Spellbound

S
pellbound (Warlocks MacGregor
) © copyright 2015 by Michelle M. Pillow

First Electronic Printing July 2015, The Raven Books

Cover art by Ravven, © Copyright 2015

Edited by Heidi Moore

ISBN-10: 1625011199

ISBN-13: 978-1-62501-119-0

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

All books copyrighted to the author and may not be resold or given away without written permission from the author, Michelle M. Pillow.

This novel is a work of fiction. Any and all characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or events or places is merely coincidence. Novel intended for adults only. Must be 18 years or older to read.

L
et Sleeping Warlocks Lie
…

Iain MacGregor knows how his warlock family feels about outsiders discovering the truth of their powers, its forbidden. That doesn’t seem to stop him from having accidental magickal discharges whenever he’s around the woman who has captured his attention. Apparently his magick and other “parts” don’t seem to care what the rules are, or that the object of his affection just might be his undoing.

W
arning
: Contains yummy, hot, mischievous MacGregor boys who may or may not be wearing clothing and who are almost certainly up to no good on their quest to find true love.

P
eople know magic is fake
—card tricks and illusions, magicians and entertainers. But there is an older magick, a powerful force hidden from modern eyes, buried in folklore and myths, remembered by the few who practice the old ways and respect the lessons of past generations.

The term “warlock” is a variation on the Old English word
waerloga
, primarily used by the Scots. It meant traitor, monster or deceiver. The MacGregor Clan does not agree with how history has labeled their kind. To them, warlock means magick, family and immortality. This book is not meant to be a portrayal of modern-day witches or those who have such beliefs. The MacGregors are a magickal class all their own.

As with all my books, this is pure fantasy. In real life, please always practice safe sex and magic.

“
D
è tha thu ag iarraidh
?
”

“What do I want?” Jane whispered, looking around in confusion for the speaker. She was unsure as to how she’d come to be outside. One moment she’d been in bed, the next in a garden. “I’m losing my mind.”

She knew this garden. She’d itched to get her hands on it ever since she’d moved to Green Vallis, Wisconsin. The plants were choking from neglect, but beneath their twisted wildness was rich soil. Most of the trees and shrubs would be salvageable—if not at their current location, then transplanted elsewhere. The grounds were expansive and had so much potential. Being located on a hill above the small town, it had ample sunlight and natural drainage when it rained. It belonged to an old mansion that had just recently been purchased after decades of sitting empty. Everyone in town knew the story of its builder—the displaced English lord. He’d been a rake or a rogue or whatever they called the rambunctiously decadent men of the time.

Despite whatever the nobleman had lacked in his personal life, he’d had a great eye for creating picturesque beauty. The property came with eighty acres of land, including part of the surrounding forest with a stream running through it and the old English landscape garden. Yes, the giant house was nice, but Jane saw it more as a backdrop to the nature surrounding it. She couldn’t imagine owning eighty acres of land. The mere idea of it was a kind of what-would-you-do-if-you-won-a-million-dollars pipe dream.

“
Dè tha thu ag iarraidh!
”

Jane flinched as she found the bearer of the mysterious voice. Why was a Scottish woman screaming at her? And why was the woman’s tiny frame aging so rapidly Jane could see the wrinkles forming on the pretty face as if the woman was living an entire lifetime in a single afternoon?

Jane knew she was hallucinating. What else could this be? The doctors had warned her that her mind would eventually deteriorate. Even so, this hallucination felt very familiar as if she’d lived this moment but couldn’t remember it.

“
Thalla’s cagainn bruis!
”

“Chew a brush?” Jane tried to translate the woman’s words. It made no logical sense that she understood any of it, as she didn’t speak Gaelic. She frowned, looking at an overgrown gooseberry bush a few feet from where she stood on the cobblestone path. Not knowing why she tried to obey, she lifted her arm in its direction but couldn’t reach. Why couldn’t she reach it?

She looked down. A light fog surrounded her legs. It held her immobile like metal shackles. Fog like shackles? She should be able to run through the fog.

“
Dè tha thu ag iarraidh?
”

“I don’t know what I want,” Jane answered, blinking rapidly as a wrinkled finger pointed a little too close to her nose. How could the finger be so close? The woman was nearly twelve feet away down the path near the mansion’s exterior wall. Fear filled her, nearly choking the breath from her lungs. “Why can I understand what you’re saying? Who are you? How did I get here? What do you want?” She remained rooted in place, like the wild overgrowth around her yearning to be saved. “I don’t understand why you’re yelling at me.”

The aging woman’s finger dissipated into mist but did not disappear. Instead, the mist surrounded Jane’s head. She swatted it away, but the action only caused the mist to swirl up her nose. Around her, the plants moved, coming to animated life. They stretched and grew, aging like the now-old woman before her, then transforming into a beautiful combination of lilac and purple Scottish heather. The heady scent of flowers and honey was so strong it burned her nostrils and caused her eyes to water. Bagpipes sounded in the distance, impossibly carried on a wind that did not stir.

And then…nothingness.

B
agpipes
. More friggin’ bagpipes!

Jane Turner pressed her dirty gloves to her temples, trying to get the sound to stop. At first, it had been a call on the wind early in the mornings when she tended the plants in her nursery, so distant she assumed one of the new Scottish guys who’d moved into town was playing in their mansion on the hill that overlooked Green Vallis. Who else would suddenly be playing bagpipes if not the local Scots? She’d seen some of the MacGregors around town in kilts, and Scottish descendants always seemed to take a lot of pride in their heritage.

She could handle morning band practice. It was actually kind of relaxing and unique while she worked in her gardens. But then the music became more insistent, filling her mind at all hours of the day, becoming louder until she was humming along to a tune she couldn’t possibly know. It dug into her brain like a singing earworm she couldn’t get out. She’d walked the perimeter of the small piece of land that held her two greenhouses and gardens, trying to see where the men practiced. No one was there.

And then the music started at night, so loud it woke her from a dead sleep. She’d gone to her bedroom window expecting someone out on her lawn serenading her.

Ha,
Jane thought sarcastically.
Someone serenading me. That will be the day pigs fly to Mars and back.

In Wisconsin, men appeared to like three things. Football, the outdoors, and beer. No, really. It was true, and Jane had witnessed the evidence to prove it. Football season showcased bankers in state football team colors instead of classic suit choices, and locals sported foam cheese-wedge hats. Church services even let out early on game days. And, much to the local bars’ bragging pride, the state had ranked the fifth highest in the nation for beer consumption, with each person drinking nearly thirty gallons in one year. Wisconsin was also ranked the highest for avidly drunk sports fanatics…or something like that.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t fair stereotyping everyone into those categories, but Jane had yet to meet a single local who didn’t enjoy such things. Jane didn’t care for football or beer. She did like the outdoors, but she didn’t encourage people to come into her private sanctuary. Of course, she had landscaping customers. To run a small business, she needed customers.

She had hoped the MacGregor family would hire her to tend their expansive property. Though she’d mailed flyers and the realtor who’d sold them the mansion assured her that given out her card, the family had not called her. It wasn’t that she just wanted to breathe new life into the landscape—which she did—she also needed the work. Desperately.

Melancholy filled her. She’d put every penny she could scrape together into purchasing the nursery. She worked all the time, from the moment she woke up to the second she fell asleep. What else could she do? Keeping busy made her feel better.

Despite the beer and the football, she liked Green Vallis. The people were warm and friendly. Family units were strong—at least they appeared to be from her vantage point on the outside looking in. They invited her to join them, but she wasn’t really good at making those kinds of friendly connections. The small town was as good of a place as someone like her could find. She didn’t trust easily, and the locals accepted her quiet ways without question. For the most part, they ignored her unless they needed her services.

She dropped her hands and patted the soil. It was a needless gesture, but the firm feel of earth against her gloved palm was comforting and familiar. A light breeze stirred. Strands of her hair tickled her cheek and neck. The nature of earth and plants she understood. People were more complicated. Those complications were messy and painful.

The bagpipes became progressively louder. At first, she tried to ignore them, but the sound filled her mind and called her to her feet. Unable to help her curiosity, she started to walk. She told herself it was pointless to look. She’d already tried to find the source of the music and had been unsuccessful.

Then something new was added to the music—laughter and the muffled voices of a crowd. She pulled the gloves from her hands and tossed them on her worktable as she passed by the exterior wall of a greenhouse. Townsfolk greeted her as she walked by the building that housed her small storefront. Men dressed in formal jackets and kilts paraded over the old brick street, stepping in time to their music. Two horses flanked the bagpipers, showcasing what was obviously a family crest.

Jane held back in the shadows, simply watching their approach. A chill ran up the back of her spine, and she shivered violently. Her eyes automatically went to a group of women in tartan gowns. Fierce eyes met hers as a withered old woman stared at her from a wheelchair. The woman was being pushed by a young beauty who didn’t seem to notice her charge’s bony old finger lifting toward Jane.

Taking a step back, Jane tried to hide deeper in the shadows as the small parade moved down the street away from her. Camera phones flashed as people took pictures. The old woman turned, watching her with uncalled for intensity. A sense of foreboding and fear filled Jane as if she’d met the woman in a previous life. The wrinkled face and angry eyes were familiar. Jane’s limbs suddenly became very heavy. What was even stranger was the fact she felt as if she deserved the woman’s unhappy attention.

Age and illness were clearly taking their toll. It was only a matter of time before the woman died. Is that why the old lady stared at her? Those close to death often sensed Jane’s secret. Did the woman blame her for what was naturally to come? She wouldn’t be the first dying person to look at Jane like that.

A loud bark drew Jane from her trance. She jolted to awareness as a very excited English bulldog in plaid attire trotted behind the wheelchair to lead the playing men. Jane gave a small laugh as her gaze swept toward the musicians. She’d seen a few of the MacGregor men around town and had thought them an attractive bunch, but to see them in full force was impressive. Genetics clearly ran strong in the family, as it was apparent they were each related. They all had dark hair and proud features, each as handsome as the next—from the young twenty-something hunks to the older salt-and-pepper generation.

Her laugh instantly died. Brown eyes flecked with green glanced in her general direction. She gasped and tried to press into the building. Unlike the old woman, the man’s sparkling gaze caused an intense heat to erupt inside her. His hair was shorter than some of the others, and dark locks blew forward across his face. His eyes didn’t meet hers. He continued to play his bagpipe, and she was glad when he moved along. Desire filled her, causing her to tremble. She didn’t trust it.

“Are you keeping bees now?”

Jane turned in surprise at the question. Chef Alana had moved to Green Vallis about a year after Jane. Her business,
Perfection Restaurant
, was one of the best in town. But that didn’t stop the locals from supporting her competition. Within the first year, Alana had put two of the local boys out of business. To get back at her, they’d combined efforts, opened a new restaurant and proceeded to do everything they could to sabotage Alana’s business. In town, the feud was legendary.

Jane was on friendly terms with the woman. They didn’t hang out or anything, but Jane would have named her as a friend if asked. “Uh…?”

“Bees. You smell like honey.” Alana’s question finally registered.

Jane lifted her wrist and sniffed. She did smell like honey. She tried to shake off the feelings swirling inside her. Her tone sounded a little distracted as she tried to form a coherent answer. “No, I’m allergic to bees.” She dared a glance at the kilted men, but the man who’d captured her notice had marched on. “I must have brushed up against something. I was tending the vegetable garden, getting ready for the farmers market.”

“Vegetables?” Alana’s voice demanded her attention. “Forget the farmers market. Sell me your inventory. I’m terrified to order through the grocery store after the tainted-mushrooms incident.”

“I read about that a few days ago in the paper,” Jane said. “Tainted casserole at a potluck at Sheriff Johnson’s house, right?” She hadn’t been invited to the potluck so had missed out. Considering most of the guests had ended up in the hospital with food poisoning, she’d deduced it was for the best she was anti-social.

“Honestly, what I remember about that night reminds me of a misspent youth.” Alana gave a small laugh. “The doctors say it is temporary amnesia due to severe hallucinogens.”

Jane arched a brow.

“Magic mushrooms,” Alana clarified.

Jane started to give a polite laugh and then realized Alana wasn’t joking. “If you’re serious about needing vegetables, let me know what you want. I have more garden space I can till out back. I’ll try to fulfill whatever order you need.”

“I’ll take you up on that.” Alana studied the nearby rows of tomatoes. “How do you get them so big? Gene splicing?”

“Nothing that spectacular. I’ve just always had a knack for it,” Jane said.

“Honestly, I want your energy secret. How do you even have time for everything?” Alana smiled. “Between the nursery, landscaping jobs and the farmers market, you can’t be sleeping. Or eating. Or breathing. Let alone have any time for family.”

My mother abandoned me when I was a baby. My father is dead. My stepmother spent my inheritance. I’m all alone in the world. I’m broke because medical bills wiped out my savings. I don’t really have a choice,
she thought before saying aloud, “I like to keep busy, and I don’t have any family to speak of.”

“Well, if you need another job, I’m looking for a new waitress. Mine keep leaving for college. Actually, that’s not true. The last one left me for Las Vegas.”

“What’s going on with this parade?” Jane changed the subject before she found herself agreeing to the extra work. She had made it her goal to pay off every single penny owed and found turning down jobs very hard to do. “I don’t remember seeing anything on the town schedule.”

“Callister probably knows.” Alana nodded at the older woman running along the crowd with her little notebook. The way she acted, one would guess she was a paid reporter. In truth, she was a rumor-hungry busybody who stuck her nose in everyone’s business.

“She’s probably writing down marching violations to turn over to the band police later,” Jane said. Neither of them were fans of the nuisance that was Mrs. Callister. “Someone told me she calls the police station almost daily to give her list of complaints.”

“Poor Sheriff Johnson.” Alana gave an unamused laugh. “I have health inspectors in my place every month thanks to that woman, and all because I wouldn’t give her a bigger senior citizen’s discount. I’m not convinced she’s even technically a senior. Yet I’m still supposed to give her and her entire family half off every meal.”

“She prints coupons she finds on the internet from big chain stores and tries to get me to honor them,” Jane said. “They’re not even from this state. Half the time they’re already expired when she brings them in.”

“That woman is something else, a true shakedown artist.” Alana motioned toward the crowd. “Come on, take a break from all your jobs. Let’s follow this trail and see where it leads.”

Jane glanced behind her to the quiet sanctuary of her plants but found her feet moving to make pace next to Alana. She liked the woman’s company, yet that wasn’t what caused her to follow. It was the music. The sound pulled her along with it.

The parade led them down a few blocks to Main Street and then turned toward the hill overlooking the town. The MacGregor mansion was on top of that hill, towering over Green Vallis like a medieval feudal lord over his villeins. She wondered what it would be like living in such a place surrounded by so many extended family members.

Most towns simply paved over their old red-brick roads, but Green Vallis had preserved theirs in the downtown area. It was one of the details that had first compelled Jane to stop her truck and walk around. The for-sale sign on the local nursery was why she’d stayed.

The bagpipers led the crowd up the hill, but instead of following the winding drive toward the mansion, they marched along the driveway of the old Victorian house owned by Lydia Barratt. The Victorian was the only other property on the hill, and Jane often envied the location of it—set up and away enough to be relatively private but close enough to the amenities of town life. Lydia had inherited the house from her grandmother and ran a small lotion business out of it called
Love Potions
. Lydia sold most of her wares online. Being as Jane owned a nursery, she had supplied Lydia with herbs on many occasions. Alana, Lydia and Jane all belonged to the same women’s small business group.

“Can you imagine having these guys as next-door neighbors?” Alana whispered.

Jane’s eyes strayed to the handsome bagpiper. She’d been consciously trying not to look at him. The musicians stopped in front of Lydia’s home. One MacGregor stepped away from the procession and handed his bagpipes to the elderly woman in the wheelchair.

“That’s Lydia’s man friend. His name is Erik MacGregor—well, obviously a MacGregor. He brought Lydia on a date to the restaurant and couldn’t stop staring at her. It was very sweet.” Alana directed her gaze toward Lydia’s boyfriend as he met Lydia coming out of the house.

“I saw him here when I delivered those new bushes. I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but I think he was reciting Gaelic poetry to her from the lawn.” Jane felt a tiny chill and turned her attention to the house. She thought someone slipped past an upper story window. The movement was fleeting, and Jane forced herself to ignore it. Instead, she looked at Erik and Lydia, and then to Lydia’s best friend, Charlotte, standing in the doorway watching. There was a faint flicker behind Charlotte, but the woman didn’t appear to notice there was anything non-corporeal behind her. Jane changed her mind. She no longer wished to live in the old home, not if it came with ghosts.

“Lydia Barratt,
táim i ngrá leat
.” Erik took a knee. “Say ya will marry me, lassie.”