T is for Temptation (27 page)

A long snake of Scottish warriors rode into sight, men who eyed her with admiration-tinged wariness, and they halted as one a good twenty feet away.

Alex trailed around them, maneuvering the mare with tentative rein-tugging and mumbled entreaties, stopping the animal with a jerk when he paralleled them.

“What was that about?”

“What on earth prompted you to pick a fight with a man a head taller than you? One who knows how to use a sword? Are you insane?” She rolled her eyes. “And why in damnation didn’t you stop him? You’re supposed to be his friend.”

Alex and Jake exchanged a glance, and their amused smirks tempted her to take off again.

“I suggest we continue our journey. Tee, no more galloping away. Alex, stay away from Tiny.”

And who made him king of the hill? Resentment surged and dissipated as the need to stay focused became paramount. She stuck her chin out, but inclined her head in agreement.

The warriors led the way, leaving them to follow in their wake As soon as they cleared the line of trees on their right; the other men broke into a fast trot.

“Crap, crap,” Alex said, his voice rising. “Tee, help! The damned animal’s going too fast.”

Tee fell back to his side. “She’s trotting. There’s a natural rhythm to it.”

“Only if you’re a damned horse,” he snapped, tottering from one side of the saddle to the other. The mare tossed her head, neighing in protest as the reins sawed with his movements.

“Grip the center of the saddle with one hand. Good, now watch how I rise and fall. Try to copy my movements.”

He practiced for a few minutes, grimacing when he hit hard leather at a painful angle. “If this goes on any longer, children will not be an option. Christ. That bump’s exactly in the wrong place.”

Biting her lip and stifling the urge to crack up with laughter, Tee doled out a litany of instructions and compliments. At the end of thirty minutes or so, Alex managed a decent trot, and he flashed a brief grin at her, although his woeful expression belied the forced aura of confidence.

“My ass is killing me. I can’t wait to get off this piece-of-crap animal.”

“Be careful when you dismount. Your legs are liable to be wobbly.”

He snorted. “Don’t let that idiot, Graham, overhear you. He thinks I’m a sissy.”

“Do you know if Jake even knows where
Brodick
Castle
is?”

“We both researched it on the ’net.
Brodick
Castle
is part of the property this Callum Ferguson left him.”

“No,” she groaned. “This isn’t good. I’m beginning to understand why Jake scowls every time I mention
Douglas
. Stick a pin. That explains why you both looked like that when they mentioned it.”

“Stick a pin?” He shook his head and then rolled his shoulders forward.

“The English equivalent of
hold that thought
,” she translated, morose at the implications behind his explanation.

Ahead, the warriors slowed their pace to a fast walk. The scenery changed as they narrowed the distance between the two sets of riders, rounding up and down into twisty, craggy mounds devoid of any greenery. Moisture-laden, icy wind blew and ebbed with irritating discordance.

“Damn, damn, damn. What does this mean?” She rubbed one temple with a knuckled forefinger. “I was hoping against hope
Douglas
had nothing to do with this, but it all points to the damned trunk. I don’t know how we’re going to get out of here, Alex. I’m so sorry you got caught up in all this.”

“Ah, sweetheart, don’t cry. A woman’s tears do me in.” He reached across the gap and patted her thigh. “It’ll work out. It always does. Let me tell you what I know about
Brodick
Castle
. It’s on an island called
Arran
off the coast of
Scotland
. The climate is mild because the
Gulf Stream
current runs between the island and the mainland, and palm trees grow along the coastline.”

“Thanks for distracting me. Hopefully, we won’t be here long enough to discover the palm trees.” Tee opened her fisted hand, and cold, fat raindrops dampened her flesh. “Great, it’s raining.”

“Did you really wish those dandelion clocks?”

The breeze blew Tee’s curls into a wild tangle around her face, and she dropped her reins. Using her legs to guide Brandy, she absently conjured a scrunchie and shoved her swirling hair into a low ponytail. “Actually, I wanted torrential rain. I figured you’d separate two men fighting the same way you do dogs, water. I don’t know if it didn’t work because of the trunk’s magic or because I’m upset. In the present, I never could control the conjuring if I’m emotional, but then again, I never tried. I wanted to be normal, so I avoided my powers. Recently, I decided to embrace them, and now I’m working on the control issue.”

“Fascinating. What were you feeling when you tried for the storm?”

“Annoyed with petty macho men,” she bit out. “Honestly, picking a fight with a giant like Tiny? What got into you?”

“What happens when you think of Claridge’s? Maybe we can trick this power of yours into working,” Alex added, a sudden lift to his posture, an anticipatory gleam in his cobalt irises.

“Nothing at all. We’re still here, aren’t we? Things really can’t get much worse. I’m sure
Douglas
had a reason for sending us to this time, whatever century we’re in.”

Tee closed her eyes, and an aquamarine jacket filled her hands. “See, that worked. Perhaps it’s not the trunk after all, just me. But, I’m getting better at this witch stuff. It’s even the color I pictured.” She shrugged the garment on, tucked the fleece-lined hood over her hair, and pulled the drawstring tight.

“Christ! That was nothing short of amazing. Wait a minute, at your grandmother’s house,” he paused, his eyebrows flew heavenwards, and his blue eyes blazed her way. “Those little cakes, Jake said I shouldn’t be surprised if they popped up everywhere. You did it.”

Heat scaled her cheeks. “It’s a childhood thing. I loved cupcakes, and they sort of became my comfort food. Whenever I was upset, they appeared. To this day, my mother refuses to serve cake of any sort.”

“She doesn’t approve?”

My, the man’s good looks grew more astonishing, especially when he tilted his head to one side and sympathy ruled that crooked, boyish smile. He listened to her words as if treasuring each syllable, as if she’d become the single most important person in the universe. No one had ever viewed her with such rapt attention. Flattered and flustered, she blurted the truth.

“She’s never acknowledged my powers. Neither of my parents ever has.”

“Jeez, sweetheart, how awful. You had to live with an enormous secret. It must’ve been harder than a priest hearing a murderer’s confession and having to keep quiet about it. You had no one at all to talk to?”

“It wasn’t as bad as all that,” she said, comforted by his instant acceptance of her peculiarities. “There are nine of us witches, and Douglas, the one who insisted Jake have the chest, he guided us. Now I think about it, I’m convinced he’d never let any harm come to me. Don’t worry. He must have planned a way out.”

Like quicksilver mercury in an old-fashioned thermometer, his mood morphed to a fever point in the flick of an eyelid.

“Don’t worry, you say? I’m somewhere in
Scotland
, in an unidentified century with a witch and an idiot friend.” Alex slid to the ground, his knees buckled, and he grabbed the saddle for support.

“I warned you.”

“Crap, my ass has muscles I’ve never felt before.” His forehead creased. “We’re journeying to a castle Jake inherited in the year 2007 with a pack of Braveheart barbarians. Back in 2007, Scotland Yard wants to arrest you, Interpol’s hunting Jake, and I’m not to worry? Forgive me if I beg to differ.”

His horse neighed in agreement with his heated remarks, head bobbing up and down. Hands fisted around hard leather, he took a deep inhale and blew the breath out in a long, frustrated sigh. “Hell and damnation, I might as well go with the flow. While you’re wishing, Tee, do you think you can conjure up a waterproof jacket for me, preferably lined?”

“You’re remarkably practical and amazingly accepting of all of this,” she said, fitting her elbows at her waist and opening her hands.

“I’m a lawyer.” His mouth curved into that uneven grin, a rueful combination of flirtatious cynicism and boyish appeal. “That jacket?”

“So sorry, I’ll get to work on it. Do you know, for the first time ever, my powers are proving useful?” She remembered a waterproof coat from a
Land’s End
catalog and visualized it.

“I am getting better at this,” she said and halted when the jacket materialized in her hands. She straightened a crease in the fabric and offered it to him. “I think navy blue is a nice color on you. I tried to match your eyes, and it’s even monogrammed.”

The little mare ceded to Brandy’s dominance and stopped at his side. After Alex shrugged on the coat, thanking her profusely, they resumed the path, rounded a hideaway bend, and realized they’d reached a destination of some sort, a wide, rocky beach.

Waves pounded speckled sand bordering granite rocks throwing ocean spray into the air. A harsh wind intensified, mixing salty splatter with the gentle rainfall, creating circular splotches on the rough beach. The weathered coastline extended as far as she could see. A line of warriors stood beside their horses approximately ten yards ahead of them.

Tee spotted a large ship with three tall masts, billowing white sails rocking under foam-crested, slapping ocean. With mounting reluctance, she nudged Brandy forwards, and the mare followed alongside.

“I guess that’s our transport. At least sailing is the one sport I excel at.”

“Alex, please don’t start with that tone. If you provoke a fight with Tiny, I’ll conjure stampeding horses at you.”

“
He
started it.”

“
He
has a sword, and
he
knows how to use it.” She said, narrowing her eyes.

“I can take him with one arm tied.”

“Heaven forbid I ever meet a logical man. Great.
He
has that look on his face, too.”

“Pretty boy and the laird’s woman.”

“Please, Alex. For me,” she pleaded when the giant turned to listen to a question from one of his men.

“Nay, load the horses first.” Tiny Graham’s bellow made Tee’s heart stammer.

His powerful thighs bunched as his long stride devoured the short distance between them. “Unless you’d care to load them magically, lass.”

His sculpted features matched her vision of the perfect medieval warrior: high, curved cheekbones and aqua eyes shadowed by thick lashes shades darker than his shoulder-length, wheat-streaked lion’s mane. Hands stamped on lean hipbones, he spoke with easy nonchalance and complete confidence, charm masking an inherent arrogance.

“You don’t seem afraid of me now.”

“’Tis clear as a heavenly vision, lass. You’ve no evil in your soul. A gypsy witch who can whisper with such a mighty stallion.” He stroked Brandy’s flank, and the steed shuddered, leaning into the caress. “Your innocence shines like Apollo’s sun, but your temper reigns too often, the mark of Ares, perhaps. Besides the heavens and stallions, what else do you command?”

“Pardon me?” Bewildered by this turnabout, the poetic flattery, a sudden charismatic tug as if he radiated a magnetic field, she ducked her chin to break their gaze, the discipline required to do so jumping electricity to every synapse. Tingling from hair roots to curled toes, she fought the reaction and studied the coarse sand puffing around Brandy’s black hoof.