“Sit.” Mother Sinclair pointed at a short bench against the wall beside the stone hearth. “The both of you.”
Graham strode across the room and took his stance in front of the cold fireplace. “I shall stand, thank ye.” While it was true, he respected the women and looked upon them with no small amount of leeriness, he would be damned if he sat on a bench like a lad due a scolding. They had already named his sentence. Time to get on with the details of his fate.
Angus huffed out a disgustedharrumphthen obediently stomped over to the bench and plopped down. As soon as he sat, a golden-eyed, black cat hopped up beside him and sat glaring at him with an unblinking stare. The man edged to the end of the bench farthest from the cat, crossing his legs and turning away as though shielding his man parts from the creature’s piercing gaze.
Mother Sinclair chuckled. “Very good, Kismet. Keep an eye on Angus and make certain he pays attention.”
The tip of Kismet’s long sleek tail flipped faster.
A warm, heavy weight leaned hard against Graham’s leg. Without looking down, he leaned to the side and scratched behind the massive dog’s ears. At least he had one ally in the room. Lady Trulie’s hulking black beast of a dog, Karma, had taken up with him since the first moment he had arrived at MacKenna Keep. Of course, it was probably because the MacKenna’s five-year-old daughter, Chloe, had named him her favorite uncle. The dog worshiped the wee lass and considered her word law.
“Stay with me, lad,” he whispered down to the dog.
Karma thumped his heavy tail on the floor.
Mother Sinclair and Lady Trulie sat in the cushioned chairs pulled close to the hearth. The band around Graham’s chest loosened the barest bit as the MacKenna strode over to the waist-high cabinet filled with bottles, pitchers, and assorted cups and glasses. He wouldn’t mind a wee nip if the MacKenna was so inclined.
Gray promptly filled two pewter goblets with the deep ruby contents of one of the pitchers. He carried the glasses to the women then returned to the bar, filled three tankards from an amber bottle, and waved the men forward. “Come. I’ve whisky for ye both and the feeling ye’ll be a needing it.”
Angus beat Graham to the bar, snatched up one of the mugs then, after a fearful glance at Mother Sinclair, obediently returned to the bench.
Coward.Graham shook his head at Angus, then purposely sauntered across the room as though he had nary a care in the world. He would do as they bade him but he’d damn sure not sacrifice his backbone in the doing of it. He looped his hand through the handle of the tankard then strode back to his spot at the hearth.
“Sláinte.”Gray lifted his glass and nodded to each of the men.
“Sláinte,”Graham repeated as he lifted his glass first to Gray, then to the ladies before taking a deep draw. He welcomed the burn of the fiery liquid. It reminded him a great deal of when he had been a dragon and housed burning coals in his gullet. A bitter laugh snorted free as he stared down at his reflection in the bit of whisky left in his cup. At least he could say life had never been dull.
“I think you and Lilia are a wonderful match,” Lady Trulie said while turning to slide her goblet onto the small arm table between her and Mother Sinclair’s chair. “She is strong-willed just like you. I feel sure there will be sparks.”
Sparks? Hell’s fire, that was all he needed. Sinclair sparks could singe his arse.Graham finished his drink in one quick gulp, silently wishing there was more. He politely nodded. “And ye ken the lady will be agreeable to this match ye desire?”
“Probably not,” Mother Sinclair said. Her soft chuckling echoed in her cup as she took a long slow drink. Merriment gleamed in her eyes as she placed her glass beside Trulie’s. “Our Lilia is quite the hellcat. Stubborn. Opinionated. And if she thinks it, you can damn well bet she is going to say it.”
But then all mirth faded from her as she reached for Trulie’s hand. “But our strong stubborn lass in the future thinks allowing anyone to help her is a sign of weakness . . . of failure. Only a year ago, this isolation and selfish guarding of her insecurities nearly caused her to end her life.”
Lady Trulie patted Mother Sinclair’s hand then rose from her chair and moved closer to Graham. “We are sending you to the future not only to woo Lilia but to save her from herself. She needs to be loved whether she wishes it or not. She can’t survive in this world alone—no matter what century. As an empath, she isn’t always able to shield herself from the cruelties around her.” Trulie cleared her throat, then turned away but not before Graham noticed the moisture of unshed tears shining in her eyes.An empath? What the hell was an empath? Be the poor lass crippled?
Trulie sniffed and pressed the back of her hand against her mouth. Recovering quickly, she lifted her head and smoothed both hands down the folds of her skirt. She returned to her chair and sank into it, slowly blowing out a deep breath. “And even with the prophetic visions the Fates send her, Lilia does not realize she is in danger.”
“What is this danger she faces?” Graham placed his empty tankard on the shelf above the hearth. He could not stomach the thought of a helpless woman facing danger alone. Perhapsempathmeant the poor lass was under some sort of curse or being hunted down by demons. He understood the feelings of utter helplessness well. Curses did that to a soul. The very idea grated against his hide. Women were to be protected and cherished from such unpleasantness. “What danger?” he repeated.
“The danger of depression—of a dark hopelessness.” Mother Sinclair shook her head. “Lilia’s blessing from the Fates is also her curse. She is able to see future events—usually dire ones. Sometimes, she can save those she sees in the visions. Sometimes not. And when we say Lilia is an empath, we mean she feels the pain and suffering of the world more than most. She can stand inside a crowded room and feel what every individual in that room feels—be it sorrow or joy or anything in between—and she is not always able to shield herself from others’ emotions. Soon, she will be alone. The guardian I sent to watch over her is dying. Lilia must not be left alone. Alone, the darkness of despair could very well overpower her and send her to her end.”
Mother Sinclair rose, crossed the room, and thumped Graham on the chest. “But if she is properly wooed and married—the greatest energy of all would help keep her from that darkness.”
Graham clasped his hands to the small of his back, fighting the urge to fidget beneath the intensity of the old woman’s gaze. “What energy do ye speak of? I have no magic, nor powers to keep the woman safe. I can only protect her with my sword—and would consider it an honor to do so.”
He would gladly do that if that was what they wished. He sorely regretted endangering the clan with his behavior. They had welcomed him in and named him as one of their own when he’d declined to return to Draegonmare Keep with his beloved friend, Ronan, and his new wife, Mairi—another of the Lady Trulie’s sisters.
The thought of returning to Loch Ness, the land he had been anchored to for so verra long, had rankled his soul. So, the MacKennas had adopted him and bid him stay as long as he liked. His gaze dropped and his heart sank to his gut. He was keenly aware of all that the MacKennas had done for him. And look how he had repaid that kindness.
Mother Sinclair moved forward and rested her bony fingers on his arm, her touch gentler this time. She leaned in close and smiled. “You can protect her with the greatest energy of all. You can protect her with your love and understanding.”
He sucked in a deep breath, uncertainty threatening to squeeze the air right back out. Love? Surely, she jested.He was not capable of love. He’d hardened his heart against that fickle emotion whilst he was cursed. After all, ’twas the foolishness of enchanted love that had drawn him to the beauty of the vile witch who had damned him into the form of the dragon. “I will give her my honor and protection. I can guarantee no more than that.”
Mother Sinclair wrinkled her nose, resettling her wire-rimmed spectacles a bit higher. Her sparse gray brows knotted in a disapproving frown. “You have one full month.” She held up a slightly bent finger, knotted and twisted with age. “Just one full cycle of the moon to win Lilia’s heart and convince her to be your wife. The Fates aren’t the patient sort—especially since we are blatantly tinkering with their web by attempting to permanently relocate you to the future. They will not permit you an extended stay in a time other than your own without a proper anchor to keep your heart and soul grounded. If at the end of that month, you and Lilia aren’t as one, your happy ass will be yanked right back here to the past—and to the Buchanans.”
Mother Sinclair spoke as though that were a bad thing. Surely, after a month in the future, the Buchanan Clan’s ire would have cooled enough for him to safely return to his life in the thirteenth century. He felt more settled, calmer with the certainty of it. Aye, he would be back here in no time at all. All would be well.
