My Seductive Highlander (4 page)

Vivienne hugged her again then sadly turned away. “We'll be here for ye, ducks. We'll no' let ye face this alone. Will we, Berti?”

“Absolutely not.” Alberti strode across the room, took hold of her shoulders, and steered her toward the door of the private washroom at the back of her office. “Now come. Let's see if we can do something about that hair before our meeting. We can't have the zoning committee thinking they're dealing with Rapunzel, now, can we?”

“God, I love Fringe. It fills the city with such energy.” Vivienne swept her way into a street dancer's arms, whirling and dancing across the cobbled street with him, her dark cape swirling out behind her.

“She's going to break her neck in those boots.” Lilia looped her arm through Alberti's as they hurried across the crowded avenue. All traffic was blocked from this part of the city. Edinburgh Fringe Festival was twenty-five days devoted to the arts. The world's largest art festival, held every August, Fringe welcomed the world to Scotland, and Edinburgh gladly dedicated its streets and venues to it.

Alberti straightened his own cape at the throat and nodded. “Perhaps I should've had the cobbler go with three-inch heels rather than four. Her swordplay was a bit off this evening. The heels quite possibly threw her balance.”

The Highland LARPers had graciously invited Alberti, Vivienne, and Lilia into the ring to join their show—after all, Lilia currently held the title of Grand Champion when it came to medieval swordsmanship. Lilia exhaled with a smile. The evening had been freaking phenomenal.

She squeezed Alberti's arm and watched Vivienne completely mesmerize the street dancer with her moves. “You definitely got the leather corset just right. Shamus didn't stand a chance against Vivienne's boobs. She disarmed him in the first round. I don't think he knew what hit him.”

Lilia smoothed a hand down her own tight-fitting leather armor. Thank goodness Alberti had designed her costume a bit more on the conservative side and along the lines of a female Viking warrior. Lilia snorted as she flipped her long braid back over one shoulder. He'd said her long blonde hair had inspired him.

“One must always accentuate the subject's best traits.” Alberti grinned, his chest puffing out a bit farther in his own black leather suit fashioned after the armor he'd seen the character Loki wearing in an action-adventure movie. Tall and lean, Alberti was well muscled but he was no broad-shouldered Viking god.

Lilia nudged Alberti with her hip as they meandered down the sidewalk. “Your outfit definitely caught Randolph's eye and I saw you checking him out too. You better be careful. You know how jealous Thomas can be.”

“Thomas knows I'm true to him.” Alberti waved Vivienne over. She'd discarded her street dancer and was standing on tiptoe, moving in a slow circle searching for them. He pulled Lilia out of the path of several exuberant drunks and held open the door to the pub. “He also knows I'll never stop admiring other men until the day I die. My heart may be bound to him but I've not been struck blind.”

“Is this the best or what?” Vivienne jostled her way over to them and they squeezed into the crowded pub.

Lilia nodded. She pulled Vivienne forward, sandwiching her between herself and Alberti as they climbed the dark narrow steps up to their usual gallery table overlooking the main room of the pub.

Frank, the owner of the pub, was totally besotted with Vivienne's plentiful curves and would do anything to catch her heart. Vivienne exploited this infatuation to the fullest but Lilia couldn't really condemn her for it. She'd also overheard Vivienne explaining quite clearly to Frank that she'd never be his, especially since he'd just married his fourth wife. Vivienne might toy with poor Frank to benefit herself but at least she was honest about it.

Lilia slid into the chair in the corner, propping her thigh-high boot on the lowest rung of the railing hemming in the gallery. This was a good spot. It was dark so she didn't have to overly socialize and her back was against the wall.

“I'll go down and get the drinks. As busy as they are tonight, Rabbie will never make it up here.” Alberti unbuttoned the cape at his throat and draped it across his chair. He pointed to Vivienne. “Vodka?”

“Aye.” Vivienne bobbed her head, bouncing in her seat in time with the thumping beat of the music blaring up from downstairs.

“Lilia?” Alberti turned to her.

“Sparkling water with lemon.”

“Lilia.” Alberti said her name in the chiding tone of a mother scolding a child.

“I don't need alcohol tonight.” Lilia cleared her throat and sat straighter in the chair. “It's been a rough week with Eliza and the alcohol makes me weaker against the darkness—and there's a lot of darkness vibrating through this many people.”

Alberti's mouth tightened and he agreed with a quick nod. “Very well then. I'll be right back.”

Dammit, I hate being the downer.
Lilia swallowed hard and sucked in a deep breath. “I'm sorry,” she directed at Vivienne.

Vivienne draped an arm across her shoulders and squeezed. “Dinna fret, lovie. Ye ken we love ye no matter what. We'll all get ye through this. Just ye wait and see.”

Lilia pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “Don't make me cry. Come on, Viv. Tell me something that'll make me laugh.”

“I dinna ken if it will make ye laugh but ye've got to look at this pair what just walked into the pub.” Vivienne pulled Lilia closer to the railing and pointed down toward the door. “Now
those
are some authentic Highland warrior costumes. Wait 'til Alberti sees them. He'll be ogling the big one for sure.” Vivienne propped her chin atop her hand balanced on the railing. “Alberti can have the big one. I believe I'd rather have a ride on the short, stocky lad. He walks as though he's got quite the prize hangin' 'neath his kilt.”

Lilia snorted out a laugh. Thank goodness for Vivienne and her ability to chase away the blues. She scooted her chair closer to the railing and searched the room below. There they were. A strange sense of déjà vu tingled across her flesh. She knew those colors. She'd seen them many times while talking to Granny and her sisters through the fire portal. That pattern decorated the walls of MacKenna Keep. The men wore the MacKenna clan tartan.

Both men slowly worked their way across the room to the crowded bar. Vivienne was right. The short, stocky guy walked with an unusual swaying gait. His
don't make me kick yer ass
attitude triggered a smile. The man reminded Lilia of a barrel-chested bulldog marching guard around his favorite bone.

But it was the other man who piqued her interest even more. A full head and shoulders taller than most in the room, he held himself as though ready for an attack at any moment. “He must be a bodybuilder or a bouncer or something. Check out the man bun holding back his hair, and damn…get a load of those arms.” Lilia pointed at him, leaning forward to keep him pinpointed in the crowd while he made his way through the pub. “Call me crazy but there's just something sexy about a long-haired man with a close-cropped beard.”

“I wonder how old he is?” Vivienne scooted closer. “His hair's as dark as the devil's thoughts but his beard's got some silver peeking through it.” Then she made a sound that could only be described as a predatory purr. “But that body of his is nothin' but top-shelf prime. A most decidedly delicious hunk of well-aged beef, if I do say so m'self.”

Alberti reappeared with the tray of drinks and slid them to the table. “Here we are, ladies. And what are we gawking at?”

“The short one's mine.” Vivienne pointed over the railing to the pair of men below.

Alberti stretched, gazed down into the room, then thoughtfully pursed his lips. “Hmm…a bit wooly around the edges, wouldn't you say? But my goodness, they do look authentic.” He moved closer to the railing, sipping his drink as he peered closer at the men. “And look at their weaponry. We must go down and speak with them. I must know their supplier.”

A shout rose up from the crowd below, followed by a loud banging against the bar.

“Oh shit. Frank's gone and got out his bat.” Vivienne stood and bent over the railing, scowling down at the crowd below. “It's our two lucky pennies. If we're to find out where they bought their gear, we best get down there and save them from Frank.”

A cold sweat peppered across Lilia. Heart hammering and struggling to breathe, she slumped back in the chair and closed her eyes.
No. Not now. Don't give me a vision now.
Unfortunately, the Fates didn't listen.

A dull roaring resembling the hollow growl of a gale force wind drowned out all other sound, spinning her into a smoke-filled darkness. Metal on metal clashed through the din. Pain—a hard impact against the center of her back—knocked the wind from her lungs. Strong hands gripped her arms, pulling her to her feet.
“Daren't ye die! I love ye. I swear to the gods I love ye and I'll ne'er let ye go.”
A hard muscled chest pressed against her cheek. A shaking, hesitant touch brushed along her jawline then gently stroked her hair.
“I beg ye. Ye must not die. I canna live without ye.”

Lilia struggled to see through the darkness. Why the hell wouldn't the vision show the face belonging to that voice—the deepest, richest baritone…no, not a baritone but a bass—a voice smoother and more sultry than any she'd ever heard.

Lilia pushed away from the chest, reaching up to touch the face she couldn't see. But then he was gone and she was falling, spiraling down into the bottomless darkness.

“Lilia!” Vivienne shook her hard, her pert little nose nearly touching hers. “Lilia, talk t'me this verra instant or I'm having Frank ring for the ambulance.”

Lilia pushed herself up in the chair, blinking away the last of the vision. “I'm fine. Fine…I just had a dizzy spell. That's all.” Alberti and Vivienne were well aware of her time-runner ancestry and the empathic and aura-reading abilities that came to her as part of the package. But she'd never told them about the visions. She never spoke to anyone about the curse of those damn visions.

“Come on. We must go. Alberti's using his gift of diplomacy to cool Frank's temper but we'd best go and help. This situation could verra well require the use of cleavage.” Vivienne pulled Lilia to her feet, then stood with both hands extended as though ready to catch her if she teetered off balance. “Are we good then, lovie?”

Lilia took in a deep breath and nodded.
No. I'm not good but I can sure as hell fake it.
“All good. Let's go.” She waved Vivienne toward the narrow stairs.

They scurried down the steps, worming their way through the throng of bodies milling about the room. Lilia pushed her way ahead of Vivienne, homing in on Alberti's distinct droning on and on about the proper handling of customers and the utmost care one must always take to preserve one's image. If sorely pressed, Alberti was quite capable of physically defending himself. After all, he was a licensed trainer and a self-defense instructor in his off hours from their beauty company. But Alberti also loved being the center of attention and hearing himself talk. If given the choice, he much preferred besting his opponents with endless prattling and the slow excruciating death of boredom.

“The sons a bitches expected to pay wif false money. Look at those coins. Happens every year. The damned lot of ye what dress up and do yer little playactin' during Fringe think ye can dupe ole Frank wif yer fake money.” Frank bounced the bat atop the scarred railing of the bar with a loud threatening thump. “I ain't a havin' it, I tell ye. I ain't a bein' made the fool.”

“Our coin's no' false!” The short, stalky MacKenna Highlander bumped his chest forward, his meaty hands fisted and raised for the fight.

Vivienne slid her way in between Frank, Alberti, and the enraged object of her interest with a smile and a pat against the short man's puffed-out chest. “Leave this t'me, sweets.” She spun on her four-inch heels, bent forward slightly, and aimed the loosened ties of her gaping leather corset at Frank while holding out her hand. “Gimme the bat, dearie. We mustn't have folks thinkin' we're no' excited to have them visit us during Fringe.”

Lilia worked her away around to the side of the other man, the brawny tall specimen she'd admired from the gallery. He seemed much calmer than the shorter fellow. In fact, gauging him by the feelings he was projecting, he was amused by the entire situation. She leaned in close and raised her voice to be heard above the music, the crowd, and Frank. “I think we should ease our way outside. Vivienne knows how to handle Frank. Once he gets stirred up, no one can deal with him but her. Come on. There's another pub around the corner. My friends and I would love to find out more about your weapons. How about if we buy you and your friend a round of drinks?”

Deep gray eyes, darker than a stormy sky and oddly flecked with bits of fiery gold, turned to her. One burly brow notched a bit higher, directly parallel with the lifted corner of his lopsided moustached smile. The man backed up a step, allowing his gaze to sweep from the scuffed toes of her thigh-high boots up her curve-accentuating leather armor to the top of her braided hair. “Lookin' for weapons are ye? Why? Are ye in some sort of danger, lass?”

A shiver of recognition rippled through her.
That voice
. It was the voice from her vision. Lilia fluttered a hand to her throat and swallowed hard. “Uhm…” She struggled to kick her brain into gear and say something other than
uhm
. How the hell could she hold an intelligent conversation with the owner of the voice who'd only moments ago sworn he loved her and couldn't live without her?

The man leaned in closer, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners and amusement brightening his face. “Aye?” he prompted.