“I am nay a fool. I intended to do so, as does my wolf.”
“Good. May the Highland Veil bless our endeavors.”
This particular match concerned Mairwen. Much was at stake. Not only the healing of the blessed weave by yet another pairing of fated mates, but also the survival of the Ninth Realm. As the joint rulers in their father’s stead, Mathison’s heirs were being led astray by the witch from their mother’s clan, and Mairwen suspected yet another source of evil was involved as well. There was much about his supposed sons that made little sense and did not balance with the energies. The Realm needed his wisdom to set things right.
The wolf chieftain stared at her, his blue-white eyes cutting and fierce. “Ye worry me, old one. What are ye not saying?”
“Yer heirs need yer help.”
“My heirs think I am dead, and any who might convince them otherwise canna see me. They think me a restless spirit cursed to wander the realm. Ye know that as well as I.”
“Once Calia loves ye, that will change. But…” Mairwen allowed herself a deep breath to fuel a heavy sigh. “Her allowing herself to love ye will be quite the challenge. Until she speaks the binding oath and means it, even if ye join physically, the union of yer souls will not properly meld, and the curse will not be broken. Ye must win her heart as well as her soul.”
Unblinking, his glare hardened, became icier. “Are ye telling me this is all for naught?”
“No. I am telling ye it will nay be easy and that ye must be patient. I know that is not yer strong suit, nor that of yer wolf’s.”
“We will do whatever needs to be done because Calia is ours.”
“That is the best news I have heard since accepting the challenge to find yer mate and break this curse.”
A soulful whine next to her ear forced Calia to instant wakefulness, but her coordination was questionable as she fumbled to untangle herself from the blankets and sheets. Poor Otto needed to pee, but not as badly as she needed a jolt of caffeine. As she stumbled her way into her worn slippers and pulled on her fuzzy robe, she tried to blink the crusty sleepiness from her eyes. Holy crap, she had slept hard. How could it be morning already?
“Come on, Otto,” she said through a jaw-cracking yawn. But just as she was about to open the bedroom door, she remembered her houseguest, who might or might not still be on the blanket in the living room. Latching onto Otto’s harness, she held him back as she slowly opened the door. “Now, we’re going to be nice and friendly, right?”
Otto growled.
“No,” she gently chided. “Growling is not friendly. Be nice. Stop acting like you’re a person instead of a far wiser animal.” In Calia’s opinion, humanity was not ranked as high on the intelligence chain as they liked to think they were. People could learn a lot from animals.
Maintaining a firm hold so Otto couldn’t charge in and startle the large black dog, she eased into the living room, only to be disappointed. Wolf was gone, and the garden door that she’d left unlatched was pushed open. “Well, dang it. He left and didn’t even say goodbye.”
Otto yanked himself free, bolted outside, and hiked his leg on an ugly statue of a scowling gnome. Since the paint was already peeling off the homely thing, Calia didn’t scold him or try to encourage him toward a different target. At least he’d made it outside. A definite win in her book.
She stretched her arms high over her head, then shivered as her robe slipped open. Early spring in Scotland wasn’t nearly as balmy as this time of year in southern Tennessee. But she wouldn’t complain. She’d adapt. Instead of sleeping in a worn-out cotton shirt and panties, she’d dig out her winter jammies until things warmed up. After all, what was the point in making such a massive move for a fresh start if things weren’t different?
Otto explored the backyard as if he hadn’t already sniffed every blade of grass, pebble, and garden statue at least twice last night. Come to think of it, there were a lot of garden statues. Mairwen must’ve liked gnomes and concrete unicorns. The unicorns were cute in a clunky sort of way, but most of the gnomes looked like they had a case of indigestion. Especially the one Otto had peed on. For some reason, it looked even grumpier than it had before. Of course, she’d be grumpy too if the dog had watered her down.
Ready to get back inside and stoke the fire to knock off the chill of the day, she clapped her hands. “Come on, Otto. How about some breakfast? I need some coffee.”
He ignored her and continued his inspection of the backyard.
“I’m going in to make coffee. Stay close!” The crumbling stone fence should keep the dog somewhat contained. She headed back inside but left the door open so he could follow whenever he felt like it. Besides, as remote as this wonderful place was, it wasn’t as though he’d bother any neighbors if he wandered a bit. The chip in his harness would enable her to track him if he roamed too far afield.
After stirring the coals and coaxing the sticks of wood into a crackling fire, she squeezed by the stack of unpacked boxes and went into the kitchen. Last night, she’d fished out the coffeemaker and a few other kitchen essentials from one of the packing crates, because she knew this morning caffeine would be a must. Soon, the mouth-watering aroma of brewing coffee filled the air. Just as she was pouring a cup, someone knocked on the front door.
“Seriously?” Mild irritation flared through her. The real estate agent had promised that this place was so remote that Calia could go months without seeing another soul if she so desired. She went to the door and made a mental note to order one of those easy-to-install doorbells that did double duty as a camera. Opening it a crack, she found herself staring at a broad, muscular chest clad in a black shirt that strained to cover it. Her old FBI instincts kicked in, and her fingers itched for the reassurance of the pistol she’d worn strapped under her arm for years until she resigned to take care of Gillian. But sadly, she’d given up all her firearms when she’d moved to Scotland.
With her body wedged against the door to keep it from being shoved open, she lifted her gaze to the face belonging to the chest and almost forgot how to breathe. Those eyes. Icy blues, just like the stray dog from yesterday. Framed in a weathered, perfectly sculpted face that was entirely too handsome for her to process before coffee. His long, dark hair was pulled back from his face and streaked with the sexiest amount of silver. His neatly trimmed, salt-and-pepper beard set off his look to perfection. The term animal magnetism came to mind because there was just something about this guy that stirred feelings she hadn’t felt in a very long while. An impossible-to-ignore need to get to know him filled her, and she didn’t have any idea why. She wasn’t prone to immediate drooling when it came to attractive men. She had better sense than that. But this guy? Uhm…wow.
And here she stood in her ratty robe and hadn’t even run her hands through her hair to straighten it. Her delayed common sense finally kicked in. What did her appearance matter? She wasn’t looking for a connection to anyone other than herself. That thought bolstered her enough to give her the detached sense of self-confidence she needed.
“Can I help you?” she asked with the forcefulness of a bouncer about to oust someone from the club.
He backed up a step and offered the sort of formal bow she’d only seen in historical movies. “Forgive the intrusion, mistress. I am Mathison Shadowmist. Mairwen sent me. She said ye’d be needing a man to tend to things on yer land.”
“Tend to things on my land?” He knew Mairwen, so he might be legit, and he was painfully polite. Still, she ignored the ridiculous urge to throw the door open wide and welcome him inside. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t understand. I can take care of most any repairs. Is there something specific she thought I might want you to fix?”
The way he looked at her and cocked his head to one side seemed so familiar, but for the life of her, she didn’t know why. He bowed again. “The garden dyke. Barn roof. Yer pond needs attention as well, what with the spring rains coming and all. That wee burn will become a raging river if we dinna address it.”
