The Highlander's Curse

The Highlander’s Curse

Legions of Fate

By

Katalyn Sage

Published by

Katalyn Sage 

www.katalynsage.com

Copyright © 2013 Katalyn Sage

ISBN:
978-0-9910202-1-8

KINDLE
EDITION

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The
unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is
illegal.  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,
recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the
written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

The
names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s
imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.
Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or
organizations is entirely coincidental.

Dedication

To
you.

You
are my life, my heart, my universe.

I
love you.

Acknowledgements

Thank
you to everyone who has helped me put this together. I couldn’t have done it
without you.

And
thank you to my fans.

Your
support means everything to me.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

“Is it true what they
say, about what’s under a Scot’s kilt?” I waggled my eyebrows at a pair of
spindly old legs as their owner loped past my table and joined a group of men.

Shannon
glanced at the geriatric, a loud laugh escaping her as she took in the
pastiness of his legs that were blinding between the bottom of his kilt and the
top of his stretched argyle socks. After a lot of searching on my part, I’d
found him to be the only man in the pub that wore a kilt. A fact that was more
than slightly disappointing. On the upside though, the pub was exactly as I’d
imagined a tavern in Scotland would be: lined wall-to-wall with Scottish men
who were bantering in their awesome accents and having a good time. Many were
packed with muscle, and somehow sported tans despite the fact that rain and
clouds covered the skies nearly all the time—or so I’d been told—while others
were small in stature and looked like they hadn’t seen the sun in years.

Aside
from Shannon and myself, there was only one other woman in the bar, and she was
behind the mahogany and brass counter, serving up drinks as fast as they were
ordered, in addition to handling food requests that were hollered at her from
every direction. It was a wonder she could keep up, with as fast as these
Highlanders were downing their liquor. There were also a few goth guys huddled
over their drinks at the bar, one of which could have possibly been a woman—not
that I could really tell, so I left that one clumped in with the more masculine
sex.

As I
looked around the pub, my gaze landed once more on the creepy guy in the
corner. I’d spotted him the minute we’d walked into the bar, the sight of him
giving me the willies.

He
still did, too.

Wearing
a hooded cloak, the man slouched over his drink in the far corner of the room,
as far as possible from any natural light that filtered in through the windows.
No portion of his face could be seen, despite my multiple attempts at squinting
in his direction. And, unless I’d missed any movement in that corner of the
room, he’d been nursing that same drink since we’d walked through the door. I
seriously doubted I’d missed anything going on there though, since one eye had
been practically glued to his corner for the last ten minutes. Discreetly, of
course.

“I can’t
really speak for every Scotsman,” Shannon said, shaking her head at me. A small
flush had worked across her cheeks, and I smiled. Like she didn’t know that I
live to embarrass her.

“Oh,
come on. What about Sir William? Haven’t gotten a look-see under his kilt yet?”

She
studied the scuffed table, finding a single crumb to flick off the surface. “I’ve
never even seen him in his kilt.”

Well,
well
, I thought, leaning forward and
folding my arms on the table. If there wasn’t an undercurrent to the way she’d
just said that, then I didn’t know my bestie at all. “Don’t tell me you two
haven’t had sex yet.”

“
Oh
my God. Shhh
.” Shannon blushed again as she sank down in her chair,
glancing around to make sure no one heard. “Yes, we have. And the reason I
haven’t seen him in his kilt yet is because he wants me to wait and see it the
day we get married.”

That
was…actually sweet. And totally something Shannon deserved. I leaned back
against my chair. “Good. I think it’s nice that he wants to surprise you. And I’m
really glad the two of you have done the nasty, because you know my stance on
sex before marriage.” Why anyone would want to attach themselves to someone
else for the rest of their life without knowing what to expect in the sack made
absolutely no sense to me. Shannon thought I’d lost my virginity years ago, and
that was one thing I’d never corrected her on. It was probably the only secret
between us. “It’s not like I needed another maid of honor project, anyway. Glad
I don’t have to get you laid on top
everything
else I have to do.”

“Me,
too.” She grinned, her expression morphing from mortification to appreciation. “I’m
so glad you came.”

“I am,
too. I still can’t believe you’re getting married.
And to a Scot, no less,
”
I added, trying my hand—terribly—at a Scottish accent.

We both
laughed, my best friend holding her sides at the hilarity of my failed attempt.
Shannon and I had known each other our entire lives. Being best friends and
cousins, we knew almost every detail about each other. Shannon had always been
the shy, sweet girl that kept to herself and had her nose firmly planted in
whatever book she was engrossed in at the moment.

I went
to parties and waited for the movies to come out.

When
she’d told me eight months ago that she was going to Scotland to stay with some
distant cousins, and to learn about their clan’s history, I’d thought she was
crazy, and was fairly certain—not that I’d ever,
ever
tell her—that she’d
touch down in Scotland and turn right back. But that hadn’t been the case.
Apparently she’d fallen in love with the place during one of the many vacations
her family had taken.

I’d
spoken to Shannon on the phone every couple of weeks, and by the fourth call,
my best friend had done a one-eighty. She’d actually started talking about guys
instead of the incredible history that Scotland had to offer; and then just
three months ago, she’d called me up and asked me to be her maid-of-honor. I
had accepted right off the bat, and had the pleasure of informing my dad that
his baby girl would be flying to Scotland before he did to help out with the
wedding.

In
reality, life at home just hadn’t been the same without my Shanny Panny there.
And since she’d left mere weeks after graduation, my post high school life hadn’t
been nearly as party-centric as I’d imagined. With missing one of my two best
friends, I just hadn’t found going out to be quite as fun. We’d had another
bestie, Tory, until right before graduation, but that bitch had gone off her
rocker. She’d been a major topic of my phone conversations with Shannon over
the last few months, and had grown to be a big pain in my ass. As for our third
amigo…

“Oh,
Carrie changed flights, so she isn’t flying in until next Tuesday. And I guess
she doesn’t need you to pick her up,” I said, recalling my last conversation
with our other best friend. “She also said she hopes that doesn’t mess with
your plans on her helping out with the wedding, since apparently the two of us
will pretty much have handled it anyway.”

“Oh?”

I
shrugged. She probably didn’t find this all that surprising. Not with the
carefree way Carrie lived her life. “I guess she found a date that actually has
a passport and could afford the ticket over here, so she wants to spend a night
in Glasgow with him first.”

“I
wonder if he knows that.” Shannon laughed, nodding in thanks as the waitress
set our burgers and drinks on the table. I didn’t even have to lean forward to
smell the alcohol permeating from my glass. Then again, the whole place smelled
like an alcoholic sponge. She brought the glass to her lips and took a sip,
smiling. “You should try it. This is a lot stronger than anything back home.”

I
gawked at her, mocking offense. “Shannon Perry, are you suggesting that I, who
am not even legally able to drink yet, have tasted
alcohol
?”

Her
eyes bugged, and I threw my hands up, shielding my face as her drink sprayed
from her lips. “Of course not,” she teased grabbing her phone and hastily
scrolling to whatever she was looking for. “You couldn’t
possibly
be the
one responsible for giving me my first taste of Jack and Coke, or,” she flashed
her cell’s screen at me, “the one in this picture sucking Jell-O shots off
Jimmy Alder’s chest.”

I
grabbed her phone and stared at the picture, taking a few extra seconds to
admire Jimmy. He looked that good up close, too. “I can’t believe you still
have that.”

“
Pfft
.
Like I would ever get rid of it? I planned to use it against you if you refused
to come out for the wedding.”

I shook
my head, smiling as I handed her phone back. “Those were good shots. You should
have tried some.” I reached for my glass and threw back some whiskey, instantly
realizing my mistake. My throat closed up and I had to force out a cough as the
burn of alcohol rushed through my chest. After a helpful slug to my back, I
sputtered a quick “thanks” to the guy behind me as I regained breath. “That’s
strong.” Eyes tearing up at the burn, it came out no more than a wheeze.

“Stronger
proof than we get in Utah.”

I
nodded.
Stronger than we probably get in the States.
Damn, I wish I
could have said that out loud. I pounded my fist against my chest twice, trying
to dislodge whatever still had me gasping.

“Probably
better than Jimmy’s Jell-O shots.” Shannon waggled her brows.

“Debatable.”
My throat got with the program and opened up again, and sweet,
maybe-not-so-fresh-air seeped into my lungs. “So, what can I help with that’s
weddingy
?”

A
flicker of excitement washed over Shannon’s face, and she picked up a binder,
opened it on the table and scrolled her finger over a checklist. “I still need
to go through the RSVPs and see who’s coming and who isn’t, and make a
spreadsheet of who wants which entrée. Oh, and I need to figure out the seating
arrangements. After that, I need to call the caterer and give them the final
count.”

Seemed
like a good place to begin, some of which probably should have been started
weeks ago. “Alright, where are the cards?”

“They’re
at Will’s. Oh, I should call and see if I can catch him before he leaves. He
so
can’t wait to meet you.” Shannon speed-dialed on her Scotland cell and held the
phone to her ear, peering up at the ceiling as she waited. “Hi sweetie.”

I
turned and pulled my tablet out of my purse, letting it power up as I attached
my mini keyboard. By the time Shannon hung up—after too many kissy sounds to
count—I had already opened Excel, entered column headers, and had started
entering details below the headers. “…Pan-seared chicken, additional guests:
none, and honorary table, yes?” At Shannon’s nod, I saved the spreadsheet. “There.
One down. Scarlett Michaelson, check.”

The man
in the corner shifted violently, making me jump as he lurched to his feet. He
was covered from head to toe, and I peered at him openly, wondering just how
much he’d had to drink, and exactly why he wore a cloak. Must be a Scottish
thing. As he lumbered his way toward me, I suddenly got the vision of Monty
Python’s
The Holy Grail
and hoped he’d begin to chant: “
Pie lesu
domine.” Whack. “Dona eis requiem
.”
Whack.