Highlander's Heart (Clan Matheson #2)

“You dinnae even know her yet. What happens if she is a witch of a woman?”


“She holds the other half of my soul, so witch or not, I can’t wait to track her down. She has certainly already bespelled me. Here, take a bite.” He nudged the cherry he’d picked against her lips, one of his fingers and his thumb on her chin as he did so. “Open up, Layla. Let me feed you.”

“You are one very pushy bear.” She gave into him, bit into the cherry then moaned with delight as the sweet juices danced over her tongue.

“Oh goodness, so good. You have to try a cherry too.” She searched the closest branches and smiled as she found the largest cherry of the crop. With her mind alone, she tugged the succulent fruit free then brought it bobbing through the air toward her. She settled it on her palm. “There is a tradition surrounding this tree. The stone from the first fruit you eat here must be planted nearby, and since this is your first fruit, you too must do so.”

“Does everyone follow this tradition?” He motioned toward her tree. “I only see one other tree.”

“Aye, mine is the only stone to sink its roots into the soil and take. Mayhap yours will be the second. You never know.” She raised a brow. “Do you wish to take a bite and accept this fruit and the tradition it demands you partake in?”

“Once, when I was a lad, I tossed a plum stone over the curtain wall of Ivanson Castle and it took root. Each summer, that plum tree holds the largest crop of plums I’ve ever seen, so aye, I’ll accept your offering and the tradition.” With his golden gaze capturing hers, he opened his mouth, caught her hand and drew the cherry closer. He bit into the fruit, licked a drop of trickling juice from her palm and moaned. “Can you swim, Layla?”

“Pardon?”

“I’ve a few hours to kill before the sun sets and the moon rises. Join me for a dip after we’ve picked these cherries.” He bit the other half of the cherry still in her hand then greedily eyed the juice seeping between her fingers.

She wanted to snatch her hand back, ensure he didn’t touch her in such an intimate way again only she didn’t move an inch, had always secretly loved his little touches. Instead, she gave him a warning. “No licking is permitted.”

“I love how you taste, just as I love how you smell.” He plucked the stone from her hand, slipped it into his pocket. “Higher in the hills, only a short walk from here, I discovered a hidden underground pool behind a waterfall, one filled with steamy, hot water.”

“I know the waterfall you speak of but there’s no underground pool behind it.” She tried desperately hard not to sweep her gaze over him, to take in his magnificently muscled legs encased in black leather, only ’twas a losing battle to do so. The soft fabric molded itself to every single exquisite inch of him. Oh dear. Betrothed to another man and here she was ogling the one man who was already taken by another. Or at least would be soon.

She sighed. Time to pick the cherries and get on with the job she’d come out here to do.

She flicked her fingers, lifted the woven cane basket from the ground below and sent it gliding underneath the branch holding the heaviest number of fruit. Working her way along the limb, she tugged the cherries free with her skill, one after the other until her basket overflowed.

“That was fast.” He rubbed his shoulder against hers, his heady, wild scent surrounding her.

“My skill comes in very handy at times.” Gently, she swept the basket back down onto the grass, scrambled over him then with her ability, lifted herself away from the tree and drifted down to the ground.

“Wait up.” He swung his legs over the side and in one single bound, jumped and landed with a soft thump beside her. “You haven’t said if you’ll come with me to the pool I found.”

“I’m sorry, but I cannae.” She motioned toward the pocket he’d tucked his stone within. “You should plant your stone now afore you leave.”

“You choose the spot and I will.”

“Plant it close to my tree. The soil there is rich and dark.” She walked toward her tree and crouched near it, separated the lush grass and touched one finger to the earth underneath. “This will be the perfect spot.”

He dug the stone from his pocket and handed it to her. “While I dig a small hole, you kiss my stone. It’s said a fair lass’s kiss always brings good luck.”

“It does?” She’d never heard that saying afore.

“Aye, my father says so to my mother all the time and he gets kisses aplenty from her.” He slid his dirk free of his wrist sheath, knelt next to her and with his arm touching hers, dug a small hole then with a challenging look in his eye, murmured, “Kiss the stone, Layla.”