Gillian Grant is at war with Cian Mackinnon, the laird of Castle Dunnascaul. A longstanding feud between their clans, Bonnie Prince Charlie's missing gold, and two ghosts determined to play matchmaker, quickly sees Gillian in Cian's arms, right where he wants her to be.
PEARL Award Winner 2006
Over his shoulder, he saw her watching him. The smug expression fell off her face. Calling after him, she moved to the edge of the small porch. "What are you doing, Mackinnon?"
He swung around, walking backwards. "Guess you'll have to watch, lass." "Mackinnon!" She raised her voice to carry over the rising wind.
He shrugged. "Can't hear you!" Jauntily, he jogged to his truck.
She didn't leave the stoop. She must be getting chilled, but stayed observing as he reversed the Rover until the tail backed up against the chain.
Getting out, he snagged a rope from the back and uncoiled it. Wrapping it around the chain, he then secured it about the boat hitch. Whistling, he scooted behind the wheel and shifted the Rover into gear. Watching the rope play out in the rearview mirror, he saw Gillian on the stoop, hands on her hips, furious as it grew clear he planned to yank the chain and the posts out. Precisely what he did. Completing a U-turn, he sped down the drive to park. Hopping out, he untied her chain, then dropped it clanking at her feet. "Yours, I believe?"
"OOOooo, bloody Mackinnon!" She seethed. "I'm calling the constable."
"Go ahead, ring up Hamish Abercrombie. While you're at it, lass, tell him you limited the access. You'll end up fined."
"OOOooo, beast," she growled.
He shot back, "Vixen."
He laughed. "Witch."
Her brown eyes blinked. "Did you call me a bitch?"
"No, I called you witch."
"Why would you call me witch?"
"You must be one."
"Why would you assume that?"
"Because all I can think of doing is this." Tossing good sense to the wind, he grabbed hold of her shoulders and yanked her to him, taking her mouth with his in a bruising, no-holds-barred, mother-loving, knock-your-socks-off kiss.