Highlander's Kiss (Clan Matheson #1)

“You look distressed, brother, and for a man who’s just found his chosen one, you shouldn’t.” Tor closed the front of the armoire that held the chief’s armor and set a battle axe down on the table. He rubbed it clean with a soft cloth then slid the axe into the belt hoop on the opposite side of his hip to his sheathed sword.

“This mated bond is strong and I’ve a deep need to complete it and ensure I tie Julia to me in every way.”

“I remember the feeling well, that desperate need to cement the bond.” Finlay motioned toward the armoire. “Help yourself to whatever weapons you too might need, Tavish. Gilleoin would want you to be well armed while here in this time. The enemy lurks everywhere.”

“I’d appreciate the additional weaponry.” He accepted Finlay’s offer, selected an axe similar to Tor’s and sheathed it at his side.

“Excuse me.” A knock sounded. “’Tis Layla. I bring refreshments.”

“Come in, Layla,” Finlay called out. “Refreshments would be most welcome.”

With a tray of tankards in hand, a young woman with golden spiral tresses and her hair pinned with a crown of pretty red flowers and red and white ribbons fluttering down her back, swished in. “The cook bid me to bring you all some ale and oatcakes.”

“Give her my thanks.” Finlay shuffled some of the seneschal’s accounts littered across the chief’s large desk to the side. “Leave the tray right there, Layla. Meet my second cousins, Tavish and Tor, both recently arrived from the future.”

“Aye, word has already spread around the keep that we have newcomers.” She set the tray down then carried a tankard to Tavish, excitement flushing her cheeks. “Is it true? You’re mated to Julia?”

“It’s very true.” He accepted the earthenware mug and gestured to Tor. “My brother though has yet to meet his chosen one.”

“Oh, ’tis so wonderful you’re both here to find your mates, although ’tis unfortunate you’ve arrived at this most difficult time.” Layla whooshed across to Tor with a tankard, her deep red skirts billowing around her. “Since the ‘power of three’ arrived, I’ve been so curious about the future. All the lasses would love to travel to your time. We hear there is far more freedom for women in the twenty-first century. Julia is certainly quite lucky to have already witnessed your world.”

Tor smiled at her as he accepted the ale. “It’s been foretold our mated ones will hold a touch of fae blood. Do you hold fae blood, Layla?”

“Aye. My father comes from the village, is one of the leaders, although we’ve lived here at the castle since I was born. Father is also one of Gilleoin’s captains. You will likely meet him afore too long. Father holds the same skill as I do, that of the ‘power of thought.’”

“You mean telekinesis?” Tor’s brows rose in interest.

“I’ve heard Finlay call it that as well. ’Tis the same thing.”

“What of your mother?”

“My mother passed away at my birth.” She ducked her head. “Nessa is my godmother, and alongside my father, has raised me.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“It has been some time, although Father misses her greatly. They were mated.” Her gaze moved over the loose laces on Tor’s billowy black shirt and they slowly tightened. She touched the swaying ends of his ties with her fingers then smiled and tucked her hands away behind her. “I can levitate or move objects, can manipulate whatever I wish. If you find I do things you dinnae like, please tell me. I can be too forward at times, so Father always says.”

“Be as forward as you like. You’ve a most interesting skill and I’d love to learn more about it.”

“I’ve a very distracting skill too.” Her cheeks flushed a rosy pink and she dipped her head. “Oh, but I am rattling on when I’ve clearly interrupted a meeting of great import. I must cease doing that. Please excuse me.”

“There’s no need to go.”

“I must.” She dashed out the door and waved over her shoulder. “Enjoy your ale.”

Tor stood at the door watching the lass as she disappeared into the kitchens beyond the great hall. Once she’d disappeared, his brother frowned as he faced Finlay. “What’s her father’s name?”

“Gregor, and Layla is also betrothed to Donnan MacDonald, the Chief of MacDonald’s son. They’re to be wed soon, once Gilleoin and Nessa have returned.” Finlay grumbled as ink blobbed from his quill onto the parchment. “I sure miss my computer with its spreadsheets, not to mention a regular old pen. I keep asking Cherub and Kirk to bring me a ballpoint. You’d think they’d remember one tiny little pen, but no, it always slips their minds.”

“I wish I had one on me to loan you.” Tavish selected a whetstone from the armoire, withdrew his sword and sharpened his blade.

“Sorry I’m late. I had to see to an issue.” Kirk strode in, his white tunic tucked into his belted plaid and his ever-present sword sheathed.