Once Upon A Highland Legend by Tanya Anne Crosby Page A

effortless. Inexplicably, she found she trusted him. And in spite of the fact that she had never once discussed her parents’ death with her own fiancé, she felt drawn toward sharing the pain of her loss with another human being. Unfortunately, how did one explain a drunk driver to a man who must know nothing of cars? “He was murdered,” she said. And in a way it was true.
    She knew he suspected the same about his own father though the circumstances were different. But they had something in common.
    “What o’ your minny?”
    Annie smiled a little. “Immortal, remember?” That was true as well—at least in Annie’s heart. Beneath her knees, the crystal glowed pink, catching her attention. So far, she hadn’t said anything she didn’t believe was true…
    His gaze fell to the crystal she was keeping close. “Tell me aboot ye’re keek stane, Annie Ross.”
    Annie reached down to pull the crystal close before he could think to touch it. “It’s precious,” she said, repeating the shopkeeper’s claim.
     
    “Aye, weel…if in fact it has the power to reveal all ye say it does, then mayhap it is,” Callum relented.
    “It can,” Annie Ross persisted, guarding her crystal jealously between her lovely legs.
    Magic or nay, it was clearly important to her, he reasoned. But she had another treasure hidden there that was far more valuable, and it had been far too long since a woman had hardened his cock so easily. She was lovely as a summer day, with a temper that fired his senses. And there was a look of keen intelligence in her eyes that stirred him far more deeply than any pair of diddies could manage. He had claimed she was daft, but she was far from it, he suspected, and he realized she was attracted to him as well. However, it would do her little good if he confessed to it now and endangered her life in the process.
    Besides, if Biera returned and found the lass was lying…well, he didn’t wish to grow attached to a woman who would end without a head.
    He eyed the crystal, but he made no move to take it, sensing she was offering him a measure of trust. A mon could win more flies with honey than with vinegar, his minny used to say. The problem was that Callum could never determine what a mon might want with flies. On the other hand, he knew precisely what he wanted with the lass sitting before him now…
    Answers…to begin with.
    Nay, he didn’t believe she was any faerie. She was a flesh and blood mortal, the same as him. Proof was in those rosy cheeks every time she dared to glance at the region of his lap. If he werna a disciplined man, he would have erected a small tent in his breacan the instant he sat down beside her.
    He didn’t believe she was a spy either, but god save her if she was. He’d take her head the same as any mon’s. And if he didna do it himself, one of his kinsmen would…only then he would lose the fealty of his clan.
    Succession was not absolute, nor was it decreed by patrimony. Among the old ones, it was the mother’s blood that ruled. And fortunately for Callum—or mayhap not so fortunately—he had the advantage that both his parents’ Pecht blood was true. These days, three generations removed from MacAilpín’s treason, most men were Gaels by virtue of at least one parent’s bloodline. It was a stain on their Pecht lineage, and their consortium had drawn together the last of his people whose blood was pure. None of these men or women who had been chosen for this mission were beholden to the Gaels, not by blood or fealty.
    They sat quietly for a moment, listening to the persistent sound of hammers in the distance. Along the beach, his kinsmen were busy repairing the remains of an old crannog that had fallen into ruin. It made him heartsick to think that now the elders of all seven Pecht nations—Cat, Fidach, Ce, Fotla, Circinn, Fortriu and Fib—could fit into one small crannog. Alas, they were the last of the Painted Ones—those whom the Roman’s had once called