The Immortal Highlander Read online

  The castle Dageus had overseen construction of for Drustan and Gwen—the fabulous home that had been a labor of his love for them, and bespoke it in every beautifully crafted detail—contained over a hundred and twenty rooms. It had been designed to house an entire clan, and Drustan intended for it to do just that.

  He’d not lost his brother twice before to bid him any kind of fare-thee-well now. Clans weren’t like modern-day families. Highland clans stayed together, worked together, played together, and raised their children together. Conquered their own little corner of the world and stuffed it to overflowing with their unique, proud heritage.

  Hence Dageus and Chloe had taken up residence in the castle, settling happily into a suite in the west wing, opposite Drustan and Gwen in the east.

  And each eve without fail, at seven sharp, they met to dine (their wives insisted they dress for it, and he would have donned any blethering thing she’d asked to see his wee Gwen in such dresses and sexy shoes as twenty-first-century women wore), and the stone walls of the castle were filled with laughter, fine conversation, and the warmth of love.

  Cocking his head, Drustan glanced up at the portrait of his father, Silvan, and his next-mother, Nell, hanging above the fireplace. He fancied Silvan’s painted brown eyes twinkled merrily and Nell’s smile curved more sweetly. Aye, life was rich. After all their trials and tribulations, it had settled into a peaceful cadence, with no life-or-death complications, no oath-breaking, no time-traveling, no curses, no evil Druids or Gypsies or crazed seers or Tuatha Dé.

  He was looking forward to a very long stretch of unbroken peace and quiet. The rest of his life would serve well.

  He pushed aside his plate and was about to suggest they adjourn to the library, when their butler, Farley, came blustering in, white hair bristling, his tall, hunched frame now ramrod straight. Something had clearly ruffled him.

  “Milord,” Farley said with a disgruntled humph.

  “Mister MacKeltar,” Drustan corrected for the umpteenth time, with a this-is-really-wearing-thin-but-I’m-determined-to-be-patient smile. No matter how many times he told Farley that he was not a laird, that he was simply Mr. MacKeltar, that it was Christopher (his modern-day descendant who lived up the road in the oldest castle on the land) who was actually laird, Farley refused to hear it. The eighty-something-year-old butler, who insisted he was sixty-two and who had obviously never before buttled in his life until the day he’d arrived on their doorstep, was determined to be butler to a lord. Period. And he wasn’t about to let Drustan interfere with that aspiration.

  If not for Gwen, Drustan might have been more adamant about correcting him, but Gwen doted on Ian Llewelyn McFarley, and had since the day he’d arrived, followed by so many other McFarleys to be employed in and around the castle that Drustan was no longer certain some days if it was Castle Keltar he lived in or Castle Farley.

  If might made right, he thought wryly, it was Castle Farley by sheer numbers alone. At last count he employed fourteen of his butler’s children and spouses, seventeen grandchildren, and there were twelve wee greats on the premises, from toddler to teen. The McFarleys were a prolific bunch, reproducing like the clans of yore. Drustan looked forward to trying to catch up. He would certainly enjoy the trying, he thought, gaze raking possessively over his wee, sensual wife.

  “Aye, milord MacKeltar.”

  Drustan rolled his eyes. Gwen snorted into her napkin.

  “As I was trying to tell you, milord, ’tis a visitor you’re having and, though mayhap ’tis not my place to say so, she’s a most”—sniff—“improper lass. Not at all like young Miss Chloe here”—huge, infatuated smile—“or our delightful Lady Gwen. Verily she puts me more in mind of that one”—he nodded toward Dageus—“when first he arrived. There’s something not right about her, not right at all.”

  Drustan felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Peace and quiet was on the agenda. Naught more. He glanced questioningly at his wife.

  Gwen shrugged and shook her head. “I haven’t invited anyone, Drustan. Did you, Chloe?”

  “No,” Chloe replied. “What’s not right about her, Farley?” she asked curiously.

  An annoyed humph. A few ahems, then a thoroughly miffed, “She’s a fine enough lass, that is, when one is able to actually look at her, but”—he broke off with a deeply aggrieved sigh and cleared his throat several times before continuing—” ’twould appear she’s having, er . . . solidity problems.”

  “What?” Gwen said, frowning. “ ‘Solidity problems’? What on earth does that mean, Farley?”

  Drustan inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. He didn’t like the sound of this. Solidity problems did not bode well for the serenity of the occupants of Castle Keltar.

  “ ’tis precisely as I said. Solidity problems,” Farley reiterated, obviously loath to commit further to describing their unexpected guest.

  “Oh, my,” Gwen said faintly. “You mean, she’s solid and then she’s not? As in, she’s becomes invisible?”

  “You’d not be hearing such a thing from me,” Farley said stiffly. “ ’twould make one sound quite addled, such an assertion.”

  “And she’s asking for me?” Drustan said irritably. How could that be? The only people he knew in the twenty-first century were those he’d met through Gwen, or since settling in on the MacKeltar estate. He’d certainly not made the acquaintance of anyone with solidity problems. Verily, he would have avoided such a person like the grimmest plague. He’d had enough of spells and enchantments to last a dozen lifetimes.

  “Nay, she’s asking for that one.” Farley nodded at Dageus.

  “Me?” Dageus looked startled. Glancing at Chloe, he shrugged. “I have no idea, lass.”

  Exhaling gustily, Drustan stood. So much for peace and quiet and simple pleasures. How foolish to think a Keltar Druid’s life might ever be normal. In any blethering century. “ ’twould seem we’d best find out,” he said. “Somehow I doona think we’ll be so fortunate that this lass with ‘solidity problems’ might go non-solid in a permanent fashion and leave us all in peace.”

  When he made for the great hall, Dageus, Gwen, and Chloe were close on his heels.

  Gabby stood in the entrance of the castle, shaking her head, stunned.

  Adam hadn’t bothered to tell her that the MacKeltars lived in a magnificent, sprawling castle with round turrets and square towers, enclosed by a mighty stone wall, and replete with medieval portcullis and barbican, the great hall of which alone could have swallowed her entire eleven-room Victorian.

  Nor had he given her any warning that she might have wanted to run a brush through her hair or powder her nose and try to make herself presentable to . . . to aristocrats or . . . peerage or whatever manner of lordly people occupied castles.

  Nope, just another abrupt dropping of Gabby O’Callaghan, sleep-deprived and unkempt, into yet another unfathomable situation, wholly unprepared.

  She tilted back her head, examining her surroundings. An intricately carved balustrade encircled the hall on the second floor, and an elegant double staircase swept down from opposing sides, met in the middle, and descended in one wide train of marble stairs. It was a staircase out of a fairy tale, the kind a princess might sweep down, dressed in an elegant gown, on her way to a ball.

  Brilliant tapestries adorned the walls, plush rugs were scattered about, and colorful stained glass embellished the many tall windows. The furnishings in the hall were massive carved pieces, detailed with complex Celtic knotwork. There were two fireplaces, both large enough for grown men to stand in, faced by high-backed chairs tufted with rich brocades, and arranged beside gleaming accent tables.

  Corridors shot off in all directions, and she couldn’t even begin to imagine how many rooms were in the place. A hundred? Two hundred? Complete with secret passageways and a dungeon? she wondered fancifully.

  It wasn’t until they’d begun climbing the long winding private drive to the estate that Adam had finally divulged the fascinating, though
sketchy, bit of information that the MacKeltars were descended from an ancient line of Druids that had served the Tuatha Dé Danaan for aeons—and were the sole upholders of Man’s side of The Compact between human and Fae.

  “The Compact?” she’d echoed, stunned.

  The O’Callaghan Books held scant information about the legendary treaty. She was beginning to realize that if she survived all of this, she was going to be able to add a wealth of information to the volumes for future generations—more and more accurate information—than anything they held to date.

  Perhaps she’d even get to see the sacred . . . er, thing, whatever The Compact was—she didn’t even know what it was supposed to look like. And how much, she wondered, ablaze with curiosity, might the MacKeltars be able to tell her about the Fae? As upholders of the treaty, they should know a great deal. She couldn’t wait to pick their brains.

  She snorted softly, not missing the irony of her thoughts. She’d spent her entire life determined to hide from all things Fae, refusing to open the Books, turning studiously away, and suddenly she was eager to know as much as possible about them.

  The O’Callaghan Books had been wrong about many things.

  And she needed to know just how many things, and just how wrong.

  Only then might she be able to make some sense of the dark, seductive Fae prince who had blasted into her life and turned it so completely upside down.

  She glanced up at him. He was standing silently, his gaze focused ahead, his big body still and tense. Was he uncertain of their welcome? It was difficult for her to fathom Adam being uncertain of anything.

  She was tipping her head back to inquire, when two men entered the great hall and the question flew right out of her head.

  They were simply two of the most gorgeous men she’d ever seen. Twins, though different. They were both tall and powerfully built. One was taller by a few inches, with dark hair that swept just past his shoulders and eyes like shards of silver and ice, while the other had long black hair falling in a single braid to his waist, and eyes as gold as Adam’s torque. They were elegantly dressed in tailored clothing of dark hues, with magnificent bodies that dripped raw sex appeal.

  Oh, my, she marveled, they don’t make men like these in the States. Were these typical Scotsmen? If so, she was going to have to get Elizabeth over here somehow. A connoisseur of romance novels, Elizabeth’s favorites were the Scottish ones, and these two men looked as if they’d just stepped straight off one of those covers.

  “Try not to gape, ka-lyrra. They’re only human. Mortal. Puny. And married. Both of them. Happily.”

  So much for fixing Elizabeth up, Gabby rued, glancing up at Adam. His hand was resting possessively in the small of her back, and he was looking down at her with an unmistakably irritated expression that looked a bit like . . . jealousy? The sin siriche du—jealous of two human men? Over her? The notion seemed so unlikely to her as to be impossible; nonetheless, it made tiny breaths clot up in her throat.

  “I’m not gaping,” she managed to say, and really she wasn’t, because as soon as she’d looked back at Adam, she’d realized that though the two men might be gorgeous for humans, they were nothing compared to him.

  Take those two men, merge them together, sprinkle them with Fae dust, brush them with ten times the simmering sensuality and elemental danger, and that’s Adam Black, she thought.

  “Dageus, are you seeing . . .” the taller of the two began, with a disgruntled note in a voice deep and laced with a thick, soft burr.

  “Rather like the faint, misty outline of a lass, Drustan?” his golden-eyed twin finished for him, with the same sexy accent.

  “Aye,” the one called Drustan said, scowling.

  “Aye,” Dageus agreed.

  “Oh!” Gabby exclaimed. She’d forgotten about Adam’s hand at the small of her back (deadly man, he’d gotten her so used to his constant touching that she was now more likely to notice its absence than its presence!). Then again, how could the MacKeltars see her at all? she wondered, frowning. Because they were Druids? Heavens, she had so many questions!

  Slipping away from Adam’s touch, she hastily apologized to the two tall, dark men. “I’m so sorry. I keep forgetting that I disappear when he’s touching me, because nothing disappears for me. I guess we probably gave your butler a bit of a fright.” At their blank looks, she forged on. “I’m Gabrielle O’Callaghan,” she said, stepping forward and offering her hand, “and I know you don’t know me, and I know this all probably seems quite strange, but I can explain. Could we maybe sit down somewhere? It feels like we’ve been traveling forever.”

  The men exchanged glances. “ ‘We’?” the one called Drustan said warily.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Drustan,” a petite woman with straight silvery-blond hair and fringy bangs pushed past the towering Highlander, “where are your manners?”

  A second woman, also petite, but with long curly hair streaked with copper and gold, emerged from behind the other twin, and they both hastened forward to greet her.

  “I’m Gwen,” the silvery blonde said, “and that’s my husband, Drustan. This is Chloe and her husband, Dageus.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Gabby said, suddenly feeling like the queen of grunge, confronted by the two beautiful women. Here she was in an elegant castle, with four elegantly dressed people, she’d been traveling nonstop for a day and a half—or at least she thought she had; the time zones had gotten her rather discombobulated—and four plane changes and hours of stressful driving later, she looked it. Her hair had slipped out of its clip hours ago and she could feel it poking straight up from her head in back, she had no makeup on, and even the wrinkles in her clothes had wrinkles. She shot Adam a withering look. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me we were going to a castle and that all these people would be here. Look at me, I’m a jet-lagged, bedraggled mess.”

  “Um, excuse me, but who are you talking to? And you’re not a mess,” Chloe assured her. “Believe me, Gwen and I have been in our share of scrapes and felt bedraggled ourselves, and you’re not bedraggled. Is she, Gwen?”

  Gwen smiled. “Hardly. Bedraggled is being in the full throes of nicotine withdrawal, and after a week on a bus with a group of senior citizens, falling into a cave, and landing on a body.”

  “And then getting tossed back a few centuries, with no idea of what’s going on,” Chloe agreed. “Naked, too, weren’t you?”

  Gwen nodded wryly.

  Gabby blinked.

  “I gave you my plaid,” Drustan protested indignantly. “ ’twas ne’er my intention to send you back bare as a wee bairn, Gwen.”

  Gwen gave her husband a loving glance. “I know,” she said softly.

  The one called Dageus tossed his head impatiently. “All of which is neither here nor there. To whom do you speak that we canna see, lass?”

  Tossed back a few centuries? Naked? What? Good heavens, were these people like Adam’s half-Fae son, displaced in time? Her own life, her little corner of the Tri-State was looking increasingly normal to her with each passing day.

  “Tell them, Gabrielle,” Adam urged impatiently.

  Blinking, Gabby nodded. “I have one of the, er . . . fairies here with me—”

  “Tuatha Dé,” Adam corrected irritably. “You’re bloody well making me sound like Tinkerbell.”

  “One of the Tuatha Dé,” she amended, with a wry smile. “He says I’m making him sound like Tinkerbell, but, believe me, no one could ever confuse Adam Black with Tinker—”

  “Adam Black of the Tuatha Dé Danaan?” Dageus exclaimed, those exotic golden eyes widening.

  “You know him?” To Adam, she said peevishly, “You didn’t tell me they knew you.”

  “I wasn’t certain if Dageus retained any memory of me, ka-lyrra. He was near death at the time, and I didn’t know if Aoibheal would permit him recall,” he said mildly.

  “You mean, the Tuatha Dé Danaan that saved my husband’s life?” Chloe exclaimed. “He’s here w
ith you?”

  Okay, that threw her completely off balance. Adam had saved Dageus’s life? When? How? Why? What was he doing, going around saving people’s lives? What kind of fairy did that? None of the ones she’d ever heard of. Fairies didn’t go around helping humans.

  For heaven’s sake, she thought, staring up at him, mouth ajar, do I even know him at all?

  Damn the O’Callaghan Books. Had they gotten anything besides his immense sexuality right?

  Adam smiled faintly and, with a gentle finger beneath her chin, nudged her mouth shut. His gaze fixed on her lips for a moment and he lightly traced the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. When he applied a gentle pressure, she was mortified to feel the tip of her tongue slip out to taste him. She hadn’t meant to do it; she hadn’t been able to stop herself.

  His face went instantly taut with lust and he made a guttural sound in his throat. Nostrils flaring, he drew several slow breaths, then said tightly, “What, didn’t read about that one in your silly Books, Gabrielle? Doesn’t mesh with your preconceptions? Imagine that.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Would you have believed me?” he countered coolly.

  She winced.

  “Hence, I didn’t tell you.” He let his hand fall from her face.

  “Oh, do you see that?” she heard Gwen exclaim, as if from a distance. “She just disappeared again! This is so fascinating! And now she’s back.”

  Gabby was still staring up at him when Chloe took her hand, gushing, “Oh, welcome, welcome, both of you. Are you hungry? Thirsty? What can we get you? And here, let us take your bags. So, er,” she hesitated the briefest of moments, “I know this probably isn’t the time for it, but just how old is Adam Black anyway? You see, I have a few questions about the Iron Age. Actually,” she confided earnestly, “I have quite a few questions about several—”

  “Can he eat and drink?” Gwen interrupted, with an utterly fascinated expression. “I mean, is he actually there? And, er . . . exactly where is there? Is he in another dimension or something? Parallel to ours, maybe?”