Page 7 of Highlander’s Curse (The Daughters of the Glen #8)

Five

J ust you dinna forget that all this is yer idea.”

As if his harpy cousin would let him forget. Colin unfolded himself from the passenger seat of Mairi’s automobile, quietly making his way around to her side of the vehicle.

“Dinna fash yer bonny head, Cousin. Yer husband will never have cause to ken what we’ve done this night. And if he does, I’d no allow you to take the blame for it. Just you sit tight until I return.”

“Yeah, well, just you remember to own up to it if he does find out,” she grumbled behind him. “And hurry up. It’s cold out here.”

He didn’t bother to respond now any more than he had the other twenty times she’d muttered the same on their late-night journey to this quiet location. A neighborhood, Mairi had called it.

Abby’s neighborhood.

Keeping to the shadows was no problem on a moonless night such as this.

Nor was the light snow that had started to fall a short time ago.

Distinguishing between the seemingly endless number of buildings was another matter.

It was all so very different from what he was used to, the homes of the masses so very much larger.

So very much nicer than those of his time.

Life had certainly changed in the past seven hundred years.

Rounding the corner, he spotted Abby’s home immediately, the tidy house framed by two large trees in the front, light streaming from the large windows.

Though he’d debated what he’d do when he reached this spot, he had no better idea now than when he’d first approached Mairi with his request to come here. He knew now only what he’d known then, that he felt compelled to see Abby one last time before he traveled to Wyddecol.

He hesitated there in the shadows, reluctant, now that he’d arrived, to make his way up to her door. He might not know what he wanted from this visit, but he did know that whatever it was, it concerned only him and Abigail.

Somewhere out here in the dark at least one other lurked: the spy sent by Coryell to observe Abby’s every move. And though the man might well be a craftsman at his work, Colin had no intention of allowing his visit to be observed and reported back to his cousin’s employer.

That alone ruled out simply walking up to the front door and knocking.

Decision made, he backtracked past several houses before crossing the street to locate the entrance to the alleyway behind. From here it would be easy enough to slip over the low fence surrounding her property and make his way to the door he’d seen leading out of her kitchen.

Approaching the back of her home, he quickly realized he’d need to shift his plans yet again. The door opened and he dropped to his knees, hugging close behind the bramble of leafless bushes that lined her yard.

Abby herself stepped out into the night, her figure in sharp relief against the light shining through the opening. She hovered around a massive wooden box that sat just outside her door, moving quickly from one corner to the next, leaving little flickering lights wavering in her wake.

Candles? It made no sense to him why she’d be needing the poor illumination of the wax pillars when she had access to that fine, bright light shining through her door.

All thoughts of candles fled a moment later, replaced with visions of witchery when she lifted the lid on the great box and clouds of smoke billowed out into the night.

Short-lived visions, since her next move robbed him of his ability to think at all, leaving him grateful he was already on his knees.

The fluffy robe she wore opened and fell back, pooling at her feet as if in worship, just as he might have if he were at her side. Under the robe she wore nothing. Or, more accurately, next to nothing. Two brightly colored strips of cloth, hardly enough to cover her most intimate parts.

She paused, looking out over the yard before tilting her head to the side as if she listened for something.

Apparently satisfied, she reached inside the door and, with the flip of a switch, the lights went out, leaving her barely visible as she climbed up what looked to be a small ladder before descending into the candle-ringed box.

Though the incident had lasted only seconds, the image was forever imprinted in his mind of Abby standing there, bereft of clothing, snow drifting down around her.

It took no effort to imagine the icy flakes coming to rest on her soft skin, melting together to form droplets that would roll down the heated curves and valleys he’d witnessed only moments before.

He wiped a hand over his mouth and onto his chin, more undecided than ever as to how he should proceed. Surely this was some intimate ritual he had no right to interrupt and yet he needed more.

Slowly, he lowered his barriers, allowing the magic to flood his senses. He flinched, his breath catching in his chest as the pain of hundreds of souls cried out their need all around him. Meticulously, he filtered through them, blocking them in great swaths until all that was left was Abby.

Pure and golden, her aura surrounded her, its ragged edges revealing she’d not yet bonded with her Soulmate. The relief he felt was short-lived.

“What do you think yer doing?”

Mairi’s hoarse whisper unnerved him. Intently focused on Abby’s aura, he’d completely missed her approach.

“They’ve a name for this,” she hissed over his shoulder and into his ear. “Peeping Tom is what they’d call you. And they’d arrest you for it and haul yer arse off to jail. And wouldn’t we be in a fine mess then, trying to explain who you were and where you came from? Come on with you now.”

Reluctantly, he allowed his cousin to lead him away, back down the alleyway and to her automobile, neither of them speaking again until they were seated and she’d started the engine.

“When you said you’d a need to see that woman again, I thought you meant you wanted to speak with her.” There was no missing the accusation in his cousin’s voice.

He’d thought so, too. Had, in fact, had every intention of doing just that.

But he’d been wrong. As it turned out, he’d needed only to see her again, to simply reassure himself, after all the dreams, that she was real.

Having seen her with his own eyes, he could leave for Wyddecol, satisfied that one day soon they would meet again.

Abby sipped from her glass before sinking down into the relaxing bubbles of the hot tub.

This one feature more than any other had convinced her to come up with the extra cash to rent this place last year.

Steamy wisps danced up to meet the falling snow, carrying her frustrations with them.

Maybe half an hour in here and a large glass of wine would relax her enough that she might actually get some sleep tonight. Peaceful sleep, uninterrupted by dreams. Or at the very least, uninterrupted by dreams of him .

The thought of her mysterious Highlander had her upending the goblet.

What was it about that man? As if it wasn’t bad enough she’d dragged him home with her in the first place, now her subconscious tormented her with visions of him, serving him up in one dream after another, night after night.

It had gotten so bad, in fact, she was beginning to expect him to actually show up again.

Expect or hope?

Hope was more like it. Just tonight she could have sworn she’d felt him somewhere nearby. Too bad her weird ability to find things didn’t extend to people.

She lifted the glass to her lips again, only to realize she’d already emptied it.

“Damn.”

Just as well. It was already late and she needed to be at the museum early in the morning to start work on organizing the new Celtic exhibit she hoped to have up and running before she left for her summer on the dig.

With barely over three months left to prepare, she hadn’t the time or the energy to waste on anything that wasn’t absolutely essential.

The exhibit this month, meeting with the organizer of the dig next month, and then training her replacement—those were her priorities. She had a million things to do before she was ready to board that plane to Scotland.

A million things, none of which included wasting time on some schoolgirl crush, moping over a gorgeous Highlander who’d walked out of her life as quickly as he’d entered, all without so much as a backward glance.

The next three months couldn’t be busy enough to suit her. The more hectic, the better. Because busy and hectic would surely push Colin MacAlister completely out of her thoughts.