Sisters of Colford Hall 01 - The Invasion of Falgannon Isle (31 page)

The twins grabbed her elbows, steering her to a chair next to the bloody warlock. She balked, but the two men wedged her in.

“What? You black-haired men stick together?” she growled. She glanced about, seeking another path amongst the tables, but chairs shifted and legs stretched, ensuring her only option was to sit. She dropped down in frustration.

“Morning, B.A.” Desmond poured her a cup of tea.

She glared at the tea, glared at him, then flashed a scorching look of reproach at her lads. Here was Desmond trying to destroy her isle—
their
isle—and they’d closed ranks with him!

“‘Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more; Men were deceivers ever,’”
B.A. recited to herself.

“What’s she muttering?” Angus squinted, trying to hear.

B.A. sipped her tea, letting her gaze sweep the room so she could casually come around to Des. With his forest green sweater, his eyes appeared even more startling. So handsome, he now appeared every inch the islander.

Tarn carried in a plate of sausage, tatties and gravy. “Clean your plate, lass!” he barked.

Concentrating on her food, B.A. attempted to conjure mental blinkers to block Desmond. He wouldn’t permit it. When she reached for the salt, he beat her to it. He held out the shaker with that beautiful magician’s hand, an arched brow daring her to take it.

“The gravy needs a sprinkle of salt,” he agreed.

“Waste of time. Our B.A. won’t accept salt from a man,” Angus sniffed.

Desmond’s brows lifted.

“Blame Maeve. She taught her never to pass a man salt or take it from him. It’s one of them witchy things our Maeve insisted she learn.”

Des stretched his long legs beneath the table, brushing against B.A.—deliberately. She tried to retract her legs, but he slid one of his behind her calf and the other in front. When she shifted, Desmond clamped his around hers. “Of late, I’m interested in lore of the island. What is it about salt, B.A.?”

“‘Tis how a warlock gains control of a person—asks for salt,” Michael the Story supplied. “If you pass it, you give away your free will and are open to his bidding.”

“A warlock? Is that how you see me, B.A.?” he asked with a half smile.

“Careful,” Ian cautioned. “Remember the rules about Montgomerie women. I’d scoot that knife out of her reach.”

“Oh, she’s already passed me salt, didn’t you, B.A.?” Desmond held the shaker up before her nose and wiggled it.

B.A. glowered as he carefully sprinkled salt over her scones and gravy. Enough! She scooted her chair to get up, but he clasped her leg in a vise. As their struggle escalated, the table rocked. Dudley backed up and hissed.

“Our Desmond’s levitating the table, him being a warlock ‘n all,” Ian joked.

Callum checked under the table. “Not a’tall. Our B.A. is playing footsie with him.”

The whole room ducked to peek, leaving B.A. staring at Desmond. Why couldn’t he see this was the way life should be? The perpetual joy, the silliness that made Falgannonians’ lives so simple, so beautiful.

“You need to watch our B.A. She molests our Desmond in public places. Ashamed you should be, lass.” Angus shook his knife at her.

“Och, Angus, I’m a bold sinful lass and a Montgomerie.” Deciding to fight fire with fire, she picked up her fork and slid a chunk of scone into her mouth, half-moaning at Tarn’s culinary skill. She caught Desmond’s spellbound stare and ran her tongue over her lower lip to capture a drop of gravy. All smugness vanished from him, replaced by intense longing.

She said with a breathy sigh, “Tongues are useful things, aren’t they?”

Michael the Story hissed, “Sic him, lass.”

I plan to,
B.A. decided. She merely had to plot the finer points of when and where.

Desmond caught her hand as she headed down the pub walkway. “We need to talk,” he said.

“About what, Des?”

“I’d like to discuss my plans.” He held her hand, anchoring her.

“I’d hoped you might wish to talk about
us
. Trident might succeed in the takeover of M.E., and you can build bloody oil platforms. But guess what? Falgannon is out of the picture. You can’t do one thing here until you have something more than that worthless piece of paper.”

Triumphant, she started off, but he pulled her around, saying words she dreaded: “Crofters’ rights.”

“Hmm?” She feigned ignorance.

“You mentioned a provision for the islanders to claim their hereditary lands.”

“Only the Frasers have.”

He glanced about, clearly wishing for a more private place. “I bought Valinor, paid more than fair market value. Money doesn’t mean anything. The islanders can claim Crofter’s rights. I’ll pay double, triple what they’re worth, and give them a relocation fee.”

B.A. felt nauseous. “Resettle them where, Des? This island is our home, our way of life. These people stay because they love Falgannon as I do.”

“You’re sure? My offer would make them rich.”

B.A. pressed her lips together, fighting against her pain. “So, only the isle and I shall suffer? How kind, Des. Don’t you see? This island exists in a beautiful snowglobe, protected from cruelties of the world. You want to smash that bubble, smash my soul… our love.”

He blinked but said nothing.

B.A. wanted to kick him. Her eyes went to his hand restraining her. “Let go, Des.”

He didn’t. He sallied again. “You like Falgannon in that snowglobe, safely tucked up from the ugliness everyone else faces. B.A. Montgomerie, snow princess of Falgannon. You’re afraid your lads might want something more than being a feudal vassal to some ‘Lady of the Isle.’”

She sneered. “I see how you succeeded in the cutthroat world of international business. I may be a snow princess, but you, Desmond Mershan, are a pit bull. You go for the throat. You play to win, do and say anything to achieve your goals. Well, this snow princess sees nothing wrong with her corner of the world where her people are happy. We don’t face drugs, murder, robbery or child molesters. If that’s hiding from the real world, most people would pay a fortune to do likewise. You’re lucky I’m a smart lassie and see through your viciousness. Suck it up, Des. You’re not going to win, no matter how dirty you fight.”

He dared her, “Prove it. Call a meeting at the town hall. Let me make my pitch. If the majority goes for it, you deed me the one-third of the isle Sean put up for collateral, stand back and let me go ahead with my plans.”

“A bargain with the devil?” She swallowed, scared. “What do I get if you lose?”

“I’ll leave Falgannon. I’ll give up my plans.”

She had to take two breaths to get past her own reaction. The silly nodcock thought he could just walk away? She fought back her anger.

“What’s wrong B.A.? Scared your lads will abandon you?”

She laughed, all bluster. “Call your meeting. A week from Friday.”

His brows lifted. “Friday the thirteenth? You want to run that risk?”

B.A. was sure her smile looked feline. It
felt
feline. Desmond looked unnerved, but he held his ground. “I’ll hazard it, Des.”

“The thirteenth it is.”

“Now seal the bargain.” And B.A. shocked Desmond by leaning into him and opening her mouth against his. She smiled when she felt his thighs stiffen with fear, then she kissed him, fed that intense hunger that gnawed at her day and night; she relished his taste, the scent of his skin. She kissed him with every ounce of her passion, her love. His hands grabbed her, pressing her tighter against him, kissing her back with everything he sought to deny.

She heard the door to The Hanged Man open, aware that the lads filed out to watch. Well, let them! She couldn’t care less who saw the love she felt for Desmond. She’d always feel it.

“The lass breaks the kiss first,” she heard Jock chime. “Two-to-one”

Michael the Story countered, “Four-to-one says Desmond won’t let her go.”

“Done,” several agreed.

Small feet sounded, then even smaller feet, as Wee Gordie and Dudley approached. “Da, the Viking’s pillaging our B.A. again!” Dudley rubbed against Desmond’s and B.A.‘s legs.

B.A. hated to ruin the lads’ betting, but she stepped back. Her heart rolled over in satisfaction when Desmond clung.

“Ha! See, Desmond’s not letting go. I win,” Michael exclaimed.

Confused, Desmond’s eyes searched hers. He wanted to know how she could still care. B.A. reached up and wiped her pink lipstick from his mouth with her thumb.

Almost in desperation, he taunted, “I’ll win, B.A. I always do.”

“Bite me,” she replied. Retrieving her briefcase, B.A. danced down the cobbled road intent on shopping for a Valentine’s Day present.

Chapter 29

Sitting behind the table on the town hall stage, Desmond glanced at his watch. B.A. was late. Hairs on his neck warned the witch was plotting a grand entrance. His eyes roved the room and the gathering of men, the few married women, the Marys, Oonanne, Morag and Janet. All were restless and knew their B.A. was up to something. All were aware nothing would happen until the Lady of the Isle showed.

Even Wulf and Dennis were in the audience, wearing the Reborn Falgannonian sweatshirts. At Desmond’s raised brows, both smiled and waved.

This past week she’d been everywhere, doing everything. She’d launched her new cologne line for men, Warrior Prince. The image of the warrior on the package gave him pause. He picked up a box and stared at the face—his face, which he shared with Iain Sinclair. B.A. had smiled when he’d joked about royalties. She’d said “Bite me,” her new retort to everything.

But she was going to say it once too often.

Outside of her suggestions to bite her, B.A. had stayed polite. Still, he feared she’d kick him in the arse each time he turned his back. In odd moments he caught her looking at him. Those whisky-colored eyes ripped into his soul.

He’d moved back to Rose Cottage. In male sympathy, Dudley took up residence with him. Annie had remained with B.A. Nearing four months old, the gray-striped kitten went everywhere with her. Annie was always thrilled to see Dudley, crawling all over him, driving him nuts, but the instant B.A. left, Annie was on her heels.

Rose Cottage became a bachelor’s abode. LynneAnne had returned to New York, accepting a job to restore a turn of the century carrousel. The whole island went to bid her farewell. She’d left Julian with the parting shot, “Bloody pirate, I hope to never see you or your earring again.” She’d made it clear she wouldn’t forgive Julian for being “Desmond’s creature.” Personally, Desmond wondered if that was a real warning or female-speak for “
Come and get me
.”

Impatient to get this meeting over with, Desmond opened his mouth to start outlining the breakdown of Mershan International’s offer, when The Ancients broke into cackles.

“Och, look at that!” Callum the Ancient hooted, nearly choking on his laughter.“‘Tis Mel Gibson!”

“Feeble-minded Mackenzie! Not a’tall, that’s William Wallace,” Angus corrected, slapping his knee. “Come to battle Desmond Longshanks.”

Desmond eyed Callum the Ancient, concerned they’d have to call Lewis for a helicopter to airlift the man to the hospital. Callum the Bicycle went to his great-grandfather and thumped the old man on the back. Desmond shook his head.

Then everyone ran to the doors and windows.

There was a sight to see. B.A. rode a black horse down the hill. Dressed in black leather pants and knee boots, she also wore a leather vest similar to what Gibson wore in
Brave-heart
. Silly woman, half her face was painted with blue woad. Slung diagonally across her back was a claymore. Desmond had the feeling it was the sword she’d given him for Christmas. The
plaide
diagonally across her chest was neither Mackenzie nor Montgomerie, but the dark red and black of Sinclair.

Desmond eyed Cam the Tailor. “Your efforts?”

The man beamed. “Aye, unveiling our new William Wallace bridegroom attire for Falgannon Bridal Gallery. It’ll be popular online. Already had thirteen orders from Japan.”

Desmond offered a hand, but stubborn, the female lifted her right leg over the horse’s neck and slid off, landing before him. She stared at him, her mysterious feline smile saying,
Buckle up baby, it’s about to get bumpy
. Desmond had never for one minute doubted otherwise.

Lifting his eyebrow, he asked, “May we start, Mel, or do you plan on breaking into your Sons of Scotland speech?”

“Many lesser fields were dismissed after the major finds in the North Sea….”

Desmond had addressed the Falgannonians for the past forty-seven minutes. He feared he was boring them to death. He
knew
he was. He tried to get to the point: the money.

“Due to technological advances, we’re now looking at these modest fields once deemed too costly to tap. Smaller companies such as Talisman Energy, Paladin and Trident Ventures are more efficient than the petroleum giants. Already, they’re working the East Shetland Basin in the Ninian Field, the Irish Sea, Atlantic Margin and Atlantic Frontier. Trident Ventures has the leases on the Seaforth Field northwest of Falgannon. In a few weeks Mershan International will buy out Trident Ventures. We hope to develop Falgannon as a supply base for the three platforms that will service the Seaforth Field. We plan a heliport, a second commercial harbor on the northwest side and storage facilities. We foresee new housing for families of the rigs’ employees and support workers. To this end, Mershan International wishes to purchase your properties—at triple their value. You’d be relocated to another part of the island or to the mainland, if you prefer. Mershan will add 50,000 pounds for each of you to resettle.”

He had expected a burst of questions, but they sat smiling.

Finally, Angus called from the back, “Fine speech our Desmond gave, eh?”

Murmurs of “Aye” rippled through the room.

Michael the Fiddle yelled out, “Have your hearing aid on?”

“Eh?”

Callum the Ancient poked Angus with his cane. “Michael Og wants to ken if you had your trannie on.”

“Well, no,” Angus replied, “but I’m sure our Desmond did a bang-on job.”

“Yes, I did, Angus.” Desmond tried to laugh off his unease. “I thought I’d open the floor to questions.”

“What if we dunna want to be…” Patrick in the front row paused, making a face. “What did our Desmond call it?”

“Relocated,” half the room supplied.

“Yeah, what if we dunna want to be relocated?”

Desmond fought his frown. “If you sell your property to Mershan, you’ll be rich enough to live anywhere you want.”

Ian stood. “You’re overlooking the fact if we wanted to live elsewhere, we’d do it. We live on Falgannon because we want to.”

Angus waved his cane to emphasize his statement. “I was born on Falgannon. I’ll die here, God willin’. B.A., you ain’t really going to permit our Desmond to pillage me, are you?”

“Our Desmond wants to kiss Angus?” Wee Gordie gasped.

Frustrated, Desmond sat. They each had to have their say, but he should’ve seen dealing with these loony Falgannonians wouldn’t be a walk in the park. He glanced over at B.A., who was sitting at the other end of the table. Tears of pride moistened her eyes.

Angus pressed, “Tell us, B.A., what you think about the Vikings plundering us.”

B.A. stood. “Sons of Falgannon, on our isle, the past matters, our heritage matters,
people
matter. You can travel far and wide, but nowhere will you find the timeless perfection we enjoy here. We have the best of the modern world, yet sleepily cling to our past. In some ways Falgannon exists within a bubble—a snow globe.” She glanced at Desmond. “We change little, and in a magical way the island renews itself. I don’t own Falgannon but am its keeper, one in a long line reaching back to the dawn of time. I’m charged with nurturing our way of life, with seeing during my stewardship that the island continues as it did before me, as it should after me.”

Ian Fraser nodded and called, “You tell ‘em, Mel! I mean B.A.!”

“We live in peace, with no fear for our homes, our families. We breathe fresh air and walk on white sand beaches. We’re happy. Money can’t buy happiness, friendship, peace of mind or love.” She flashed Desmond a look. “Our ancestors fought Viking invaders because they believed this isle was worth the struggle. We can’t stop oil platforms from being built seventy kilometers offshore, but we dunna have to open Falgannon to the threat of oil spills, dangers of possible terrorism—”

“Oh aye,” Innis seconded. “I have a DVD of
Ffolkes—North Sea Hijack
with that laddie Roger Moore. You dunna want Norman Bates to come a-calling on Falgannon!”

“Each of you must decide. Mershan International will give you a period to choose—”

“What’s to choose, lass? We ain’t going anywhere,” Brian voiced.

A chorus of “Ayes” filled the hall.

Desmond sat, defeat pounding in his temples.

Everyone headed to The Hanged Man to toast their victory against the Viking horde. Even Dennis and Wulf went, leaving Desmond alone with B.A.

He packed his papers into his briefcase, glancing at B.A. He wasn’t sure how he felt. Not angry. Deep in his heart he’d known the islanders would stand shoulder-to-shoulder with B.A., he supposed. Maybe he felt relief: The matter had been taken from his hands. He might press B.A. to settle Sean’s debt, but he could no longer ruin Falgannon. That was good.

“Des, are you all right?” B.A. came over to him.

He exhaled. “Why shouldn’t I be, B.A.?”

Her fae eyes roved over his face. “Because this was more than business to you. It’s wrapped up with the past and your inability to let go.”

“I’m fine, B.A.”

She smiled sadly. “I worry about you.”

“Enough to come to my bed?” he goaded. “I miss you at night.”

“If only it were that simple.”

“It is that simple. You make it hard.”

They both chuckled at the double-entendre.

She sighed. “The problem of Falgannon is settled. What isn’t settled is your past. Until you let go, nothing will work for you, Des.”

He sat on the table and eyed her, trying to see what to do next. “I’ve never kissed a woman with a blue face before.” He glanced at her leather pants. “Nor one wearing my clothes.”

“They fit rather well.” She spun in a circle.

“Oh, aye.” He nodded, his mouth quirking up. “You look better in them than I did.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

His hands grasped her hips and pulled her between his legs, and he was surprised she came willingly He studied her half-blue face, those glowing eyes that bored into his soul. Reaching out, he traced the line of her jaw down her graceful neck. Then he kissed her, slow and gentle, ignoring the growling beast within. The kiss brought tears to his eyes. Swallowing, he broke the embrace, feeling as if his insides had shattered.

“What am I to do with you, B.A.?”

“Whatever makes you happy. It’s not complicated.”

“I… can’t. It wouldn’t work.”

“Why? What’s so hard about loving me, loving the island?”

He rose, his jaw tight. “It’s tearing me apart, B.A. Can’t you understand?”

“Make
me understand.”

“I can’t sleep. The stress is killing me.”

“But you promised this was over. Will leaving Falgannon and me give you peace?”

He threw up his hands. “I can’t go on like this. There won’t be anything left of me.”

“Des, just leave the past in the past. Accept that you’re happy here—”

“I can’t!” He closed his eyes, trying to control his pain. “Every time I make love to you it’s a betrayal.”

“Of your mother? Give it up, Des. Vengeance is a cold lover. You’re in denial, not facing your grief. You’re not stopping to look at your life, what it’ll be if you turn your back on me and this island. Envision yourself five years from now. Will you be happy then?”

Staring at Des, B.A. forced herself to say words she’d been holding back. She knew he wasn’t ready to hear them. Knew she might lose him if she kept silent.

“I dinna know Katlyn. Because she was your mother she holds a special place of honor for me. She created a beautiful, wonderful being when she gave you life. But instead of adoring that precious child, she twisted you. Don’t tell me how she worked hard, she suffered. A lot of people work hard, but they don’t lie on their deathbeds begging their son to ruin his life for vengeance. My heart cries for the pain she felt when your father died. I know that pain. I’m sorry for her illness. She was your mother, so you love her—but did she really love you?” She saw his face darken, but wouldn’t back down. Too much was at stake. “If you were my son and I was dying, my last thought would be that I love you. I’d consider hardship a small price for having you in my life. I’m sorry, Des, but it seems your mother was a bitter, selfish woman. And you’re allowing her to reach from the grave and destroy your life.”

“If you were a man I’d ram those words down your throat,” he snarled.

His coldness made B.A. flinch. She’d pushed the limits by saying those things about Katlyn, but Desmond needed to stop wrapping himself in the image of his Madonna mother who’d suffered. He’d suffered, too.

He turned and crammed his papers into the attache. “I’ll be leaving come Monday.”

B.A.‘s legs nearly gave out. She channeled her pain into temper. “You forget, I can stop the ferry if I choose.”

“Go ahead. I’ll have them fly the chopper in. Might be better that way, anyway.” Then Desmond strode down the steps and out the door, never looking back.

“You’re a bloody coward, Desmond Mershan!” she called after him, but he didn’t slow.

B.A. huffed, leaning against the table. “She was suddenly glad she’d had Skylar finish the Valentine’s present. It was going to come in handy later that night.

The clock struck 2:00 a.m. when singing below the castle clued B.A. to their imminent arrival. She hid Desmond’s Valentine’s present, then paused to fold the duvet down on the bed.

Hurrying to the door, she opened it. The cat came dashing in. Thrilled, Annie gave a squall and charged. Dudley flashed B.A. a disgusted look, which increased when he saw his empty food bowl. Hoping to keep them from being underfoot, B.A. filled both bowls. Annie instantly began chomping—from Dudley’s. Dismayed, Kitty sat and sniffed in disdain.

Ian and Brian came through with Desmond slung between them. “Stand aside, lass,” Ian laughed. “After eating Tarn’s cooking for months, he’s an armful.”

“Me, too,” Desmond chirped, lifting his head.

“Go on through.” B.A. followed. “He resist you getting him foxed?”

“Not a’tall. Quite willing to drown his sorrows,” Brian answered, pouring Desmond into bed. “You won’t go thumping our Des again, lass. ‘Tis not fair when a man can’t defend himself.” He tugged off Desmond’s boots and handed them to her.

B.A. smiled sadly. “He told me he’s leaving Monday.”