Read Highlander's Beloved 02 - A Highlander's Passion Online
Authors: Vonnie Davis
Highlander's Beloved 02 - A Highlander's Passion (5 page)
Ronan unlocked the cabinet and poured his mum a generous amount of Scotch.
She snatched the glass from his grasp and drank as if she’d just crossed the Sahara. When the container was empty, she ran the back of her hand across her lips. “Pour me another.”
Ronan glanced at Bryce, who nodded. Mum rarely tied one on. Much more whisky and she’d pass out. Unease did prickle up his spine, though. How had his mum downed a whole tumbler of their finest Scotch without so much as a cough? Hell, she hadna even gasped, nor had her eyes watered.
No sooner had his brother filled her glass again than she’d guzzled it like one would lemonade on a hot summer’s day. She inhaled and exhaled a deep breath. “Now that I’m suitably fortified, Ronan, go get me my gardening boots and a shovel.”
Ronan stopped dead in his tracks. “Why the shovel and boots?”
“I’m going to that bastard’s grave tonight and digging him up. Then I’m going to beat his remains to dust with me shovel and spit on his fukin’ face for killing me grandchild.” She glared at her two sons and reared back to her full five-foot-two height. “And I just
dare
either of ye to try to stop me. There’s nothing worse than one pissed-off Irishwoman. I’ve lived in Scotland for nearly thirty-two years, but the blood flowing through me veins is Irish. That evil son of a bitch will pay fer killing our wee sweet bairn before it had a chance to draw its first breath or…or have his grandma kiss his beloved sweet head.” She wiped tears from her eyes. “Now get me my damn boots and a shovel!”
Mum was a gentle, loving soul who ran the lodge with one eye on the clock. Mealtimes were never late. Her strict standards were always adhered to, and everyone kent not to cross her. Ronan looked at Bryce and lifted his hands in a helpless gesture before aiming wide eyes at her. “Mum, ya canna.”
Her finger shook under his ear. She blinked, made a slight hand adjustment, and then beat his nose with her finger. “Dinna be telling yer mum what she can and canna do. He has to pay. I dinna care what he went through in the war. How he saw his buddies blown up.” The tears flowed faster, and she wiped her cheeks. “That poor, poor Kenzie. What she’s endured in silwence…sibence…” Mum hiccuped once and her eyes rolled back into her head as she collapsed in Bryce’s arms.
“I just wanted ye to know I got the job working fer the American and moved into my quarters at Iverson Hall.” Kenzie cradled the cell phone between her shoulder and ear while she unpacked her suitcase. “I didna want ye to go by me old apartment and find it empty.”
Her aunt Una grunted. “She’ll be good fer ye, child.” Kenzie smiled at her aunt’s habitual use of this term of affection. “I read it in me tea leaves this morning. I also read a man from yer past has reentered yer life.”
“Bryce. He helped me move.” She ran her hand across the back of her neck, massaging muscles cramped with tension. Erasing the agonized expression on his face from her mind had been impossible. She couldna forget his voice, roughened from the sandpaper of pain; or his movements, rigid with the tautness of anger, or his eyes, shadowed with shock over all she’d voiced. Dear God, she hadna meant to hurt him.
“Ye told him of the bairn
.
I can sense it.”
“Aye, and it did not go well.” Her aunt had been the one to proclaim the pregnancy, before Kenzie even noticed any signs, and the one to rock Kenzie in her arms as she cried fer Bryce’s lost child.
“But he didna strike ye like that bastard, Duncan, and he never will. He’s too much like his sainted da. He loves deeply. All the Mathesons do.”
Her suitcase unpacked, Kenzie moved to the boxes of art supplies in her sitting room. “I’m not sure he can ever forgive me fer keeping his bairn a secret. And I ken he may be right that I handled the situation all wrong.”
“Give him a chance, child. He needs time to come to terms with it all. Och, my potion is boiling. I need to say good night and keep an eye on the pot. Ye canna overboil newt’s eyeballs. Love ye. And thanks fer letting me know where yer at.”
“Love ye too.” Kenzie laid the phone on the desk and spun it once with her finger. Her aunt was a different kind of witch than she was. Aunt Una dealt in potions and poultices, chants and curses, and charms to ward off evil spirits. Her coven reminded Kenzie of the opening scene of
Macbeth.
Emptying her paintings from a box, she unwrapped the towels and clothes she’d had around them fer protection. Finding the perfect spot to hang each one shoulda taken her mind off of Bryce, but it didna.
A soft rapping sounded at the door to Kenzie’s private quarters. She glanced up from a row of built-in cabinets beneath a wall of bookshelves in the sitting room, where she was putting away her paints and brushes. “Yes?”
“It’s just me, Sparrow. I wanted to check to make sure you were okay. Creighton acted so strangely when he brought me home. He said Bryce got you moved in, but he sounded tense, as if something awful had happened. My dear, do you need me? I sense such sadness. Deep heartache.”
Kenzie leaned her head against the open door of the cabinet and sighed. Living with this American witch mightna be as convenient as she’d hoped. Fer sure it would be different from living with Aunt Una, who never intruded on her life other than to boil tea leaves fer her and inform Kenzie of what she saw in them.
“Come in. I’m still putting away me things.” She placed two palettes on a shelf alongside a jar of brushes and reached into a packing box fer a hand-woven basket filled with tubes of oil paints.
The door to the room opened and a cloud of pink floated in. Effie’s blue-eyed gaze danced about the room. “I see you’re getting settled in. The room bears your mark already. Is that a picture of you and your mother on the desk? You have her coloring and sweet smile.” Her hands reached for another frame. “Is this you and Bryce as kids, wading in the water’s edge of Mathe Bay?”
“Yer right on both accounts. The photo of me and me mum is before the cancer struck her. Bryce and I were twelve in that picture. We did everything together back then.”
“I see.” Effie walked from the desk over to Kenzie’s meager supply of books. “Are you a reader?” She trailed her pink fingernail along the spines. “You study art. Impressionists. Surrealism. Cubism, which I could never get.” She winked. “My mind so often looks that way from the inside and I can’t figure it out then either. Oh, you’ve got a book on Degas and one on Salvador Dalí. I just love his melting clocks. No romance books, I see.” She aimed a finely plucked arched eyebrow at Kenzie.
“I don’t really believe in romance, so why read about it?” True love, the forever kind, simply didna exist. No matter how she felt about Bryce. That came under the title of hormonal insanity.
“Oh my!” Effie’s wrinkled hand went to her throat as she stepped in front of the large painting now hanging over a decorative half-table made of rosewood. Both of her hands reached out as if to scan it without making contact. “This is your handiwork. It breathes of you. A location you’ve loved and painted, yet the artwork emits vibrations of sadness.” She turned to Kenzie as if to await confirmation.
She didna think she could go through the emotional gut wrenching of telling it all again. Not tonight. Not after the way she’d hurt Bryce. Perhaps she could share just enough to satisfy the American.
She stood and stretched, rubbing the muscles at the small of her back. “I call it
Endless Heather Mist
.” Once she was beside Effie, she linked arms with the old woman. “As a moody teenager, it was one of me favorite places, two hills behind Aunt Una’s house. Every time I go there to paint, the picture turns out different. Whatever mood I’m in brings me focus to different things.” She lifted a shoulder in silent explanation. “Perhaps a rabbit hiding in the brush, or the blooms of a flower, or the rays of the sun shifting through the foliage above. Even droplets of rain on a large leaf can catch me eye and beg me to paint them.”
“I didn’t know you were an artist.” Effie peered closer at the painting. “And quite talented, too. Strong brush strokes, yet they’re so delicate they call to me. I love how you’ve captured the rays of sunlight hugging the morning mist, as if greeting the day with warm affection.” She tilted her head and then leaned closer. “I also see the tiny baby hidden within the haze, embraced by three sunbeams.” Her hands went to her chest, and she studied Kenzie. “This isn’t the babe you’ve recently lost. I feel…I sense…” Effie shook her head. “This is a secret you must trust me enough to share. I will not pry.”
She toddled over to the other paintings Kenzie had hung. “You have a way of creating shadows that haunt the soul. Did you and Bryce have a nice dinner? I bet he took you someplace romantic, didn’t he?”
Fer a woman who promised not to pry, she did a damn good job of asking questions. Well, Kenzie could do the same. “Ye said Creighton acted strange. What did ye mean by that?”
Effie sat on the pale green love seat and patted for Kenzie to join her. “We were having a lovely conversation about pumps when suddenly both Creighton and Paisley covered their ears.” Effie mimicked their movements. “I suspected one of his brothers’ bears was growling about something. They seem to be able to silently communicate even if they are in human form. Or so Paisley explained before she married Creighton. Since she can hear animals’ thoughts, whatever was going on affected her hearing too. Creighton excused himself and hurried off. When my Sweet Pea hugged me good night, I asked her about it. She said Bryce’s bear was crying.” Effie squeezed Kenzie’s hand. “He wasn’t in physical pain, but emotional woe. I suspected then your date hadn’t gone well.”
How could a date go well when one confessed the loss of a bairn to the bairn’s father, especially when that father had known nothing about this child, and loved being a da? Had she been wrong not to tell Bryce as soon as she’d taken the pregnancy test? The sense of betrayal in his eyes would haunt her forever.
No doubt he’d avoid her fer the rest of his life, and she couldna blame the man. She’d kept important news from him. Yet, hadna he claimed his heart belonged to his dead wife? Exactly where would that have left her and the bairn? She had no doubts Bryce would have loved the child. He’d have taken care of Kenzie, too, tolerated her with his innate kindness—but not loved. Never loved.
“How much more do you have to unpack, Sparrow?”
“Me painting supplies are the last of it. Bryce and I moved everything. We set what furniture I had in the front yard with a sign the items were free fer the taking. I didna have much worth keeping. Only me wretched car remains at the apartment complex. He promised to bring it here if he can get it to run again.”
“Then why don’t you take a hot bubble bath to ease your sore muscles from your fall off the bicycle. Put on your nightclothes. I’ll take a bath, too, and bring us some hot chocolate and cookies. Mary Kate’s gone for the night, but no matter: I still know my way around a kitchen. Bryce’s mum taught me how to make
the
best hot chocolate from real chocolate. Oh, Sparrow, it’s to die for.” The old woman waggled her eyebrows, and Kenzie couldn’t help the laughter that escaped from her saddened soul.
Effie stood and examined a chipped fingernail. “I’ll start your first lesson in the bands of our coven tonight. Not much, because I know you’re tired. Just ten to fifteen minutes’ worth of basic historical instruction.” Effie pressed her cool, wrinkled hand to Kenzie’s cheek. “While you’re in the tub, fold a hot washcloth over your eyes to help reduce the swelling from all the tears. Maybe one day, you’ll share with me what’s made you cry so hard. Hmm? Hot chocolate in thirty minutes, sweetheart. It might be the beginning of summer here, but the nights do take on a bit of a nip, as we say in Virginia. Besides, chocolate—hot or cold—is a great cure-all, don’t you think?”
While her style often imitated those of the Impressionists, truthfully, today going abstract suited her disposition better. She tilted her head and studied what she’d painted already. Her facial muscles scrunched into a scowl. Maybe she’d combine the two styles…or just trash the whole works.
Hamish had driven Effie into town for a doctor’s appointment, and she insisted Kenzie take some time for herself to paint. Neither one had slept well. A wild animal had created havoc in the woods behind the house. Kenzie suspected it was Bryce’s bear working off its grief. Heavens, at times trees had crashed to the ground as if they’d been ripped from the earth. Roaring like she’d never heard had echoed through the Highlands, shattering her soul.
Since she was expecting Bryce to bring her car, she took Effie up on her offer to stay behind, and had created a working area fer herself in the gazebo next to the loch. The gently rippling waters of the lake were home to two swans. She positioned them on the blank canvas, floating near each other on the lower right, not centered as they truly were but off-kilter like her emotions. As an artist, she brushed her passions into her paintings more than reality. This was the day fer the sadness of shadowed effects.
She dipped her brush into her custom mixture, and her strokes, steady and strong, created the sought-after gloom. Depending on the amount of light the artist brought to any painting, the chiaroscuro—or contrast of light and dark—could elicit emotions ranging from happiness to serenity to despair. This canvas would bear no happiness and very little serenity. Nay, it would contain a strong swish of the bear’s despair that had echoed in the forests through the night. Even after he’d quieted down or moved farther into the Highlands, she’d sobbed for the animal’s anguish.
Gritty-eyed and bone-tired, Kenzie absorbed the gentle breeze from the loch, giving careful thought to all Effie had taught her of the realm last night. Her lesson had been mostly history and generalities. But the American’s effervescent outlook on the universe and the life of Wiccan benevolent assistance brought energy to what could have been a boring lesson. Learning about their coven—The Protectors—from Effie would be a heartfelt joy, and, fer the first time in what seemed like forever, Kenzie looked forward to something.
Perhaps this education under the American’s bubbly instruction would help erase Kenzie’s almost constant dwelling on her lost bairns, and on the look of tortured mourning on Bryce’s face after she’d told him yesterday that one of them had been his. She definitely needed something new to focus on.
The pain in Bryce’s face and the tightness of despair in his voice had been the thoughts that chased her through the night, like the hounds of hell nipping at her heels. Twice, as his bear raged outside, she’d risen from her bed and paced the floor, sobbing for bringing her suffering to him. Why had she allowed his prodding to cause her to reveal her innermost secret? Nothing good ever came from deliberately hurting someone, especially someone you held so dear. Yet, what had he done on their way back to this place? He’d pulled his truck over and held her near while she cried. What kind of man, especially after being wronged, so willingly offered comfort like that?
Her mobile rang and when she answered, Bryce’s rusty voice gave credence to his long night of roaring and growling in the mountains. “Can ye do without yer car for another day? Colleen woke up with a sore throat and a wee bit of fever. I need to take her to the clinic.”
“Och,
ʼ
tis sorry I am to hear that. I hope she feels better soon.” Was he being truthful or putting off seeing her? “I dinna mean to be a burden. I can always have Hamish take a look at the old clunker when he gets back with Effie. She had a doctor’s appointment too.”
“Nay, I promised ye I’d see to it, and I will tomorrow, if Colleen’s feeling better. Have some bloody patience with me. I’ve got a lot of responsibilities.” The bite of anger sharpened his words.
“If ye insist,” she managed through clenched jaws. “There’s no need to get all pissy. I was only trying to make life a little easier fer ye.”
“But that’s not yer job, Kenzie. That’s me job…to make life easier fer ye, but ye just don’t seem to get that.” His croaky voice was rising. So was Kenzie’s temper. Colleen whined something in the background. “Och, I’m supposed to ask ye if ye’d like to come to the lodge this evening to watch movies with us.
ʼ
Tis cowboy night. We could cuddle on the sofa.”
Cowboys? He could snap at her over the phone and then expect her to snuggle up with him fer movies? Hadna she sworn to herself she’d not be pushed around, bullied, or abused ever again? Well, being snapped at came under that broad heading as far as she was concerned. “Look, ye can take yer foul temper, the horse it rode in on, and gallop straight to hell.” She disconnected the call.
Her cell phone rang again and, even though Bryce’s number showed on the display, she answered. “Yes, pale rider on a mean-arsed horse?”
Bryce snorted. “I called to apologize and explain I didna get much sleep last night.”
“Well, neither did I nor Effie with your bear roaring and tearing up the forest.”
“He needed to work off steam. I’m sorry if he kept ye awake and I’m sorry fer snapping at ye earlier. Won’t ye join us fer cowboys and popcorn?”
“This is how men work,
ʼ
tisn’t it? Toss out some abuse—verbal or physical—and then suck you back in with a sincere-sounding apology.” She wasna falling victim to it again. There was so much love in her fer this man, she could easily allow herself to plunge into the emotional snare of his on-again-off-again emotions.
“Abuse? What the bloody hell?”
“Listen, dinna bother yerself with me car. Hamish has already offered. Ye’ve done enough by helping me move and I thank ye fer yer kindness. Give Colleen a hug fer me. I really hope
ʼ
tis nothing serious she has. Besides, if she’s ill with a sore throat, eating popcorn and watching late-night TV are not the things she should be doing.” She ended the call and pressed the button fer all calls to go to voice mail.
With her mood shot to hell, painting was done fer the day. She scowled at the phone, which kept vibrating on the table every few minutes. Fool that she was, she had been looking forward to seeing Bryce again today, even with the issue of the secret bairn between them. She tightened the tops on her tubes of paints and tossed them back into the basket. Tears threatened and she held them at bay. After carrying her supplies inside, she decided on a walk to work off some nervous energy. It was either that or lie across the bed and wallow in self-pity.
She called down to the kitchen and asked Mary Kate to fix her a simple sandwich and to set out a bottle of water. “I’m taking a hike today, getting a close-up view of this beautiful estate.”
Mary Kate sputtered for a bit. “Miss, ye might get lost. Which way are ye going? Out the drive so I can keep an eye on ye?”
Kenzie’s already tense nerves frayed a little more. She was no child to be watched and fretted over. “Nay, through the woods to do some sketching.”
“Och, but will ye have yer mobile so ye can call fer help in case ye get a wee bit dislocated?” Meaning lost, of course.
She counted to ten and decided not to answer that question. “Do ye have an apple or an orange I could also carry with me? I’ll be down shortly.”
As she changed into a pair of jeans and hiking boots, she kept muttering, “In case ye get a wee bit dislocated.” She pulled a plaid long-sleeved cotton shirt over her yellow tank top as her annoyance grew by the minute—which was a shame, since Mary Kate was a verra nice person. Kenzie rolled up the sleeves a couple turns, trying to justify the cook’s concern. No doubt between working under sour-faced Isobel, the housekeeper, and Effie, the free spirit, Mary Kate’s nerves were a tad raw too.
Kenzie snatched a small sketchbook, slipped some charcoal in her shirt pocket, and hurried downstairs. Isobel stood in the kitchen, a dust rag in hand, and her eyes narrowed. “What fool nonsense has come into yer head to go walking where ye’ve never been? And alone, mind you?”
Poor Mary Kate, her face beet red, had a sandwich and an orange sitting on the counter next to a bottle of water. “Thank ye, Mary Kate. Ye are most kind and Christian-spirited.” Kenzie shot an arched eyebrow at Isobel, who harrumphed and stormed out of the kitchen.
Mary Kate snorted and elbowed Kenzie. “Och, ye are a cheeky one, ye are.”
She gathered the provisions the young cook had set out fer her, waved as she went out the back door, and trudged toward the forests behind the house. This was new territory fer her to explore, and with any luck it would take her mind off the way she’d acted on the phone with Bryce. He could be so damn charming, but then couldna all men in the beginning? It was later, after they owned ye, their true nature oozed out like acid.
She’d not think of him now. Nor Duncan. Nay, fer now, she’d focus on the beauty of her surroundings. Even as a young girl, she’d loved exploring the woods and hills of the Highlands. The raw splendor of its scenery, animals, and delicate flowers never ceased to entrance her. These hills were like a panacea for whatever plagued her at the moment. She wondered how many souls had withered, homesick for all this beauty they’d left behind, when a century or so ago, there was a mass migration from the Highlands to various urban areas during the Industrial Revolution.
Her keen eye caught a pine marten, sleeping, curled up in a hollowed-out trunk of an old tree. Not much larger than a cat, this one was dark tan with a yellow bib at its throat. Kenzie slowly crouched, hoping her knees didna creak to alert the animal. With a few quick strokes of her charcoal, she caught the mumma’s form, along with two tiny heads peeking out from beneath her side. Another minute to sketch the entry to the hollowed-out tree and she’d be on her way, hopefully without disturbing the little family.
She hiked on, crouching once to draw one perfect tiny flower she didna know the name of. She’d have to look it up at the library or ask someone interested in botany, like Bryce. But that wouldna be such a wise idea, especially after she’d practically told him to fook off this morning. She hadna realized until their brief conversation how fearful she was of getting emotionally close to him, or any man, fer that matter. Part of her wanted her onetime best friend in her life and part of her wanted the safety of being alone where no male could hurt her again. She walked on, trying to make sense of her confusion. Because, right now, the only man she wanted in her life was Bryce. Her heart had always,
always
belonged to Bryce.
That’s why she had no business marrying Duncan, not when her copper-haired Scot still owned her heart and soul. But Duncan had charmed her and made her feel wanted when she’d needed it most, providing a much-needed male salve to her wounded female pride after Bryce ended their relationship. When she and Duncan first began dating, he seemed to be exactly what she desired. He’d faked tenderness and love, and she’d soaked it up like a dry sponge. She knew he could help provide a better future fer her bairn, and he’d promised he would—until shortly after the vows were said.
Ugh, how many times was she going to replay this scenario in her mind? What was done was done and best forgotten, as her mother used to say.
Up ahead was an enormous outcropping of large rocks, topped by a huge, flat boulder. She tentatively stepped on the edge of it, checking its security since it did lean a tad. Tumbling down the side of the mountain in a flurry of stones and rocks was not on her afternoon agenda. Finding it secure, she stretched out on the boulder and checked her watch. It was twenty after one. No wonder her stomach had that hollow feeling.
The sun blazed hot and she slipped off her plaid shirt, tying the long sleeves at her waist. A couple beads of sweat trickled down the back of her tank top and between her breasts. She opened her bottle of water and took a few sips, her gaze taking in the vista before her. The glistening waters of Mathe Bay were practically right beneath her. A few sailboats and Jet Skis decorated the cove’s surface. Off to her right were the granite cliffs that held Matheson Lodge. Once she was through eating, she could sketch the bay and then the lodge, which was once a stone castle, sitting regally on the cliffs.
An osprey, referred to by some of the elders as a fish eagle, its wings spread wide in flight, soared overhead before dive-bombing fer its fishy prey. The osprey was a rare bird, thanks to poachers; she’d love to sketch it if it circled overhead again.
Mary Kate had made her a sandwich of sliced chicken, bacon, pickles, and mayo on her homemade wheat bread. She’d have to make a point of praising her efforts. Man, the young woman knew how to build a sandwich. Kenzie practically moaned with each bite. She set the orange next to the bottle of water.
God, it was a hot afternoon, even here in the shade of the mountains. No doubt a thunderstorm would blow in tonight. She set her half-eaten sandwich on the wrapper and untied her heavy hiking boots and yanked them off to wiggle her toes and give them some air.
Out of the corner of her eye, a small, furry paw reached for the wrapper holding her sandwich. She squealed, stretched to snatch it from the brazen red fox, and in the process kicked one of her shoes down the rocky slope. A leather boot falling against rocks made a disheartening-sounding echo in the quiet of the hills. The fox made another grab for her sandwich and she let him have it. But during its escape the fox kicked her orange, causing it to roll, and when she reached to snatch it, bloody hell if she didna kick her other boot off the side of the boulder.
Turning over onto her stomach, she inched forward on her elbows to see how far down the ravine her shoes had fallen. Damn, one of the blasted things was halfway down the cliff, and she couldna see the other one.
