Highlander's Charm (Highlander Heat #3)

She laughed then stopped as the boulder shook. A wave tumbled her into the water. The current dragged her down and everything blackened.

Fighting to hold onto her breath, she clawed for the surface.

Stars blazed all around, a multitude so bright she slammed her eyes shut. The water sucked her deeper. She had to get out.

An arm clamped around her waist.

She jerked around. A man with piercing golden eyes tightened his hold on her and pointed upward. Yes, upward. That’s where she had to go, now.

He pushed them through the murky depths and in a fizz of bubbles, they broke the surface.

She pulled her mask off and gulped in air. “I love you. Where did you come from?”

“Love already, lass? The lights blazed and I dove in.” Dark hair was plastered to his face and neck as he treaded water. “Can you swim? The shore is close.”

“Yes, but where’s Zayn?”

“There’s another out here with you?” He searched the water.

“Zayn took a dolphin ride. Hopefully he didn’t get caught by the rogue wave like I did. It pulled me under so fast. Goodness, its dark.” Afternoon had turned to evening. “How is it so late?” Dizziness overwhelmed her and she grabbed her head.

“I cannae see another. ’Tis only us.” His Scots brogue was thicker than Zayn’s, his words far harder to understand. Although that could be the head spinning too. She needed rest, or to catch a decent breath.

“He must be okay.” He hadn’t been near her when the wave hit. “Please, who do I have to thank for saving my life?”

“Calum MacLean.” The waves bumped them together.

“There was an earthquake. I should’ve taken more care.”

“Aye, there’ve been unusual happenings this day. Thrice the earth moved.”

Thrice? Who said thrice anymore?

Behind her, a small island jutted off shore and around it, the waters branched off in three different directions. This wasn’t Mingary’s beach. “Ah, where am I?”

“Duart Castle on Mull.”

Miles from where she should have been. No wonder Zayn wasn’t here. “Really?”

“Aye, let’s get you to land.”

Yes. She’d figure things out once her feet were back on solid ground. She tried to kick, but her limbs shook.

“I’ve got you, lass.” His hold was tight as he cut a fast path through the churning waters, his strength alone propelling them forward. At hip depth, he stood and with his arm around her waist, helped her onto the beach. Frowning, he eyed her. “What is this you’re wearing? It looks like sealskin and ’tis equally as dark. I’ve no’ seen such cloth afore.”

“It’s a wetsuit.”

“Has this come from the continents?”

More of his strange speech, and the Western Isles weren’t exactly in the backwaters.

“You can buy a wetsuit almost anywhere.” She heaved her flippers off then flopped onto her back on the sand. The moon hovered on the horizon, casting a golden wash over the castle’s massive stone walls. Duart stood high on the rise of a craggy hill a few hundred feet inland, its fortified walls topped with battlements and tower house windows lit with candlelight. “Zayn will be terribly worried.”

“Is he your next of kin?” Calum knelt over her, pressed callused palms against her cheeks. “I’ll ensure he’s informed you’ve been found safe and well.”

“My grandmother’s my next of kin, but Zayn needs to know.”

“What village do you hail from?”

“Sydney, though it’s hardly a village.”

“Are you no’ from Mull?” He flattened his palm against her forehead. “Your skin is cold.”

“This is my first trip to Scotland, and it appears I took an unexpected detour to your isle at that. And the wetsuit is keeping me warm where it counts.” She edged up on her elbows. Along the barbican, guardsmen patrolled the two-story gatehouse. In great plaids no less. She’d read Duart was a fully functioning castle and open to tourists, but this sight was truly amazing. He must be one of the staff. “Do you work here?”

“This is my home.”

“You sure keep things realistic for the visitors.”

“Lass, your words are odd. I dinnae understand why you speak so.” He stared into her eyes. “Aye, and you have the same silver eyes as Mistress Jean who arrived a month past. She too had a strange accent, more like the Lowlanders. What is your name?”

“Lila.” She had Nanna’s uniquely colored eyes, and he’d said Jean, her grandmother’s name. Fingers numb, she clutched his soggy shirtfront. “Tell me what Mistress Jean looks like.”

“You’re Lila?” Eyebrows soaring, he slid his hands over hers.

“Yes. What does Mistress Jean look like?”