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- MACKAY, ALLIE
Tall, Dark, and Kilted
Tall, Dark, and Kilted Read online
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Teaser chapter
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Praise for Highlander in Her Dreams
“Scottish charm, humor, and . . . hot romance.”
—Night Owl Romance
“Sexy . . . imaginative . . . a fascinating mix of exciting action and passionate romance.”
—Romance Readers at Heart
“Cleverly plotted and well written . . . a fun, sexy story.”—Romantic Times
“[A] pleasing blend of wit, passion, and the paranormal . . . a steamy romance that packs emotional punch.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“A fabulous mixture of magic and romance. Allie Mackay has penned an enchanting romance of lovers from different times. . . . A captivating paranormal romance and a wonderful addition to a book lover’s library.”—Fresh Fiction
Praise for Highlander in Her Bed
“[A] randy paranormal romance . . . The premise is charming and innovative . . . This novel definitely delivers a blast of Scottish steam.”—Publishers Weekly
“A yummy paranormal romp.”
—USA Today bestselling author Angela Knight
“A delightful paranormal romance. The writing is poetic, compelling, and fun, and the story features an imaginative premise, crisp dialogue, and sexy characters whose narrative voices are both believable and memorable. HOT.”—Romantic Times
“A superb paranormal romance.”
—Midwest Book Review
“A sexy, humor-filled romance with delightfully amusing characters. Artfully blending past and present, Highlander in Her Bed is an entertaining read. Well written. Readers will enjoy this one!”—Fresh Fiction
“Appealing and amusing. Sizzles with passion.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“A whimsical read that will have you panting from start to finish! Mackay knows what a Scottish romance novel needs and socks it to you! Red-hot sizzling chemistry ignites from the moment Sir Alex materializes in front of feisty Mara.... A sure-bet bestseller.”
—A Romance Review
SIGNET ECLIPSE
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First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library,
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First Printing, November 2008
Copyright © Sue-Ellen Welfonder, 2008
eISBN : 978-1-440-60223-8
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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This one is for Mary Hanson.
A very special friend and lady,
she shares my great love of dogs,
does the most beautiful Christmas decorating
of anyone I know,
and has been a favorite reader
since the days of Devil in a Kilt.
She’s also the loving mommy of sweet little Leo,
the role model of Leo the dachshund in this book.
You’re the best, Mary!
I’m so glad we’re friends.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Scotland always inspires my books, and one of my greatest joys in writing is the magic of returning in my mind to the special places in Scotland that I love so much. This book is set in my own absolute favorite corner of Scotland, the wild and remote far north. Although Dunroamin is fictitious, a compilation of several privately owned Scottish castles and manor homes I’ve visited, its role models exist and are every bit as delightfully atmospheric. They are places where the sense of the past is vivid and much appreciated by those who dwell there.
The location I chose for Dunroamin is quite real and probably the most magical corner of Scotland that I know. Tongue in Sutherland and the tiny crofting village of Melness are places I enjoy returning to again and again, each visit enchanting me more than the last. The Kyle of Tongue is every bit as beautiful as described, and the ruins of Castle Varrich stand exactly as depicted.
Like Cilla, I’ve made the trek up to Castle Varrich and also scrambled into the ruin’s crumbling window alcove, often spending hours perched there, watching the world go by and trying to tune in to the little shimmers of the past that I am convinced exist in such places.
Hardwick’s Seagrave is also real, although I did change the name. Readers familiar with Scotland’s northeast coast south of Aberdeen may recognize Seagrave as Slains Castle, an incredibly atmospheric ruin that is indeed quite spooky and forbidding. Isolated and left alone for centuries, home to only seabirds, wind, and ghosts, I’m sure, a visit there takes you into Scotland’s past in ways that a touristy cultivated historic site just can’t do. Word is that Slains is to be developed into holiday flats, a fate that makes me feel blessed to have been able to see and enjoy the ruin in its original state.
Shetland is another place I love visiting, and I try to
get there each time I am in Scotland. Gregor was inspired by my own experiences with great skuas in Shetland, in particular on the bird sanctuary isle of Noss. Also known as bonxies, these ferocious birds do indeed dive-bomb anything that moves across the moorland they view as their own. I’ve had some frightening encounters with these pterodactyl-like creatures, and despite the frights, I absolutely adore them.
Special thanks to three incredible women for their help with this book. My agent, Roberta Brown, best friend, trusted confidante, and so much more, I couldn’t get by without her. She’s also the only person who knows why Gudrid is so very special. Mega thanks to my amazing editor, Anne Bohner. She’s supertalented and I so appreciate her help in making my stories as strong as possible. A grateful nod, as well, to Liza Schwartz. She knows why. Thank you, ladies. I couldn’t do this without you.
As always, much appreciation to my handsome husband, Manfred, for his unflagging support and enthusiasm. They mean so much. Last but not least, my beloved little Jack Russell, Em. Owner of my heart and ruler of my world, he’s the only soul allowed to disturb me on deadline.
“There are men and there are Highlanders. Woe be to anyone fool enough not to know the difference.”
—Bran of Barra, Hebridean chieftain, appreciator of women, and Highland to the bone
Prologue
In the Twilight World of the Great Beyond
“So, you are tired of women?”
The disembodied voice boomed like a thousand angry thunderclouds. Loud and crackling, each word sent bolts of lightning sizzling through the shifting mist. Gray, swirling drifts, the fog shielded the Dark One’s inner sanctum from the rest of this curious and mysterious place.
“I am weary of having to pleasure them.” Sir Hardwin de Studley of Seagrave, more commonly known as Hardwick, put back his shoulders against the Dark One’s wrath. “Enough is enough. Seven hundred years of nightly bliss would dampen any man’s appetite.”
Another earsplitting clap of thunder shook the cushiony mist beneath Hardwick’s feet and a scorching bolt of lightning whizzed past his ear, its otherworldly heat almost singeing his hair.
“There are some who would call your curse a blessing.” The Dark One’s deep voice rumbled with displeasure. “Souls who would burn an eternity for a single eye blink of the revels you enjoy each night.”
“Bah!” Hardwick tightened his grip on the round, studded shield he always clutched before his groin. “I would roast for two eternities for the peace of one night’s unbroken sleep.” Keeping his stare on the immense stone temple he could just make out through the thick, swirling fog, he willed the Dark One to show himself.
Willed, as well, his problem to stop twitching in heated anticipation of the coming night’s tumble with some as-yet-undetermined bit of eager female fluff.
He would easily stride past an endless line of naked, writhing beauties if only doing so would grant him eternal rest and peace.
“You have only yourself to blame, Seagrave.” Puffs of sulfurous smoke drifted out from behind the ancient, sentrylike trees guarding the Dark One’s temple. “Had you not turned the wandering bard from your door, he would not have cast his wizard spell on you.”
Hardwick bit back a snort. “There were highborn guests at my table that night. It was known that an assassin guising himself as a traveling lute player had been trailing them. I did what any self-respecting lord of the Scottish realm would have done. I turned away a stranger in an attempt to safeguard those within my walls.”
A gust of icy wind revealed the Dark One’s opinion of his choice.
Hardwick stood tall, refusing to acknowledge the frigid blast. “Would you have handled it otherwise?”
“What I would have done scarce matters. I am not the one who was damned to spend eternity pleasing women without ever again enjoying my own release.” A sound almost like derisive laughter came from within the mist-shrouded temple. “ ’Tis you who were doomed to roam the earth, satisfying a different woman every night.”
“You needn’t remind me.” Hardwick glared into the mist. “I am well aware of the peculiarities of my circumstance.”
If he weren’t, the permanent annoyance at his groin was more than telling. Glancing down at the rigid protuberance, his mood worsened.
The Dark One gave a superior sigh. “Perhaps if you hadn’t been one of Scotland’s most notorious wenchers, the bard would have visited you with a less strenuous curse.”
Hardwick considered throwing down his infernal shield and whipping out his sword. “Be that as it may, I would hear if you are willing to help me? I already know you have the power to do so.”
“I have the means to undo the mortal magic of any medieval bard, including the wizardry of the one who cursed you. The power as to whether the counterspell works, lies with you.”
“Then tell me what I must do.”
“It is more what you must not do. Dare not do . . . if you wish the resolution to help you.”
Hardwick took a step closer to the temple, his own temples beginning to throb with frustration when the swirling mists thickened, giving the impression that the blasted place was receding from him.
Halting, he tamped down his temper and held up a hand. The one he didn’t need to hold his shield in place. “I will do—or not do—whatever is necessary to rid myself of this foul condition.”
“So be it.” The mists thinned, once again allowing glimpses of the Dark One’s hallowed temple. “You shall be relieved of your curse and also granted the everlasting sleep you crave—if you can keep yourself from becoming aroused for a year and a day.”
Hardwick almost laughed. “Think you that will be a problem? After centuries of such an affliction as I’ve endured? By the gray mists shielding you from me, I swear there isn’t a female walking who could tempt me.”
“Do not claim victory too soon, Seagrave.” Another rush of icy air whipped through the inner sanctum, this time accompanied by a black, shrieking wind. Even more distressing, the tangle of exposed roots spreading out from the circle of guardian trees suddenly morphed into hissing dragons. As one, they lifted scaly black heads, looking round with fiery, unblinking eyes. “Be warned. The price of your redemption is high and fraught with grave danger.”
Hardwick pitched his voice as resolute as the Dark One’s. “Rid me of my problem and I will face any danger.”
Drawing his sword, he thrust its tip into the billowing mist rippling around his ankles. “With the greatest respect,” he said, watching the root-dragons stare at him with eyes like glimmering coals, “I’ll not be deterred by sorcerous means or others.”
On his words, the scaly beasts vanished, their great, crouching bodies nothing more than a snarl of silent, black-gleaming roots.
The chill air remained, but a soft rustling came from within the temple and Hardwick could almost imagine the Dark One nodding consent.
“As you will.” His deep voice shook the trees and sent shock waves through the fog. “But know this, you who seek my benevolence. If you fail, the old condition will return at once, along with your curse to satisfy a different woman every night. This time you will no longer be able to roam the world and centuries at will, choosing your bedmates as it pleases you.”
The Dark One paused and the icy air grew even colder. “One slip and you will find yourself in the blackest, most vile level of the world-between-the-worlds, where you’d be forever doomed to pleasure the pathetic creatures who dwell there. Females far different from the endless lovelies you’ve pleased down through the ages.”
Hardwick narrowed his eyes on the temple, then carefully sheathed his sword. “I would ask one boon.”
“Indeed?” The Dark One humphed. “Name it quickly—before I tire of speaking with you.”
“I would have the right to choose where I spend the required proving period.” Hardwick stood straighter, his jaw tight with determination. “That is all.”
A place where I can live quietly and away from all temptation.
“It shall be granted.” The Dark One appeared on the temple’s threshold, an imposing manlike form, only discernible as a blackness deeper than the surrounding darkness. “Choose wisely—you will not be allowed a second chance.”
Hardwick opened his mouth to reply, but a flash of eye-blinding lightning snatched the words. A simultaneous boom of thunder ripped away the trees and the temple, leaving him alone in another, less threatening corner of this mystical realm he’d drifted in and out of for so long.
Great swaths of shimmering gray-white mist slid past him now, and he knew from experience he need only find the appropriate opening, then will himself below.
Far below, to wherever on the earth plane he wished.
But first he looked beneath his shield, his heart slamming against his ribs when he saw only his plaid and wide-leathered sword belt riding low on his hips.
His problem was gone.
Or, better said, relaxed.
Throwing back his head, he whooped. Then he grinned broadly and lowered his shield, removing it from in front of his groin for the first time in seven hundred years.
“By all the saints!” He dashed a hand across his cheek and heaved a great sigh.
His curse was finally over.
Now he need only seek his place of refuge.
Blessedly, he knew exactly where he needed to go.
Chapter 1
Dunroamin Castle
A Registered Residential Care Home
Scotland’s Far North, the Present
Someone was watching her.
Cilla Swanner dropped the pullover she’d been about to lift out of her suitcase and stood very still. Something had set the fine hairs on the back of her neck to standing and it wasn’t the overall gloom seeming to fill the shadowy, dark-paneled bedchamber. Nor was it the deep silence pressing in on her from all sides, even though it wasn’t much later than three in the afternoon.
Tall, Dark, and Kilted