Authors: Donna Kauffman
The idea for this book began when I read a story about the current MacNeil clan chief signing a one-thousand-year lease with Historic Scotland, to ensure continuing renovations of the clan seat, Kisimul, on the Isle of Barra. The terms of the lease are a pound note a year, and a bottle of Scottish whisky. Sounded reasonable to me! Legend has it that Kisimul has been the MacNeil stronghold since the eleventh century. The fact that the property had stayed for so long in MacNeil possession intrigued me and I started digging around a bit. I found the Isle of Barra to be charming and its history and that of the MacNeils quite interesting.
The needs of my story, however, meant altering that history a great deal, which I didn't want to do. So, although I use the MacNeil name, my characters, their heritage, and their actions, are completely fictional. And while the Isle of Glenmuir is certainly inspired by Barra, it is my own creation, as are Winterhaven Castle and Black's Tower.
Charm stones are real, however, and have a long and colorful heritage in both Scottish and Celtic history. The MacNeil Stone is my own invention. If
the MacNeils had a clan charm stone, my research didn't uncover it.
And in case you're wondering, yes, you really can surf in Scotland. Barra, Tiree, the North Coast, and Pease Bay are a few of the places favored by the small, but hardy band of Scots surfers.
Born and raised in Maryland, Donna now lives in Virginia with her husband, sons, and growing menagerie of dogs and birds. She can be reached online at www.donnakauffman.com or by mail at PO Box 541, Ashburn, VA 20146.
Turn the page for a sneak peak at the new exciting
romance from Donna Kauffman
Coming soon from Bantam
K
iller column today, Tanz.” Tanzy adjusted her phone headset and hit save. “Thanks, Martin. Let's just say I was inspired.”
“I'll say. The reader response to your last bridesmaid angle has been amazing. Who knew there were so many of them out there?”
She snarled silently. “Yeah, who knew. I'm thinking of forming a club.” It had been two weeks since Rina's wedding and fodder for her twice-weekly column was still spewing forth. Apparently she wasn't, in fact, the last bridesmaid on the planet. She'd heard from a whole slew of them in the past ten days. “Listen, I'm getting Saturday's column in early. I've got that Single Santa radio thing this afternoon, then this month's stint on the
Barbara Bradley Show
is taping tomorrow morning. They're doing a Single at Christmas show for airing during the holidays.” Hoo boy. She could hardly wait.
“Well, chat up this whole wolf/sheep thing you zeroed in on in today's column. I have a hunch it's going to play big with the serial solos out there.”
She grinned. “I'll talk to you after I'm done taping Friday, let you know how it went.” She clicked off and stared at her laptop screen, scanning back over what she'd already written, then began to type.
So, why is it we L.B.'s aren't willing to settle for Sheep like the rest of our social circle? What's wrong with a man who puts family first, who maintains a steady job, has college funds set up for his kids, and builds that nest egg for his retirement? Member of the workaday herd, never straying.
Solid, dependable Sheep Guy.
Why can't I love this guy? I've decided that, for me, it's the Wolves. They distract me from the Sheep. Men on the prowl. Totally alpha. Not interested in being domesticated. What is it about these men that makes my heart speed up in ways no Sheep ever have? I don't want to tame them. I certainly don't want to take them home to Mama. No. I, the original self-sufficient, independent, and proud of it dammit, woman wants Wolf Guy to drag me back to his lair and have his way with me. Repeatedly. But that's all I want from him. That wild rush, that feeling of being taken over by something stronger and more powerful than I am.
Maybe that's it. I'm responsible for everything else in my life: my home, my career, my social circle. I don't have to ask permission to do anything, don't have to make any compromises unless I want to. I do what I want, when I want. And I like it that way, intend to keep it that way. I just need Wolf Guy to rip the reins from my hands from time to time and allow me to give up my grip for a little while. Let's face it, Sheep Guy will never do that. And until I don't need to have my reins ripped anymore, I can't imagine joining the herd on a permanent basis.
So where does that leave me? A serial solo, straying from the herd every time that Wolf comes sniffing around, that's where. And I'm sorry to all you permanent herders out there, but at the moment, I'm thinking that's fine by me.
“Take that, Sheep lovers,” she muttered and saved. She tapped on her ISP and zapped the column to Marty before she could reconsider what she'd written. After all, it wasn't called “Tanzy Tells Some of the
Things.” Whatever she felt was what she wrote. No holding back, no worries about offending anyone. She was the universal bared soul of the single woman, put on display for all the world to read. What you read was what you got. Take it or leave it. Fortunately for her, a whole lot of people, both men and women, took her words. They accepted them, rejected them, debated them, heatedly at times… and propelled the writer of them to a certain level of fame and fortune.
She scanned her email, a dry smile curving her lips as she skimmed down the potpourri already queuing up for today's entertainment. The fame part, even at her insignificant level, had its pros and cons. She got date offers, marriage offers, offers to be saved by various members of the clergy, offers to be fixed up with sons by various mothers, fixed up with brothers by an assortment of sisters, and all around good guys by well-meaning married matrons. And that was usually before ten A.M.
The flip side was that, on occasion, she also got threats: some aimed at messing with her person in a violent manner, some litigiously eyeing her bank account. Of course, the combination of being seen on television, heard on the radio, and accessible via the Internet, was bound to bring out the less stable segment of society. She figured it went with the job. Fortunately, none of them had ever followed through, successfully or otherwise.
She spied a note from her most recent “extreme fan” as she called them and debated whether reading it would entertain or disconcert. This guy was particularly insistent if not particularly original. He was her self-proclaimed savior, the one who would love her for all time, thereby relieving her of all her single girl angst. She smiled faintly as she skimmed past his most recent proclamation of eternal devotion.
He didn't seem to understand single girl angst paid her rent. Besides she wasn't really angsty. More reflective. In an openly global kind of way.
Forgetting about SoulM8, as he so cleverly called himself, she clicked instead on an email titled “Howling 4 U.” Her latest column, in which she'd only briefly debuted her “men can be put into two categories, Wolves and Sheep” theory, had been published for less than an hour. “And they're already crawling out of the woodwork.” She picked up her now cool mug of hot chocolate and sipped. “It's going to be an interesting day,” she murmured as she read with great amusement the letter from a guy who professed he was an actual wolf. Of the werewolf variety. He was certain her column spoke directly to him and wanted to mate with her during the next full moon. Which-lucky her!-was the very next night. She hit delete-her most effective tool when dealing with whackos-and had just opened “Baaaahed Boy” when her phone rang.
“Tanzy dear, we need to talk,” the caller said without preamble.
Tanzy almost choked on her chocolate. “Aunt Millicent!” She quickly put her mug down and pulled off her headset in favor of the old-fashioned phone. She found it was generally better to be gripping something substantial, and better yet, unbreakable, whenever her great aunt deigned to call. Since there were no titanium bars within easy reach, the hard plastic receiver would have to do. “What a nice surprise.”
“How nice of you to say that even if you don't mean it. At least Penelope managed to breed some manners into her only offspring before flitting off to God knows where. Now stop gripping the phone like a drowning woman clinging to a lifeline. I've only got a few moments before the car arrives and we've got much to discuss.”
“We do?” Tanzy found it best to merely nod and go along with Millicent, as there was really no point in believing she'd ever have control of a conversation with her mother's somewhat eccentric aunt. Okay, “somewhat” was her being nice again. And she hadn't gotten that trait from her mother. The only thing she'd gotten from Penelope was blue eyes and a distinct mistrust of long-term commitment.
“Yes, dear, we do. It seems my dear friend from Philadelphia, Frances Dalrymple, has suffered a decline in her health. She's asked me to come visit for what might be a rather extended stay. We went to Vassar together as you might recall.”
“Mmm,” Tanzy replied, one she'd learned to use rather judiciously when conversing with Millicent.
“My those were wonderful years. Still feels like yesterday. Young women in pursuit of higher learning were so rare in our time, you see. We were vital, so alive.” She sighed wistfully.
“Real visionaries,” Tanzy said, hoping Millicent didn't think she was being patronizing. She really did admire her great aunt, and what she didn't admire she was in awe of. But she really didn't need a replay of “Millicent Harrington: The Vassar Years.” She knew them by heart. “I'm sure she'll enjoy having your company. Do you want me to go by and water your plants or collect your mail?” This was an empty offer as Millicent was loaded and had a houseful of people to look after every last detail of her Presidio Heights monstrosity of a mansion, but she also knew Millicent enjoyed it when Tanzy played the doting niece.
Other than her absent mother, Millicent was the only family left and although she wasn't exactly anyone's version of a cuddly, maternal figure, she also didn't pretend to be anything other than what she was. A woman who oversaw her inherited holdings,
business interests and God knew what other investments with a steely eye and a firm grip. At eighty-two she was a more intimidating figure than ever.
“Actually, in a manner of speaking, yes, I do.”
“I—I beg your pardon?” Tanzy had let her gaze wander back to her list of incoming mail. “What did you say?”
“The holidays are approaching and much of my household staff has been given leave to be with their families. As I am going to likely be out of town through the beginning of the year, I didn't see any reason not to extend their leave. My holiday gift to them for all their hard work.”
Millicent ran her home like a colonel ran his troops, but though exacting, she was also generous to a fault with those she valued and those loyal to her.
“That's really lovely of you, Aunt Millicent.” No one called her Millie. Or they only did once. “But won't you need at least a skeleton staff to oversee business matters?” She asked this somewhat tremulously. As Millicent's only remaining heir-Penelope long since having been written off-Tanzy knew she should probably be somewhat more aware of exactly what might be passed her way when Millicent cashed it in. Considering she'd never so much as dipped her pinky finger into her great aunt's business and had less than no idea what sort of empire Millicent had truly amassed during her tenure, this would be no small undertaking.
But Millicent had never broached the subject with her, and, cowardly or not, Tanzy had been happy enough to leave her to it. She hoped she would luck out and her great aunt's lengthy list of philanthropic and charitable endeavors would be the benefactors when the time came.
Tanzy had always believed it was up to her to take care of herself, and she did so, quite well thank you.
Her Russian Hill condo didn't begin to compare, thankGod, to Harrington House. And that was intentional. She lived well enough, she worked hard and enjoyed the nice things her income afforded her, but she also lived within the scope of what she was willing to maintain. She didn't like people traipsing through her dwelling, so she kept it small enough so that even she could keep it marginally clean. Vacuuming and dusting not being high on her list of fun things to do with her free time.
Millicent chuckled. It was a rather rusty, somewhat scary sound. “Actually, I do have someone staying on to handle certain matters. I've given my regrets to the round of social events. Otherwise, there isn't much to do during the holiday season. My annual endowments have already been taken care of. I'd appreciate you cleaning up after yourself when you choose to cook and, I'm sorry, but you'll have to manage on your own with laundry and other such things. I'm certain you're well used to taking care of those matters on your own.”
“Laundry? Cooking?” Tanzy was nonplussed. “If I'm just dropping by to check the house and water plants and such, I won't be needing to cook or wash, but I—”
“I'm sorry, I should have made myself clearer. With everyone gone but Riley, I would feel better if I knew someone was staying under the roof. Someone I could trust.”
“But you travel all the time.”
“For a week to ten days, yes. But this will probably be most of December and a good part, if not all of January. And what with the winter weather on the East Coast, one never can entirely depend on airline travel.”
Tanzy opened her mouth, but she had no idea what to say.
“I know this is asking a great deal of you. And I don't mean for you to spend every waking minute there. I realize you're a busy woman with quite the hectic schedule yourself. But you can bring whatever you need with you. I'll have your rooms and private office all spruced up for the holidays, so writing your column here won't be a problem. Riley is fairly unobtrusive, but I've directed him to do whatever is necessary to make your stay comfortable.”
“Riley is a he?” Tanzy didn't know why this surprised her. “What happened to Margaret?” Who was her aunt's long-time personal secretary and trusted confidante.
“You've not met him, but I trust him implicitly. As can you. I'll feel so much better knowing you're both here. Margaret's about to become a great-grandmother, so I've given her extended leave as well, to stay with her son and his family through the holidays.”
“That's wonderful, really. So who is this—”
“Clifford is here with the car, darling. I've left a list of things, nothing major mind you, for you to go over every night before going to bed. A brief routine, I assure you.”
“Aunt Millicent, I—”
“I can't tell you how much this means to me, Tanzy dear. I'll contact you once I arrive in Philadelphia and see to my lodgings. I've no idea if Frances intends to put me up, but like as not I'll be staying at the Belleview as usual. If anything comes up, you can simply contact me there and leave a message. In the meantime, Riley can handle any other questions you might have. He's expecting you by dinnertime tonight. If that's not convenient, please let him know as soon as you can. Ta ta, darling.”
Tanzy was left staring at the dead receiver. “Ta ta my ass,” she muttered as she hung up. She'd been
hornswoggled by a master. “Nothing about this is convenient. Which you knew when you called me. Oh so cleverly on your way out the door.” Tanzy had half a mind to call this Riley person and tell him he was on his own, and not just for dinner tonight.
And who was he anyway? Millicent had never really said. Tanzy didn't remember her talking about him before. But to be honest, when her aunt started off on a tangent involving business matters, Tanzy's eyes tended to glaze over and her mind wandered. For all she knew Riley had been in Millicent's employ for twenty years.