“Mr. de Gaelson? I believe you wanted to see me? I am Hannah MacPherson.” She stuck out her hand as though daring him to take it.
He closed his hand around hers and held it, meeting her green-eyed glare without flinching. “Please, call me Taggart.”
“What can I do for you, Taggart?” She clipped the words and pulled her hand back, rubbing her fingers as though his touch disturbed her. After a hard look at Millie, she allowed her focus to sidle back to him. Poor Millie. Hannah blamed her for his presence.
He held back a smile. This would not be easy. Defensive wariness shouted from her. Good. She should be ill at ease. It would lengthen her lifespan and make protecting that much easier. Of course, that would also make getting close and winning her trust more of a challenge. He tipped his head toward the table while waving down the wide-eyed waitress. “Would ye like some coffee while we talk?”
“No, thank you.” A shake of her head sent poor Millie scuttling back behind the counter. “I don’t mean to sound rude, Mr. de Gaelson?—”
“Taggart, Ms. MacPherson. Please. Call me Taggart, aye?” He cleared his throat. Merlin’s teeth and hell’s bane; she was a stubborn one. Lucky for her, they were on this side of the threshold. If they had been in Erastaed, he would have sifted them to a quiet place and spelled her lips shut and so she would have no choice but to listen.She needed to understand her need for protection. And her destiny. ’Twas time to face it.
She pulled off her hat and ran a hand through her tangled curls, grimacing as the snarls caught on her fingers. “Forgive me for seeming rude, but I have a lot going on today. Can we get on with it?”
He swallowed the rumbling growl simmering behind his clenched teeth. Protector or not, he had endured almost all he could stand. Scotland was not a short distance from here, especially when traveling by uncomfortable, archaic means. He was in no mood to put up with a surly, hardheaded woman who did not value her worth. His weary gaze wandered from her stormy eyes to her disheveled curls; and gads, if his fingers didn’t itch to touch the silk of those golden tangles. He pinched the bridge of his nose. What the bloody hell was wrong with him? It must be the weariness making him daft. Mortals always muttered about planes causing inescapable tiredness. Perhaps they caused foolhardiness as well.
He eased in a deep breath, reminding himself he had not come this far to fail. “Did ye receive several certified packets from Scotland? All bore the legal seal of de Gaelson, Branwen, and Septamus.”
Her brow puckered, then her eyes went wide. “I paid for the obelisk. Everything came through customs without a hitch. Do I still owe some sort of duty or extra taxes to Scotland? Is that what this is about?”
Millie came over and refilled Taggart’s cup, then sidled closer to Hannah. “Are you okay?”
Hannah shrugged and turned aside, hiding her whispers behind her hand. “Not sure,” she whispered loud enough to be easily overheard. “Must be a problem with Jake’s headstone. I thought I filed all the paperwork proper. You remember those packets I’ve been ignoring?” She cringed. “Apparently, I shouldn’t have.”
She straightened in her chair and offered him a smile. “Is that what those packets are about?” With an apologetic dip of her head, she offered a hesitant smile. “To be honest, I never opened them. Just tossed them in a box to sort through later. I’ve been really busy.”
“Who is this Jake person?” he asked. Her aura immediatelydarkened with grief, making regret jab him. So the man was the source of her pain. The very mention of his name plunged her into darkness.
“My husband. Killed in a war. Are you here about the headstone or not?” She nervously wet her lips and inhaled a slow, shaking breath while twisting her ball cap.
“No, lass. Not the headstone.” He scrubbed his face with both hands. The oracle should have provided him with this information. No wonder she ignored all the missives. It would not be easy to convince her to leave this place. “If ye had taken the time to read the letters, ye would discover ye have inherited a fine estate in the Highlands of Scotland. It should please ye to know ye not only own one small stone, but actually an entire castle and quite an expanse of land. The name of yer estate is Taroc Na Mor, and it waits for ye to lay claim to it.”
She stared at him as though he had just sprouted a set of golden horns. Her ragged ball cap fell to the floor.
He eyed her, ready to jump and catch her. If the lass didn’t take a breath soon, she would faint and fall from her chair.
After the span of several mortal heartbeats, her jaw hardened as she leaned forward. “Impossible. You have the wrong person. I’m sorry.”
He nodded at the door. “Get the papers from yer wee box if ye dinna believe me. They will prove it.”
“I have no relatives in Scotland. Never been there, in fact. Why would anyone leave me a castle?” She retrieved her hat and placed it on the table.
“Get the papers if ye dinna believe me.” He folded his arms across his chest and tried not to appear too triumphant. He was too tired to argue and needed to win her trust. But he had to admit, provoking her was a temptation. He relished a good battle. He also loved the way her green eyes snapped when she thought she was right. This rare woman’s fire warmed his blood more than he dared admit.
“Fine.” She rose and gave him a curt nod. “Wait right here.”
He allowed himself the pleasure of a victorious grin while admiring how well her jeans fit the curve of her hips as she stormedaway. “Dinna worry, lass. There is nay a power in either of our worlds that could tear me away from ye.”
Hannah unlockedher office and tossed the keys onto the countertop that divided the waiting area from the first set of exam rooms. “Sophie, I know you’re not in your kennel. I heard you scurrying around when I unlocked the door. Come on out. You’re not in trouble.”
A long-nosed dog of questionable breed wiggled around the corner with its skinny tail tucked between its legs and its pointy ears sagging.
“Come on, sweet girl. You’re not in trouble.” She squatted and opened her arms wide, welcoming Sophie’s wet kisses. “I love you too even if you are an escape artist.” She stood and settled the bouncing canine with a hand signal. “Help me find the mail I never open. I don’t remember what I did with it. Do you remember where I put that box?”
The dog barked and spun away, her toenails clicking on the gleaming tiles as she trotted down the hallway.
“I really need to trim your toenails.” Hannah followed thetick, tick,ticking.
Sophie gave an excited yip and halted in front of a storage closet with her long, narrow nose pointing at the black steel door.
