Sisters of Colford Hall 01 - The Invasion of Falgannon Isle (26 page)

“Oh aye, the Sword of The Mershan pleases me.”

Chapter 23

“Harrods is supposed to have
everything
.” Desmond’s words sounded like a threat.

Strolling up, Julian assessed his boss’s mood. Sacks and boxes were piled everywhere. Turning, he arched a brow at the Mershan twins. “He trying to buy out the store?”

“Good you came.” Jago stopped trying to sort out all the parcels. “We’ll need the Rover to load this stuff. With the cat carrier in the limo—”

Trevelyn chuckled at Julian’s scowl. “Don’t ask.”

Desmond was hounding the poor clerk: “Isn’t that what you advertise?”

At a loss for words, she made helpless circles in the air. “Cowboy chaps aren’t in high demand in Britain, and I’m not sure what a ten-gallon hat is, sir. We’re metric.”

“Don’t forget the spurs that go jingle-jangle-jingle,” Desmond reminded with a glare.

“Of course, sir. How could I forget?”

Julian eyed Desmond, clearly not believing his ears. “He’s gone cowboy?”

“Gifts for a Willie the Writer.” Jago gestured to the dozens of boxes, some already wrapped with Christmas paper and bows. “He’s shopping for the whole bloody island.”

Julian took out a stick of gum, and put it in his mouth. He kept his words low so they didn’t reach Desmond or Trev. “And he still thinks he’s going to destroy Falgannon?”

“He’s in denial, not even thinking. Grief will hit him like a sledgehammer. Once he gets past that, he’ll have to face the problem of B.A. Montgomerie and her island.”

Julian suggested loudly, “Let’s pack up the shopaholic and send him back to B.A. She’s what he needs.”

Trevelyn turned around and gawked. “The Pod People get you?”

Julian met his level stare. “B.A.‘s one hell of a woman, and he’s in love with her.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in love,” Trevelyn scoffed.

“Desmond didn’t. Jago didn’t.
You
didn’t.” Julian shook his head. “Tell me you don’t believe in it now.”

“Where’s the manager?” Desmond glared at the poor clerk, who backed up.

“Des, stop harassing the poor lady.” Julian shoved a package into his boss’s hands. “You forget the magic of the Internet. Gather the part of the store you now own and we’ll head to the hotel. We’ll get Google the best set of chaps and boots we can find.”

“Please!” Jago gathered several stacks. “I thought he’d never get out of the woman’s lingerie department. He bought five of everything.”

“Thought
we
wouldn’t get out of the lingerie department.” Trevelyn shuddered. “The women were circling like we had price tags on us. Shopping is a form of torture!”

Julian laughed. “You didn’t enjoy the fellowship?”

“Bah-humbug.” Trevelyn threatened, “If I hear another Christmas carol, I’ll puke.”

Julian lowly began to sing “Christmas, Christmas time is near, time for toys and time for cheer…”

Desmond glanced at the kitten chasing its tail on the king-size bed. Watching her brought a peace to him. He tossed her the cap off his pen, and she delighted in pouncing on it. In the chair next to him, Julian surfed the Net, buying lizard-skin cowboy boots, spurs and a felt cowboy hat.

“What’s with the ‘head ‘em up, move ‘em out’ routine?” Trevelyn shifted dinner plates from a tray to the table.

“The cowboy is done. What’s next, Santa?” Julian asked.

Desmond stretched, then yawned.“A motorbike for a kid—something for on-road and off. Have it shipped to Falgannon. Tomorrow order another Rover—dark blue or green—and see it’s ready for me to drive as soon as possible.”

“Ho ho ho, your wish is my Google.” Julian clicked the mouse.

“Who’s the bike for?” Jago poured a whiskey-and-water and sat it before his brother. Desmond tapped his fingers at Jago’s mother hen routine, but accepted the drink and took a sip.

“A juvenile delinquent who needs to be locked up.”

Jago laughed, shaking his head. “A new bike will punish him.”

“Actually, it’s to keep my sanity. If I have to listen to Wee Dougie’s
putt-putt-putting
much more, I’m apt to toss the lad and that sewing machine engine into the
cuan
.”

Jago laughed, “Our brother dear has acquired a bit of a burr.”

“Desmond, here’s one: 125cc Enduro style motorbike delivered to your door.” Julian spun the laptop around to show the picture.

“Perfect. Also, order a helmet—something that doesn’t look like a virtual reality helmet.”

Julian chuckled. “I’m not asking.”

Desmond reached for the bottle of scotch only to have Jago snatch it from him.

“No more until you eat. You look like hell, Des.”

“I feel like hell. Will all this stuff fit into a Rover?”

Julian stopped clicking keys. “Two people, a cat and half of Harrods? Sure.”

“Two people?”

“Jago goes back to Kentucky, while Trevelyn returns to Colford,” Julian said. “He’ll be nearby so he can handle things for a few days. So, guess who’s elected to see you get to Falgannon in one piece?”

“We might have a problem. Asha’s talking about coming to England for Christmas.” Jago let that sink in. “Problems will arise if Trevelyn and I both are invited to Colford.”

Trevelyn paced to the window, his face drawn. “I’ve already been.”

“Is Asha serious?” Picking up a knife and fork, Desmond started eating.

“Maybe. She’s furious at Daddy Dearest for selling the horse farm.” Jago looked glum.

“Sweep her away to Hawaii for Christmas,” Desmond suggested.

Jago shook his head. “She’s not the Hawaii type.”

Trevelyn crossed his arms and then raised a hand to run his thumb across his lower lip. “If we put our plan into action, then if Jago and I were in the same room, I wouldn’t have to exclaim ‘What ho, my long-lost twin the gypsies stole!’”

“Trev, you’re daft.” Jago slammed his glass down on the tabletop, showing his first display of emotion through the whole ordeal. “You’re silly buggers if you think Raven or Asha will ask either of us anywhere after all this comes down.”

Desmond lost his appetite. Placing his silverware on the plate, then put his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. He was bloody tired. “Let’s put the timetable to a vote.”

Julian poured a glass of ice water, eyeing them. “Vote on
this
issue first—anyone not in love with a Montgomerie sister raise his hand.”

Julian sat down and held up his, then looked around the room.

Ringing shattered the night’s stillness. Grumbling because Jock hadn’t put a phone jack in the bedroom yet, B.A. dislodged Dudley and rushed downstairs.

“Sorry to call so late, B.A.”

Not Desmond. “Cian. I was just watching the rain on the skylight. Everyone all right?”

“They’re fine. I’m just disconcerted with trends on ME stock.”

She laughed. “You picked the wrong shoulder to cry on, wee Cian.”

“You call me that because you’re at the other end of Britain,” he growled, then sighed. “B.A., something’s hinky. Sean destroyed boxes of documents, which sets off warning bells to me.”

“Doesn’t matter.” B.A. sat on the leather sofa, Dudley crawling into her lap. “I’m going to marry Desmond.”

Her brother cleared his throat nervously. “I also did some digging on Mershan International. They keep a low profile. Your Desmond designs skyscrapers with big price tags. He was in the running to rebuild the Twin Towers in New York, but abruptly pulled out. Rumors are he’s pooled his resources for a big project.”

She teased dryly, “Cian, you know Des isn’t a conman, so why this late night call?”

“Someone’s buying up ME stock left and right. People were approached off market, asking if they’d sell. I’m guessing they have about thirty-four percent of the stock. Someone’s positioning for a hostile takeover.”

“The family retains fifty-one percent of the stock. So?”

“I learned who’s behind the offer on Valinor. Trident Ventures. They deal with petroleum speculation. What would a petroleum firm want with a horse farm in Kentucky?”

“Maybe they want to get into horseracing—a tax write-off.”

“The tax laws were tightened. It’s why Dad wants out.” Cian paused. “I really dislike Mershan showing up. Maybe it’s coincidence, but I don’t believe in them. If you do, you’re apt to get bitten in the arse.”

B.A. joked, “Des has permission to bite my arse anytime he takes a mind.”

Cian conceded, “You sound happy.”

“I love Desmond. Nothing else matters.”

“Please, B.A. Change your mind. Bring Desmond for Christmas. Let the family meet him.”

“Sorry. Our first Christmas will be on Falgannon.”

He sighed. “All right. It’s been a long time since you sounded happy. Night, B.A.”

“Night, Cian.” B.A. hung up the phone and patted Dudley. “Race you back to bed.”

Desmond stood in the darkened hotel room, staring at London’s stormy skyline, the phone ringing in his ear, and mentally kicking himself for calling B.A. at three in the morning. Knowing how she pushed herself, he hoped she’d eaten. He should hang up and let her rest. But he couldn’t. He needed to hear her voice. “Cian, go to bed,” came her sleepy words.

“If I didn’t know Cian was your brother, I might be jealous.”

“Des?”

“Forgotten me so soon, B.A.?”

She laughed. “I have, but The Cat Dudley hasn’t. He wants to ken when you’re coming home.”

Coming home.
Her voice poured through him like liquid heat. He’d been a month without her. What he wouldn’t give to hold her now, to smell the haunting fragrance of pink peonies. “Soon.”

“Can’t be soon enough for Dudley… or me.” She said, “I miss you. I’d say the whole island misses you, but this is the lads’ long weekend in Ullapool.”

“I’ve missed the lads, the silly cat… you.” Desmond brought his hand up, seeing his reflection in the glass. He touched his fingertips to the mirrored image, feeling like he was touching not the reflection of his hand, but B.A.‘s.

He still experienced visions, but no longer doubted they were memories from lain Sinclair. He’d never believed in curses, kitties that played poker or love, but B.A. had taught him all these things. Regardless how it might go against logic, he felt the hand of destiny upon his life.

All that had come before merely led him to B.A. From the day he locked eyes with her in an ancient Norman kirk, to when compulsion pushed him years ago to clip her photo from that magazine and cany it in his wallet.

To have B.A. in his life required breaking a promise to his mother, one made hundreds of times as a child and repeated in the hospital by her deathbed as her frail hand grasped his, her eyes beseeching. If he lost B.A. over fulfilling that vow, it’d kill something inside him. Forsaking the oath he gave to his mother would see him die, too.

“Des, are you all right?” Perceptive B.A. Even distance didn’t lessen her fae quality, the connection between them.

Leaning back, he shut his eyelids. Fought tears. He wasn’t all right. And he had no idea how to set things straight. He wanted B.A., needed her with an unfathomable ache. At the same time, he couldn’t shut out images of his mother, her pleas to make the Montgomeries pay.

“I’m not sleeping well,” he said.

“Come
home,
Des.”

Home. Home and B.A. “Soon. I’m going to get a few hours’ sleep. Night, B.A.”

“Night, Des. I—”

He hung up, cutting her off, fearful she was going to say she loved him. As much as he craved to hear the words, he knew he couldn’t accept them without saying them back. Right now, that would be a knife in his heart.

He remained staring out into the rain-soaked landscape for a long time.

Chapter 24

“Eh, B.A., I think you missed putting garland on The Escape Artists,” Ian teased as he watched the foxhounds race by the storefront.

Balanced atop a rickety stepladder, B.A. stuck out her tongue. Tacking garland around the door to the back room, she yanked on the strand, but it was snagged. Again. Turning, she frowned.

“Kitty, dunna shred that. You want everything special for Desmond, eh?”

At the name, Dudley dropped the garland and ran to the bay window. Crawling up into the display, he pressed his nose to the glass, peering intently down the hill to the harbor. Poor thing seemed convinced Desmond would show up soon.

B.A. sighed, hoping he was right.

“Tree’s up, B.A.” Ian held it upright while Brian fixed the base.

“Thanks, I appreciate you sorting it out for me.”

Brian grinned. “Hope our Desmond likes decorating trees. Plenty waiting.” Both pubs, the store, Rose Cottage, Lady Cottage and the town hall…

“Okay, I can take the hint. I plan to enjoy this holiday season, to celebrate every one of the twelve days of Christmas.” She glanced about the store, now decked with fancy garland. Her lads deemed her tinsel-mad, but she didn’t mind.

A blast from the ferry horn announced its arrival. She leaned to see past the rack of Walkers’ crisps to the dock. Nearly dark, she observed little more than lights, but the pattern was different. The glass was starting to fog up around the edges, so it was hard to tell, but she thought a pair of headlights on high beam shone off the ferry’s rear.

A ruckus arose as the door to The Hanged Man flew open and the “Morn, B.A.” Club piled out. Within seconds, The Escape Artists dashed up, barking and chasing the old men. Naturally, Wee Dougie puttered up on his scooter, hoping to make everyone feel more alive.

B.A. laughed. Looking out the window, Dudley vibrated like a tuning fork. How
dare
the islanders do anything without him being smack in the middle!

“Hasn’t been such a brouhaha since our Vikings invaded.” Ian followed Brian to the door.

Dudley darted out as Wee Gordie flew in, crashing into the counter. “Did you see, B.A.? The isle has another Rover. It’s loaded with stuff. Did you order it, B.A.? What are all the boxes for? Did you buy me a present?”

Car lights came up the steep hill and stopped before the store. The islanders crowded around a dark sedan. B.A.‘s heart flipped and she nearly fell from the ladder as the crowd parted and she spotted the black-haired man.

With Dudley leading, the man came through the door, The Escape Artists circling his legs. Surprisingly, he didn’t trip. He hesitated, shot a fleeting look at the new jars of sweets, then glanced upward to see if any dangerous objects were suspended overhead. His eyes locked with hers and the world shifted on its axis. His virile perfection stirred B.A. as no man had, no man ever would.

She descended the wobbly ladder as he strode to the counter with a panther’s grace and bent to set his leather duffle on the floor. Dizziness buzzed in her blood as she girded herself to face him for the first time in over a month. Would he feel the same? Would their passion burn as bright?

Then he raised up, meeting her stare… and everything stilled.

His eyes, those pale green warlock eyes, were capable of freezing with the arch of a brow or of burning her with a lover’s passion. Lifting her chin, B.A. fought a frisson as their gazes locked. Pestered by the moggie on the countertop, Des ran his hand along Dudley’s spine. The gesture triggered vivid memories of that hand upon B.A.‘s body stroking with the same sensual magic. She was right. He was a bloody warlock.
Her
warlock!

The Cat Dudley arched under his hand for maximum contact, turned and head-butted his arm for more pets. Desmond’s gaze narrowed on her, shocking B.A. with its heat. They slowly raked over her face, the dark gold hair fanning about her shoulders, down to her breasts and then lower—a path of scorching fire that traveled back up to lock stares with her. His appraisal finished, he watched her, knowing things about her, secrets they’d shared, things he
dared
her to forget. The well-formed lips parted. Arrogant man.

Eyes dancing, he said, “I’m looking for B.A. Montgomerie, Lady of the Isle.”

Her traitorous body roared to life. Breasts heavy, tips sensitive, without glancing down she knew the thin silk of her red blouse outlined the crowns of her nipples. The bloody man had that effect upon her! And the external reaction was nothing compared to her rampant emotions.

She lifted her chin. “What might you be wishing with B.A. Montgomerie?”

Gently pushing away the persistent cat, he smiled. “We’ve business. I presume you’re expecting me?”

“You need written permission to land,” she challenged.

“I don’t need it. Ask Dudley. I own a third of the isle.”

“So you say.”

“You haven’t investigated that?” he asked in surprise.

“I’ve been… busy.” She shrugged, then gestured. “Decorating.”

His eyes took in the naked tree in the corner, the garland framing the windows, and the strand halfway around the door, half on the floor. “I see. With Dudley helping.”

“I’ll check… one of these days.”

“B.A.,” he rumbled. “Shut up and come here.”

“Gone a month and thinks he can come in here—”

B.A. squealed as he hopped on the counter and swiveled his hips, his feet coming down on the other side. Dudley sprang, joining in the new game. Grabbing her waist, Desspun her into the store office and deftly kicked the door shut, blocking out all the nosy islanders peering through the windows.

Her nagging doubts faded as he pinned her against the door. The distinct scent belonging to Desmond made her light-headed. Closing her eyes, she relished the weight of his lean, hard body—sensory overload after a month without him. He lowered his head to kiss her slowly, gently, thoroughly, her body burning with his fire.

Breaking off, he complained, “Your cat is biting me.”

She glanced at Dudley gnawing on his ankle. “The wee beastie missed you.”

“I missed you both.” Reaching down, he ruffled Dudley’s fur. “Did
you
miss me, B.A.?”

“Not a’tall, you arrogant man.”

“You know what happens when you call me arrogant.” The tip of his index finger traced the line of her jaw, throat and down the red silk blouse to circle the tip of her breast.

Shuddering, B.A. stroked his face. Blind excitement over his coming home ebbed, and she registered how drawn he looked. His face was leaner, harder; shadows under his eyes denoted little sleep for weeks. B.A. blinked at how gaunt he appeared. Her fae voice whispered Desmond had been through emotional hell this past month.

Hiding her concern, she slid her leg along his inner thigh. “Refresh my memory.”

Kitty scaled Desmond’s leg like a lumberjack. “Ouch, varmint,” he gasped. Removing the kitty, he held Dudley up nose-to-nose. “I’m going to lock you—wait a minute, I bought a present for you.”

He shoved the cat at B.A. and dashed outside.

B.A. looked Kitty in the face. “We’ll take him home, fatten him up with Tarn’s scones and love those shadows from under his eyes. Now let’s see what the Magic Man brought you.”

Desmond returned, toting a cat carrier. B.A. chuckled to herself, thinking she’d like to see Des
try
to put Dudley in that. But setting it on the floor, he opened it. Dudley and she drew the same conclusion—the carrier wasn’t the gift, but what was inside. B.A. pressed her hands together over her mouth, fearing what would happen.

Dudley arched like a Halloween cat. Of course, since Dudley resembled a fur-covered football with legs, he was very comical striking the pose.

A puff of dark gray fuzz peeked out. Seeing Desmond, the kitten exited.

B.A. gasped. “Oh, she’s precious! But Des, watch the cat. Dudley dunna do competition.”

Desmond held the kitten before him. Dudley inched forward, acting as though Des held a tiny cobra. “See, Pal? She’s a wee lass. We’ll have to watch out for her, protect her. Females are delicate and can be hurt easily.”

Desmond glanced at B.A., wariness in his eyes. That little-boy-lost look. Was he insecure about her feelings? How silly. She’d been an easy mark for Desmond. Despite all fears and trepidations, she’d fallen into his arms with hardly any effort on his part.

“What’s the kitten’s name?”

“Annie.”

“The Cat Annie?” She squatted down and stroked Desmond’s cheek.

So much love was in this man, aching to get out. He was close to his brothers, a brilliant architect, a powerful businessman, only she doubted anyone had been there for him. Whatever troubled Des, her love and Falgannon’s magic would soothe him.

His friend Julian came in, immediately faced by Dudley in attack cat mode. “I see the Grendel of Falgannon still hates me. How’s he taking the dust bunny?”

“He hasn’t attacked, so we’re progressing well.” B.A. rose, offering a smile. “Are you going to stay awhile?”

Desmond stood, clutching the kitten. “I’ve invited Julian for the holidays.”

B.A. beamed. “Wonderful! What about your brothers? Plenty of room at Rose Cottage. I’d love for them to come.”

Desmond placed the kitten in the carrier. “I believe they have plans.”

“Maybe next year,” B.A. suggested hopefully.

Touched with sadness, Desmond’s eyes met hers. “Maybe.”

Desmond found it strange being back on the island. His month on Falgannon had sped by too quickly. The month away felt like a lifetime. Pulling into Rose Cottage’s driveway knocked him off kilter. Exhaustion pulled at him, though his heart was warmed by the peace of coming home.

As his eyes adjusted, he noticed the cottage’s shape was different. “You let the Marys turn the cottage into a hostel for brides?”

“The lads did a little work. Come see.”

Julian climbed out the car, lifting his brow when B.A. went inside without stopping to unlock the door. Desmond shrugged and followed. He noticed a door in the living room wall; beside the base of the staircase now led into a large room.

B.A. took his hand. “You mentioned wanting an office… You now have a wonderful view with a bay window, and a second fireplace to keep you cozy.” When he stared, he saw her grow afraid she’d gone too far. “Well, let me get Julian settled—”

“Not in the master bedroom,” he growled.

She kissed his chin. “The other bedrooms are furnished now.”

Desmond looked about the room, touched by B.A. creating this space for him. The wall where the room joined the house had been turned into bookshelves. He envisioned his desk cattycornered, his drafting board over by the window where he could work yet enjoy the beauty of Falgannon. He envisioned B.A. sitting in the window seat reading while Dudley lazily napped, his tail snapping as The Kitten Annie chased it.

A sinking sensation hit him, feeling as if a part of him was lost. He wasn’t sure how to find it… but if he didn’t, he’d never be whole again.

B.A. lifted her arms about Desmond’s neck as he slid his own around her lower back, pulling her against him. Nothing had ever felt so right. Their bodies were perfect together. This was where she belonged.

Skin to skin she pressed against him, reveling in his feel, his scent. She hungrily watched those green eyes. So many things were in there. Lust was foremost, but she also saw surprise, wonder, challenge… awe.

The corner of her mouth quirked with womanly knowledge. While she was humbled by the power of what rose between them, she accepted it, surrendered to it. She’d known love before, known the security of belonging with another, to another. B.A. grasped how special this bond was between them.

Love. Pure and bright.

Desmond had no idea what was hitting him. Like most men, they tended to think with something lower than their brain. Love sneaked up on them, surprised them. Not that she was arrogant, she sensed Desmond had never experienced true love before. Males had a propensity to be cautious, to fear the enormity of emotions beyond their control. Men—especially powerful men used to absolute rule—were scared by this. They couldn’t face how helpless they felt before the force of such overwhelming, consuming passion. The sexual side they could handle, but the emotional need was beyond their dealings. Some men ran.

Des wasn’t a runner. He’d step up to the challenge. That sexy mouth twisted into a crooked grin, so she nibbled on his lower lip, then bit down slightly, feeling his body buck against hers.

Desmond tumbled them into bed and set her atop him. He smiled at the mass of her blond hair cascading around them. With some deft work he was inside her, but remained still, clearly luxuriating in the tight fit.

She leaned forward and ran her tongue along the seam of his lips. Pulling back she asked, “Slow or fast?”

He rolled so their positions reversed. Flexing his hips, he grinned a panther’s grin. “Oh, slow, I think.” He backed out gradually, agonizingly, excruciatingly. Keeping that nerve-racking pace, he thrust inside her again. “Very, very slow.”

B.A. moaned breathlessly. “You… arrogant… man.”

A little while later B.A. rolled onto her side, watching Desmond feign sleep. His breathing betrayed him. He was awake.

One question had been answered: the passion was still there. Blistering, white-hot, burning as brightly as before. But Desmond had suffered deeply this past month. While he’d missed her, The Cat Dudley and the island, and he couldn’t escape the bewitchment cast by Falgannon, something was wrong.

“Des?” She leaned against his back, nuzzling his neck. “My great aunt from Kentucky would say you’re playing possum. Are you ignoring me?”

“Yes,” came his sleepy reply.

“Too bad.” She nipped his shoulder playfully, then brushed her fingers through his raven black curls. “We share our bodies. Can we not share each others’ problems?”

He sighed, rolled over and resettled with his arm about her. “It was a rough month, B.A.”

“Business?” she asked, putting a hand on his heart, startled how it jumped.

He bit out, “Yes. Old business.”

“Care to talk about it?”

“I want to
forget
about it.” He took her wrist and dragged her across his body. His
green
eyes were lasers, burning into hers. “Make me forget, B.A.” His hands grasped the back of her knees and guided her astride him.