her family above all else. This had to be another of her manipulations. The conniving matriarch was known for twisting words to turn things to her advantage. Ronan turned and searched the darkened windows of the keep. Surely, Lady Mairi was merely hidden from view. This was some dark game. Some strange ploy to test him.

  “You’re an idiot if you think I’d allow my granddaughter to live anywhere unprotected.” Granny slowed her pacing back and forth in front of the pool, pausing every now and then to shake a warning finger in Ronan’s direction. “And you’re an even bigger idiot if you think a Sinclair woman lets anything as paltry as someone’s opinion stand between her and something she’s decided she’s going to do.” Granny exhaled with a disgusted huff. “It pains me to admit that the Sinclairs are slightly hardheaded.”

  Slightly hardheaded? The memory of dealing with another of Granny’s granddaughters, Kenna, who was now happily wedded to Colum Garrison, triggered an involuntary shiver. Slightly hardheaded didna begin to describe the Sinclair women. The old woman’s words stung his already raw emotions, but out of respect for her age and level of wisdom, Ronan let them pass.

  He turned and lifted his face to the fading warmth of the late autumn sun, wearily closing his eyes against the dismal outcome of the day. Perhaps ’twas all for the best. All things happen for a reason. Perhaps the Lady Mairi preferring life in the future was Fate’s way of telling him she was no’ the answer to his riddle—she was not the one after all. The prophecy—the key to breaking the witch’s curse—was apparently meant to remain unsolved yet again.

  Ronan turned away from the sun and rubbed his knuckles against the center of his chest. Damn the soreness that this place stirs within me. If the Lady Mairi was nay the one, then why had this sudden feeling of bleak emptiness taken hold of his core and set to aching?

  Ronan scrubbed his breastbone harder and ground his teeth. Nay. I canna veer from this path so easily. She is the one. I feel sure of it, and Granny kens it as well as I. He would no’ be deterred. His heart and soul would never allow it. Ever since Mother Sinclair had shown him the vision of Lady Mairi in the reflecting pool, he’d known the truth of it. The knowing had calmed him, settled across him like a soothing caress as soon as he’d seen her image.

  “And now you’re just going to give up?” Mother Sinclair clapped her hands sharply to shake him from his thoughts, startling several nearby birds into flight. “If you’re that easily swayed then you don’t deserve my granddaughter. It takes a brave, tenacious man to capture and hold a Sinclair woman’s heart—”

  “Enough!” Ronan clenched his teeth against the urge to growl obscenities at the Sinclair matriarch. Instead, he leveled an accusing finger at the old woman as he slowly marched toward her. “Ye have no idea how I weary of this search and I’ll be damned straight t’hell afore I listen to any more of yer judgmental nattering. Accept the fact that I’m here now and either help me find a way to the Lady Mairi or get the hell out of my way. The choice is yours. But know this, old woman: I’ll stomach no more of yer disrespectful tongue.”

  Granny’s pale blue eyes widened and her thin white brows shot up to her silvery hairline. She stood silent for so long, Ronan thought surely the gods had struck her dumb. Finally, her thin pale lips trembled at the corners.

  May the gods forgive me. The woman is about to weep. Shame settled over Ronan as his mother’s teachings and sense of honor condemned him for his insensitive rant. Máthair would surely be ashamed of him for speaking to Mother Sinclair in such a way.

  And then Mother Sinclair laughed. Not the light tinkling sound of a shy amused maiden but a healthy robust guffaw that bubbled from deep within her core. “Now, there stands a man fit to be with my granddaughter.”

  Ronan scrubbed a hand down his face. Lore a’mighty, she’s daft as a loon.

  “No. I am not crazy.”

  Ronan blinked and edged a step back. Did Granny Sinclair possess the ability to brush aside the protective walls of the curse and breach his mind? In all the years he’d walked the earth, no one other than his own mother had ever accomplished that feat and been able to hear his thoughts.

  Granny Sinclair shook her head, still wiping away tears of laughter as she bent to retrieve her gnarled staff hidden behind the low stone wall of the circular reflecting pool. Leaning heavily against the twisted cane, Granny looked up and smiled. “And no again. I did not read your mind. Your face is a window to your thoughts.”

  Granny suddenly seemed much older as she stood grinning at him with the cane clutched tight against her chest. Ronan thought back to the last time he’d visited the keep and remembered that during that time, the Sinclair matriarch had not moved with the fluid ease she’d exhibited just a few moments ago.

  “What d’ye play at? What game is this?” Ronan motioned toward the oddly twisted staff with the shard of crystal knotted at its top. “Ye showed no need for yer wee stick ’til now.”

  Granny Sinclair hitched forward with the assistance of her cane. The blue crystal captured in the gnarled root system of the twisted staff sparked with a flickering light. She paused, brought the worn stick closer to her chest, and gently stroked the softly glowing crystal. “Let’s just say I no longer feel comfortable exhibiting any sign of captured energy unless I’m protected by as many of the basic elements as possible.” Granny nodded toward the reflecting pool and smiled. “Water, wind, and earth guard me here—keep the power of my staff safe. Within the walls of the keep, I’ve only the weaker protection of the fire trapped within the hearths of men—and it’s often tainted by their suspicions.” A thoughtful look, a darker look, replaced her smile. “Uneasiness fills the keep of late—like the suffocating weight of a building storm.” Her smile returned as she locked eyes with Ronan. “But you and Mairi will take care of that as well.”

  “Talk sense, old woman. Dinna speak in riddles.”

  Granny motioned for Ronan to follow her down a narrow stone path disappearing between a pair of holly bushes. “Come with me, my fine chieftain. We shall sit and talk clearly midst the privacy and protection of the leaves.”

  An eerie foreboding shuddered through Ronan. He glanced back at the keep, eyeing every arch and shadowed arrow slit with growing suspicion. The MacKenna fortress had definitely changed since last he was here. An ominous silent waiting lent a chill to the air in spite of the unseasonable warmth of the day.

  Ronan squeezed down the narrow path, turning sideways to move through the hedges of silver-stemmed rowan and dense prickly blackthorn. How deep in the maze of the garden was Mistress Granny determined to go?

  “Here, lad. We should be comfortable here.” Granny pointed a bony finger to an intricately carved bench nestled back in a cul-de-sac of holly.

  A lover’s bench. A trysting place. Ronan glared at the old woman. The mischievous curl to her subtle smile told him the irony of the meeting place wasna wasted upon her.

  A gentle breeze sifted through the screen of sharp-tipped, glossy leaves. The energy of the harvest season and the coming of winter rippled through the garden like a slowing heartbeat. Ronan turned and studied Granny. “So tell me, Mother Sinclair, how do ye p
lan to coax yer granddaughter into joining us in this time?”

  Granny nonchalantly shrugged. “I don’t.”

  Ronan waited. Instinct warned him the old woman had just baited her trap. “I see. Then what, pray tell, do ye propose?”

  Granny’s knowing smile widened. “I already told you. You’re going to go forward and get her.”

  Ronan rose from the bench and faced the beaming matriarch. “Impossible. I canna walk the web of time. The gods dinna bestow such gifts among many.” And thanks be to that, he added silently. The curse had placed enough upon him without adding time travel to the lot.

  “Ah now.” One of Granny’s thin brows rose, shifting her look to that of a cat about to pounce on an unsuspecting bird. “You’re not being honest with an old woman.” She chuckled while wagging a bent finger in the air. “You forget, lad. I know your secrets.” She leaned forward and dropped her voice to barely above a whisper. “All your secrets, my fine chieftain.”

  Every muscle in his body tensed. Ronan stared at the grinning old woman. How much did she really know? She’d hinted at such before. “If ye ken as much as ye say then ye ken full well why I must not travel unnaturally to another century. I must stay close to my lifelong friend, Graham. And my mother, Iona.” He dared say no more until Granny opened up and revealed just how much she knew about him and his heritage. It was true. He could easily survive a trip across the decades that only a rare man could weather. But then, he was a rare man. The curse of immortality protected him. But the curse also ordained that he was cosmically tethered to his mother and his mentor. The three must always abide in the same time and country—or suffer for it.

  “You’d only be away from them for a short while.” Granny peered down at the ground, intent on scratching strange symbols in the dirt with the tip of her staff. “Of course, your ability to control things will temporarily pass to the movement of the sun and moon. The time portal will overpower you. Other than that, you risk nothing. You know this. As do I.” Granny’s eyes narrowed. Her unflinching stare cut through him with the sharpness of a blade. She slowly tapped a single bent finger atop the crystal in her staff. The subtle motion reminded Ronan of snakes hypnotizing their prey. The old woman was about to strike.

  “Ye speak as though loss of control means so little.” Ronan scuffed the heel of his boot hard across the ground, ripping aside the soft green moss from the rich earth between the flagstones. “To some…it does mean little. To myself…” Ronan stood taller, forcing himself to stop the damn fidgeting. He hated this. He never spoke of the curse—not to anyone. “My control is survival.”

  “In the future, your survival will depend more on your wits and how you respond to the world around you than controlling the ability you’ve possessed since reaching manhood. Have you become so lazy and complacent in your present existence?” Granny sat straighter on the bench and leaned her staff back against one shoulder. She lightly stroked the cane’s softly glowing amulet, studying him as she bent forward and scowled. “Or is it fear? What do you fear, Ronan? The only way to overcome fear is to face it head-on. I sense you already know this.”

  What do I fear? Ronan swallowed hard and turned away. He feared many things. What if Lady Mairi was nay the one? Or even worse, what if she was? What if she discovered what he really was before he was ready to reveal everything to her? What if she couldna stomach all his truths?

  “Speak it, man.” Granny stamped the end of her stick hard against the ground. “Speak your fears. Control them or let them control you. Which will it be?” Granny’s demanding tone left no room for debate.

  “Is Lady Mairi really the one?” Ronan turned back and took a slow step toward Granny. “Is your granddaughter truly the woman who will accept, without batting an eye, a union with a man bearing wolf’s blood? Will she break the damnable curse that has imprisoned my mother and my mentor for centuries? Is she the one to end my unnatural immortality? Tell me, old woman, since ye seem to have all the answers.”

  The hint of a smile played at the corners of Granny’s mouth. She shrugged one thin shoulder as she slowly pushed up from the bench and leaned against her staff. “The Fates have strongly hinted at such. Rarely, in fact, hardly ever, do they share so much with me about my very own. But in Mairi’s case, their signs have been quite forthcoming…and persistent.” She hitched forward a step and sternly thumped her knotted fist against the center of Ronan’s chest. “But the only way to know the truth of it is for you to travel to the future and win her.”

  “My other wives never knew the truth.” My truths are best kept to the shadows. Truth caused pain. Rejection. Isolation. Hiding the truth ensured survival. Ronan strode up the path leading away from the private bench, then paused, turned back, and gallantly extended his arm to Granny. “The kindhearted maids I took to wife never met the dragon Graham nor knew of my mother the wolf. I never told them of the curse—not even as they died.”

  Granny didn’t speak, just ambled up to him and slid her hand atop his arm.

  Ronan shouldered branches aside from the narrow path. Dammit. The old woman has cast a spell upon me. Had he actually spoken of the curse aloud? What was it about Mother Sinclair that severed the ties he kept so tightly knotted around his thoughts? Ronan shook free the internal battle with a shrug. Perhaps ’twas just as well. Considering the Sinclair heritage, if Granny knew as much as she claimed, she would easily take it all in stride. “Not a soul other than Graham and mother knows of the curse that brought me into this life as a wolf, to ensure I survived. Verra few of my closest men know I’m able to revert back to that form whene’er I choose.”

  Ronan’s hand tightened atop Granny’s bony fingers clutched in the crook of his arm. “ ’Tis rare now that I ever change—only when I seek reprieve from the memories…the heartache. I find peace in the primal existence of the wolf.”

  Granny frowned at the ground as they walked slowly down the path. “Perhaps if you had revealed all to your previous wives, much pain could’ve been avoided. Truth—although difficult at times—is eventually the path to contentment and peace.”

  “Doubtful,” Ronan said.

  Granny gifted him with a compassionate nod and a gentle pat atop his hand. “I understand more than you know. Some truths are often too unbearable to reveal, but it still must be done—for the good of all concerned. Come. Let us prepare you for your journey.”

  —

  “Gray has sent word to your keep so Graham and your mother will know what’s become of you. They’ll be watched—and you’ll be alerted if their health shows signs of failing.” Granny motioned Ronan down to her diminutive level. She scowled as she poked and prodded the tensed muscles of his shoulders. “Kneel lower so I can strap this pack across your back. I think I’ve lengthened the bindings enough.”

  Ronan knelt to the moss-covered ground just in front of the stone bench. “Why can ye no’ send me forth fully clothed? ’Tis bad enough jumping into the unknown. Must I do it bare? And at night?” He supposed he preferred the cover of darkness to shield him once he reached his destination. But why did the old crone insist he jump through time naked?

  He cupped his hands in front of his cock and bollocks. Somehow, the idea of baring his manhood to an old woman known for her fiery temper didna seem to be in the best interest of his parts. He hadna decided which was worse: the fact that Granny didn’t seem the least bit impressed by his nakedness or the realization that she held his fate in her hands.

  Granny studied the strips of leather and the iron hasp clenched in her gnarled hands. She chewed on her thin lower lip as she concentrated on crossing the straps several times about Ronan’s chest. She gave him a bobbing nod with a final pat to her finished work. “There. That should do it.” After scrutinizing the rest of her handiwork, she leveled her gaze with Ronan’s. “The pull of the moon helps ensure I send you to the proper time and the darkness will shield your landing.” A wicked grin brightened her face. “The girls think I’ve grown weaker with age. Little do the
y know, my abilities have only grown stronger.” Granny took a step back and looked him over again. “And I dare not risk the vagaries of sending you forward during daylight hours. I sincerely doubt the bustling town of Edinburgh would fail to notice a full-grown wolf dropping from the sky.”

  “Do ye ken I’ll truly be the wolf when I land on the other side?” Damn the old woman. Did she think him without an ounce of control?

  “Skating across the web strikes a deep primal reaction in even the most seasoned of time runners. Men especially have a greater level of difficulty and often fail at the cost of their very lives.” Granny wiped her hands on the apron lashed about her thin waist while slowly circling him. Her impish grin widened into a knowing smile. “But you, Ronan Sutherland, are not most men. Trust me. As soon as you near the other side, your wolf will take control—for your own protection.”

  Trust her? Did he really have a choice? Ronan rolled his shoulders and cupped both hands tighter across his crotch.

  Granny patted a consoling hand on his bare arm. “Your loss of control should only last until you feel at ease with your surroundings. Then you’ll be able to tuck your wolf back inside as you always do.” Granny scratched the side of her head and shrugged. “Although, I’m not really certain about that part. I haven’t had a great deal of practice with propelling males across time and you’re the only shifter I’ve ever known.”

  “Yer scarin’ the livin’ hell outta me, woman.”

  Granny clucked her tongue and patted his arm again. “Now, now. Don’t be such a baby.” She grunted as she hefted a dripping wet bag up from the ground. “And I’m sending you through the web naked so you won’t destroy all your clothes with the fire of your shifting. This pack is fully saturated with water, as are your belongings within. I’ve already sent my friend Eliza the other essentials I figure you’ll need in that time, but I’m sure you’ll want these few things as well. I thoroughly soaked the leather, and the inner lining is stuffed with dampened lavender. Your belongings should survive just fine through your shifting’s firestorm.”