Spell of the Highlander

Page 84

Oh, not pure sweet blinding light. Not even close. Cian MacKeltar wasn’t that kind of man and would never be. Truth was, she didn’t much like that kind of man anyway. Cian wasn’t one of the bad guys—but he could be if necessary, at the drop of a hat and utterly without remorse.
But “bad guy” wasn’t his primary persona. He was what psychologists and anthropologists would call an Alpha male, men who were defined by an inherent lawlessness. They obeyed only their own code, and if it happed to briefly converge with the laws of society-at-large, it was mere coincidence. One could never be completely certain what an Alpha male would do if he, or those he considered his, were threatened. One could only hope to stay within an Alpha male’s protected circle—or as far out of his line of sight as possible.
Jessi knew where she wanted to be, smack at the center of Cian MacKeltar’s protected circle. And not just because someone was after her, but because he wanted her there under any circumstances. That was the second epiphany she’d had today while frantically hunting for him.
“But you doona think he’s dark, eh, lass?” Dageus jarred her from her thoughts. “You think he’s a good man? Do you believe in him, lass? With your heart?”
She looked at him curiously. There was a note of urgency in his voice, as if the question was very important to him. “You don’t even know me. Would it matter to you if I did?”
“Och, aye, Jessica. A woman’s thoughts and feelings always matter to Keltar men.”
Hmmm. With each passing moment, she was liking Keltar men more and more.
“So? Do you?” he pressed.
“Yes,” Jessi said without reservation. “I do.”
When they got to the castle—Crimeny, she was in a castle!—Dageus guided her through at such breakneck speed that her surroundings whizzed by and she hardly managed to see a thing.
She got a brief, astonished glimpse of a magnificent great hall with a fabulous fairy-tale staircase that descended from both sides of the upper stories, a rapid look at a stunning suit of armor in an alcove, and a much-too-hasty glance into a darkly paneled room adorned by ancient weaponry, with claymores, battle-axes, spears, and broadswords gracing the walls in intriguing geometric patterns. She’d positively itched to grab a chair, pull them down, and begin testing for authenticity. Though she suspected everything she was seeing was the genuine article.
Why wouldn’t the contents of the castle be from centuries long past? The occupants were.
After steering her into a library, he deposited her there, then hurried off to “gather the rest of the clan and bring your man in. My brother and our wives will join you anon.”
Now, waiting by herself, she proceeded to take a thorough, fascinated peek around.
The library was a beautiful, spacious, yet cozily inviting retreat, reminding Jessi much of the understated, impeccable elegance of Professor Keene’s office.
Tall bay windows, draped in velvet, overlooked a manicured garden. Cherry bookcases were recessed into paneled walls. An enormous, dusky-rose stone and marble fireplace climbed one wall, the elaborate mantel climbing all the way to the ceiling. There were many richly brocaded, overstuffed chairs and ottomans arranged in various conversation areas, beside lavishly carved, leather-detailed occasional tables. The trey ceiling had ornate embossing and three tiers of elegant moldings. A stately bar was custom-crafted into a section of the bookshelves.
From what she’d seen on her rushed way through, the entire castle was a historian’s dream, liberally scattered with antiques and relics, and the library was no different.
Centuries-old tapestries adorned the walls. The room was illumed by exquisite—and she was willing to bet real—Tiffany table lamps that cast a stained-glass amber and rosy glow about the room. The majority of the books on the shelves were leather-bound and some looked quite old, resting with care on their flats, not their spines. A massive desk with a top inlaid of three gleaming burled panels divided by intricate Celtic knot-work occupied one corner, with a tall leather chair behind it. Library tables perched beneath spotlighted portraits of Keltar ancestors. Muted antique rugs warmed the room, accented by an occasional plush lambskin. A pretty ladder with sides of carved scrollwork slid along the walls of bookcases on padded wheels, atop the gleaming perimeter of wood floor.
She was just moving toward the ladder, to push it to an especially interesting-looking pile of manuscripts, when two pretty blondes burst into the library, followed by a man she initially mistook for Dageus.
“Welcome to Castle Keltar,” one of the blondes said breathlessly. “I’m Gwen and this is my husband, Drustan. This is Dageus’s wife, Chloe.”