The Charm Stone Page 7

  She couldn't begin to make sense of anything that had just happened to her, the least of which was the almost overwhelming urge she'd had to fling herself into his arms.

  “I have got to get a grip,” she muttered. She looked up to the tower. Mercifully, the tower windows remained empty. “But on what?”

  Chapter 6

  Josie banged over the ruts on Gregor's old bike, thinking that if there was ever a way to kill the ol’ libido, this was it. She'd be walking funny for a week by the time she got to town.

  And yet, though her body had moved well beyond that torrid moment she'd shared with Connal on the beach, her mind wasn't past it. Not in the least. What on earth had possessed her to allow him such liberties? She snorted. Liberties. God, she was sounding like some maiden from a Gothic romance novel. It was as if, from the moment she'd taken the ferry to Glenmuir, she'd stopped living in the real world.

  Her legs felt like jelly as she climbed yet another interminable hill. Shortcut, my ass. The people on this island must be part sheep if they thought going this way was easier. Next time she'd stick to the road, even if it took her twice as long. But as she crested the hill, she stopped and gasped in awe.

  The view was nothing less than stunning. The small village of Ruirisay lay nestled below, framed by the tumble of rocks that lined the shore. She could see the ferry dock from here and, she imagined, on a perfectly clear day maybe the mainland as well. To the north she could see the rocky hills that covered the opposite end of the island she'd yet to explore.

  She made a mental note to head that way next time. In the car. To her right was the roll of hill and heather that formed the part of the island she'd driven around… had it just been yesterday?

  She turned around then, steeling herself for the impact of what lay behind her. Black's Tower thrust from the pile of stone that once had been Winter-haven, forbidding even now that it was little more than a ruin. It wasn't picturesque, as the port town was. But it was more awe-inspiring.

  As was the man who resided in it.

  She resolutely turned her back. And just as resolutely ignored the chills that raced over her skin when she thought of Connal MacNeil.

  She knew she had to face more-far more-than the fact that she'd tangled tongues with him this morning. She'd done plenty of soul-searching back in Gregor's cabin. Her first instinct had been to turn to her dad, tell him everything and get his take on it. But he was half a world away and grieving. No, she had to come to terms with this herself first, before discussing it with anyone. If she ever did.

  She looked past the dock to the open waters, hoping beyond hope that a ferry would magically appear on the horizon. Like Connal magically appeared in front of you on the beach? Scowling, she pushed onward, the downhill ride not much easier on her body.

  Yes, she'd seen him vanish before her very eyes. She'd listened to his explanation. And then there was the whole Bagan issue. She had to deal with all of it. She hadn't spent enough time in Scotland to absorb the more whimsical, mystical side of its history. Surfers were more interested in the wave action than recounting fairy tales. But there was no denying that being here, in a land out of step with modern times, carried with it that undeniable feeling that the magical and the mystical were possible.

  What she had to accept was that not only was it possible, but highly probable. Which was why she was heading into town. She wanted to hear ghost stories.

  By the time she parked her bike next to the others in front of Roddy's pub, the only thing she really wanted was a drink. The constant island wind had left her cheeks ruddy, but the bright summer sun had beat down on her back, soaking her shirt until it clung to her much like Connal's shirt had clung to that amazing chest of his. So broad and-

  She cut off that train of thought and pushed inside the store first. She slid her sunglasses off and looked about for Maeve, but didn't see her. Might as well pick up a few things, she thought. Gregor's bike had a wire basket on the front. She'd just have to buy things that were rutproof.

  She'd put several cans on the counter and was contemplating adding a tin of cookies when Maeve pushed through a small door near the back of the store.

  “Hello there,” she said, her weathered face creasing into a warm smile. “Ye look a bit road-weary. Would ye care for a lemonade? I just made a batch.”

  “Thank you, I'd love some,” Josie said with an appreciative smile. “I thought I was in pretty good shape, but I have to admit your sheep trails about wore me out.”

  “You biked it then?” She shook her head. “Och, dinna tell me ye took Gregor's old clattering heap?” At Josie's nod, she said, “I'm surprised you're walking upright.”

  Josie grinned. “So am I. My dad would say it was a character-building trip, but I'm pretty sure the only thing I built was blisters.”

  “I'm in the way of agreeing with you, though I'm sure your father is a wise man. Would you like a lift home?”

  “Oh no, I couldn't put you out, really. I'll manage.”

  Maeve poured the lemonade. “It's from a mix,” she said apologetically. “We don't get much fresh fruit but what we grow ourselves.”

  “It's wet, right?” Josie knew better than to hope for wet and cold. Nothing in the United Kingdom was ever served cold, it seemed. She tried not to gulp it down, but it tasted so wonderful, she was afraid she did anyway.

  Maeve was beaming at her when she finished and Josie smiled ruefully. “Blister-building makes me thirsty.”

  “It's the thirst of youth I enjoy.” Maeve refilled her glass. “We don't observe near enough of that anymore.”

  She said it matter-of-factly enough, but Josie was reminded of a comment she'd made the day before about missing the sounds of children on the island. “I guess there aren't many young families on the island, then?”

  “None these days, excepting for company coming to visit. Farming isn't exactly a fascinatin’ career path for the youngers, and fishing even less. The last of them have gone off to the mainland to university and it's a rare few that ever come back except to visit.” She topped off Josie's glass again, then began boxing up the cans on the counter. “But that's the way of things, I suppose.”

  “Glenmuir is lovely,” Josie offered, not sure what to say. She helped Maeve finish boxing her things. “I know it's remote, but I'm surprised you don't do more of a tourist trade. The north beach is truly beautiful.”

  “Aye, we like to think so, but to be honest, we've never courted the travel industry much. Set in our ways here, I suppose. We prefer the peace and serenity of our day-to-day lives.” She smiled as she jotted down the price of everything on a pad of paper. Technology in the way of cash registers hadn't apparently come to Glenmuir as yet. Or perhaps they simply enjoyed doing things the old way.

  Josie found herself charmed by it. In fact, if it weren't for a certain Scot, she'd be interested in staying on a while. She liked the peaceful feel of the place, the way the villagers seemed to look out for one another, even outsiders like her. She'd always felt tucked away in Parker's Inlet, but it was a beach town, a tourist town, and therefore had a definite vibe to it that was entirely different from this remote place. There was a wild yet somewhat civilized feel to the island, different entirely from the Pacific islands, probably because it wasn't tropical here. It wasn't like Australia either, which had a raw, frontier feel to it.

  She wondered what it would be like to work here and was surprised to realize she'd like to find out. A few ideas for new board designs had already started floating about in her mind. How wonderful it would be to sit on that lovely stretch of beach and flesh them out.

  Or it would have been, if not for the damn tower and its three-hundred-year-old watchman looming over her.

  “Storm's coming up tomorrow,” she heard Maeve say.

  “The sky is such a gorgeous blue today,” Josie said. “But I know how fast that can change.”

  “I suppose as a surfer you live near the water back in the States.”

  “Atlantic O
cean. I know all about storms.”

  Maeve nodded. “Well, this one looks to be rather fierce. You'll not want to be out in it. I'm sure Gregor has some wood put by. It'll get cold come tomorrow night, so make sure you bank the fire before you go to sleep.”

  Bank the fire? Josie might have traveled extensively, but she'd always had a roof over her head and a good night breeze when central air wasn't a possibility. Heat was rarely if ever an issue. She forced a smile. “Sure will, thanks.” So she'd never been a Girl Scout. How hard could it be to keep a fire going?

  She paid for her supplies and broached the subject that had brought her here. “The castle ruins are amazing.”

  “Aye, they are that.” Maeve settled her hip against the counter, apparently more than willing to chat.

  Josie was more than willing to let her. “It was the MacNeil stronghold once, right?”

  Maeve's brow furrowed and her mouth turned down at the corners. “Oh, ye've got the right of it. This whole island was once MacNeil land, but no more. Stubborn fool of a man left his clan to be all but decimated while he awaited his destiny.” She said that last word as if it were a curse, then shook her head, as incensed as if it had happened three years ago instead of three hundred.

  “Man?”

  “The MacNeil. Connal was his name.”

  Josie hoped Maeve didn't notice the goose bumps on her skin, or the way the hairs on her neck lifted.

  “He had a notion that possession of a charm stone was all the clan needed to ensure survival. He'd inspired loyalty in the lot of them, I'll give him that, but that loyalty ended up costing them. All while he waited in that damned tower.”

  “What a shame,” Josie mumbled, folding her arms to keep Maeve from seeing how they trembled. But Maeve didn't seem to notice, deep into her story now.

  “In the end, it cost him his life as well. Horrible battle, that. Campbells took over, then lost it several years later to the Sutherlands, who in turn abandoned it and left it to ruin. There are still some Mac-Neils here, as there are Campbells and Sutherlands, but the strength of the island was lost when the castle was first defeated.” She lifted her hands and her expression cleared. “It's a checkered and sometimes tawdry past, to be sure, but then most of our country is built on like foundations. We're survivors, we are.” She smiled. “But I'm sure ye don't want to hear of it all.”

  “Actually, I find it fascinating,” she said truthfully, despite the anxiety she was feeling. “I think it's wonderful that everyone is so in touch with the events and characters that made their country what it is today.”

  Maeve laughed. “For better or for worse lass. Some say we cling too tightly to the past here, but I say that it's only in understanding where ye come from that ye can know which direction to go.” Then she laughed. “Of course, none of that means we don't go right back down the wrong path over and over again.” She wiped her hands on her apron and straightened, signaling Josie that chat time was over.

  “Does Roddy serve any food? I thought I might have some lunch while I'm in town.” And see if I can get any ghost stories out of Dougal and company. Though she was becoming less enamored of her idea with every passing minute

  “Aye, he does. It's simple fare, but it will fill you up.”

  “Sounds good to me. It's really a lovely little town you have here,” she said. “Stunning view across the water.” She smiled at Maeve. “It feels almost magical. I appreciate your hospitality, finding me a place to stay.”

  Maeve's eyes twinkled. “Thank you, dear heart, and it was my pleasure. Always enjoy having another woman about, especially one so lively as you. I'm sure the boys will be glad to have you join them as well.” She led the way to the door. “Just don't be surprised if they hound you to death about your surfing. You've sparked their imaginations you have, with that fancy board of yours. I imagine they've become experts on the subject since you landed here.”

  Josie grinned, surprised. “Have they now?”

  “Oh aye. To hear them go on ye'd think they were all born with a board in their hands, though none of them had ever so much as seen one until yesterday. I expect you'll be settling more than one argument for them.” She winked. “A smart lass could parlay that into an ale or two, if she were of a mind to.”

  Josie laughed. Again she wished her father were here, but this time so that he could enjoy this adventure with her. In a place filled with colorful characters, Big Griff would feel right at home. Ghosts notwithstanding, she thought she could, too. Or would have if not for a growing sense of uneasiness. Actually, it was more like guilt.

  She hadn't expected the island history to be such a sore point with the locals so many years later. She'd assumed they'd never even heard of the charm stone, much less that it had played such an important role. How did she proceed? Did she dare tell them she'd brought the stone back? She wanted to know more first, wanted to know if anyone else had ever claimed to see a ghost in Black's Tower. But what would they think of her when they found out? Would the warmth and generosity they'd extended vanish? After only two days, what these people thought or how they felt shouldn't matter so much to her. But it did.

  Maeve pushed the door to the pub and Josie was immediately enveloped in the warm, yeasty smell of the place and the boisterous argument going on among the four men inhabiting it.

  “I tell you, the longboarders are destroying the sport. I'm with Tubin'Mike there. The lot should all be dragged out of the water!” Clud punctuated the statement by slamming his tankard on the counter.

  “Och, yer a twit, ye old geez,” Gavin shot back. “Longboards are the heart of the sport, where it all began. To banish them is to banish a part o’ history. I suppose next ye'll be sayin’ they should burn all the balsam boards. Did ye no’ read what JaneFrom-DownUnder had to say on it? The lass is less than half yer age, yet she possesses a fair bit more wit than ye'll ever lay claim to.”

  Roddy shook his shaggy white head and topped off the mugs as pleasantly as if they weren't arguing at the top of their lungs.

  “No has bothered to ask me,” Dougal put in, “but I think perhaps there ought to be a place for both in the water. The real problem is the novices with no respect for the waves or those with more skill at riding them.”

  “What did I tell you?” Maeve whispered. “Ever since Roddy hooked up to that Internet, these four think they know every last thing. Last month they were debating caribou migration in the Alaskan wilderness.” She sighed. “Wears a body out to listen to them. Me, I prefer the mainland papers and a good mystery novel.”

  “The Internet?” Josie shook her head. Apparently some technology reached everywhere. She smiled, charmed by the four men and their newfound hobby. “I think they're cute.”

  Maeve patted her on the arm. “Don't say I didna warn you. And don't forget what I said about getting them to buy you an ale or two. Lord knows but you'll need them.”

  Josie grinned as Maeve let herself out, then turned toward the bar. “Dougal has a point,” she offered.

  The conversation ceased instantly as all four of them turned to face her. “Och, she's here!” Dougal exclaimed, raising his glass to her. “And obviously the one to put an end to yer idiotic claims.” He grinned and pulled out a stool for her, polished it with his sleeve and gestured grandly for her to have a seat. “Here ye go, lass, and allow me to buy you a pint.”

  “Thank you, Dougal.” She turned to Roddy. “I'd love something to eat as well.”

  He nodded and turned to Dougal. “Ye buying her lunch as well? From the looks of her, she's no fool. She'll let ye fill her belly, then shoot yer theories down with the last sip o’ her ale.” He slid her a glass and leaned on the bar with a warm smile. “Do I have the right of it, lass?”

  “I can pay for my own lunch, thanks,” she said, then looked to the men seated next to her. “I can't be bought.” She grinned at Dougal. “But I'll thank you for that ale.”

  Gavin, Clud, and Roddy all roared with laughter, and after several hearty slaps o
n Dougal's back, he laughed as well. They all raised their glasses to her. “To Josie.”

  She tapped her glass to theirs and enjoyed her first sip of ale. “So, who are these surfing experts you guys are talking about?” Roddy slid her a plate filled with cheeses and crackers while he went about making her a sandwich and she happily settled in for the afternoon.

  Several hours and definitely more ale than it was wise to consume at midday later, Josie had fallen in love with all four of them. Eccentric, boisterous, passionate, and, above all, dead set on being the last one standing, they'd all have made wonderful surfers. “You have that gung ho spirit it takes to face Mother Nature at her finest,” she told them.

  “Well now,” Gavin said, “be careful, lass. We just might take ye up on that offer of yours.”

  “Did I make an offer?”

  Gavin eyed the other three. “I believe she said we'd make fine surfers, did she no’?” They all nodded and he turned back to her, his expression smug. “Then perhaps surfers we'll become. And who better to teach us, eh?”

  Josie choked on a sip of ale. Her last sip, she swore, pushing the glass away. “I, um, uh—” She thought fast, then smiled as the obvious occurred to her. “Well, I'd be glad to—” She raised her hand when they cheered, wincing at the thought of their collective old bones shattering as Mother Nature tossed them mercilessly against the beach. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. I said I would be, but—”

  “There's always a but, wi’ women, isn't there?” said Clud, the group grump, she'd come to realize and liked him even more for it.

  “With good reason,” she told him, then turned to face them all. “You don't have the proper equipment. The water is cold up here, you'd all need suits, gear, the works. I'm sorry, really. And you know, it's not the kind of sport to take up later in life, anyway.” She immediately realized she should have stopped at “I'm sorry.”

  “Yer saying ye dinna think we can handle the waves, lass?” This came from Dougal and Roddy both.