As one day had faded, so another began, and with little sleep under my belt; thanks in equal measure to my Gran, the love potion, and Jack Mackie’s imminent return. What had I done to deserve this? Being stabbed in the back by Jack was bad enough but by my own kin?
It had been a beautiful sunrise this morning that I’d had the pleasure of witnessing from the back door of the greenhouse, not that it lifted my spirits as it normally did. With the rolling hills painted into the canvas of the early morning spectacle, I should have been reveling in the morning glory of another day. So, why did I have murder on my mind?
I know other places had spectacular views and sunrises, but as I’d watched the pink and purple clouds being chased away by the burnt orange and fire red that lit up the sky, I felt blessed that I lived where I did and cursed to have such a wicked witch of a Grandmother.
I had to wonder why she wasn’t more like the Fairy Godmother in Cinderella, but I guess that role was taken, and so was Cruella De Ville, but Gran still liked to imitate her.
We might have a strange way of speaking, ninja sheep, and a lack of mobile phone signal, but we more than made up for it in scenery, and that included our big, brawny Highland men in kilts and not the likes of that outlander Jack Mack-the-knife Mackie and his suspicious mind.
Yep, Gran and Jack had totally ruined a night’s sleep and a perfect sunrise. Whatever next? Maybe they could take it in turns to knife me in the back like a strange version of psycho without the shower scene. Maybe they could burn down the bistro. Maybe I should be concentrating more on my baking and less on the past.
So, here I am, busying myself in the kitchen, hands deep in another round of muffins, sniffing the air with the scent of Moira’s haggis on it, because all tourist wanted to try authentic sheep’s gut until someone actually told them what was in it, and then only a few brave soul’s were daring enough to give it a go and thinking positively about everything I still had to look forward to in my life.
Like…killing people.
“Oh, you have got to come out here and see this,” Moira said as her hand braced the opposite side of the doorframe and only her head and upper torso leaned across the doorway, and the mischievous grin on her face beckoned me on.
Why did I not find the same sense of childish excitement that I once had about one of Moira’s come-hither looks? If anything; I felt a sense of dread that I might have to crack a smile.
Still, I went. Apron off, wiping my hands on a towel and dreading what I would find, and it had better not be over six-foot tall, with a sex god appearance, and a backside that you could bounce a coin off.
Happily, all I found was Callum. Dear, sweet, slightly insane, Callum. He was a year below us at school and followed us around like a lost puppy, thankfully, things had changed slightly with work keeping him from our door most days, and I was pretty glad of it because there were only so many adoring looks you could take from one man, unless he was your man — and Callum was definitely not my man.
Strangely, it filled me with guilt that I couldn’t return his enthusiasm for me. It was sad in a way that he’d waste his time on someone who didn’t return his affection. That’s not to say that I didn’t like him, he was a great guy and would give anyone the shirt off his back, it was just that he didn’t make my palms sweat and my heart race when I saw him, as Jack had.
I should find a match for Callum. I mean, what was the use of having mad-witch powers and learning Gran’s matchmaking skills if I couldn’t help out a friend?
“I bought it for you,” Callum announced as I walked from the kitchen and noted that he looked rather pleased with himself. That was grand, but I had no idea what he was talking about.
I shot a quick look at Moira, and when she gave a happy shrug, I knew I was in for trouble of one kind or another. “What?” I turned my attention back to the man, standing there as happy as you like. He was always eager to please.
“What you asked for in the pub the other night,” Callum said, immediately turning on his heels and beckoning me toward the front door.
Now, I didn’t remember much about the other night once I got past the first gallon or so of vodka, or was it Scotch? I’m pretty sure there was the Island’s version of a cocktail in there somewhere as I seemed to remember something green, apart from me the next morning.
“Callum, I barely remember the booze going down, let alone what came out of my mouth once the alcohol hit my brain, what did I ask for?” I was following the man towards the door, trying to rack my brain of what it was that I could possibly have asked Callum to bring me, and I tell you, with him looking as pleased as punch there was still that element of dread within me.
“There you go, and don’t say Callum doesn’t come through,” he puffed out his chest and looked even more pleased with himself as he pointed to a rather large lump of metal that sat on the paving outside the bistro’s window.
Well, I was stumped.
“Ha!” I nodded in appreciation that he’d hauled something that looked like it would take two men to shift, all the way from home for me. “What is it?” I asked, and it took him a moment or two of pulling confused faces and scratching his head before he answered.
“It’s a car jack,” he said as if I should know that.
“And pray tell, why would I be needing one of those?” In truth, I wouldn’t know what to do with a car jack if somebody offered me a million pounds to change a tire. I’d give it a really good go, because who passes up the chance to be a millionaire?
“You said.” And that was all he said.
“Said what?”
“You said; you’d kill for a Jack,” Callum shrugged.
Now, by the time I’d open my mouth to speak; Moira’s chuckling from just over my left shoulder was starting to grate on my last nerve.
“I think she said; she’d kill Jack,” Moira chuckled.
“Which one?” Callum asked, suddenly interested.
“Which one which?” Moira teased back, scenting the opportunity to wind the big man up on the wind like Ross’ wolf scenting a rabbit.
“Which Jack? The Isle is full of them.”
“Does it bloody matter?” I bit out.
I looked at the chunk of metal, rolled my eyes toward Callum, and tried counting to ten. I got as far as two before I was rudely interrupted by the man I was trying not to zap.
“Well, aye, it does. Because I have a mind to kill the man for you, and I don’t want to get the wrong one,” he said with a thoughtful frown.
“What is it with the men on this Isle? Why does everyone want to kill Jack?” I tossed up my hands in frustration and let them fall back against my thighs. I was having a bad day. Another one.
That was the second offer I’d had in as many days to put an end to Jack Mackie. Sure, I guess I should have been grateful that people were willing to commit murder for me, but seriously?
Highlander men were a strange breed. If they were dogs, they’d probably be on the illegal to own list.
“Who’s Jack?” Callum demanded, as he folded his arms across his barrel chest, and looked down his nose at me like I’d done something wrong. “And who else has offered to kill the man?” He demanded like I was somehow cheating on him by arranging for someone else to commit murder.
“Seriously, Callum?” I grumbled back.
I didn’t have time for this. I had cookies in the oven, muffin mix on the kitchen side; I had a life — sort of — I didn’t need any more men interfering with it.
“Aye well, you know — I like to know who my competition is,” he announced as if he was bidding for a job.
“Maggie,” Moira whispered on a hiss as she nudged me in the ribs and I gave a small growl of annoyance as I slapped her elbow away.
“I’ll tell you something, Callum McIntyre, if and when I want Jack dead — I’ll damn well do it myself. I don’t need a man to do my killing for me! I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself…”
“Maggie!” Moira snapped, and I turned toward her like a crocodile going in for a water buffalo.
“What?” I growled out and saw her grimace slightly.
“It’s good to know that you’re capable of murder, Maggie McFae, as there seemed to be some confusion over that very issue the last time I was here,” Jack’s velvet over gravel tone rushed at me like a bulldozer.
I should have known — I should have known that fate was a total and complete witch, just without the W and giving it a capital B. Of course, it would be Jack that was standing nearby when I announced that I was perfectly capable of murder, and, of course, it would be him that I was going to murder on my next killing spree.
I wanted to burrow into the ground until I reached Australia. Although, in truth, I don’t really think I could live there with all of those poisonous spiders and snakes. Kudos to everyone living there that didn’t freak out every time they saw something bigger than a worm or a small coin. Personally, I would want to be wrapped head to toe in Kevlar, carrying a flamethrower, and with one of those crocodile hunters at my side at all times.
You say chicken — I say; she who screams and runs away — isn’t going to get any sleep that night until the spider is found.
“If I did have a mind to kill you, Detective Mackie, you’d already be boots up,” I said and lifted my chin in defiance.
Jack Mackie could think what he liked — he obviously did anyway — what did it matter?
“Aye, I suspect I would, Ms. McFae,” Jack offered back as he folded his large arms across his broad chest, and I’m sure somewhere inside me that little devil that usually sat on my right shoulder and made me do wicked things, sighed.
It wasn’t fair that he still looked like a sex god and hadn’t fallen into a messy, flabby heap since going back to the mainland and his outlander ways. It certainly wasn’t fair that he still had those eyes that screamed, look at me, look at me, I have come-to-bed eyes.
I hated Jack Mackie.
Just then Ross came bounding up the road like a protective puppy, eyeing Jack like he was considering shifting into his wolf and feasting, and I have to admit that he did look the part of a Highland warrior chief in his kilt.
“And what’s he doing here?” Ross even had a little grumble like growl going on. “Is he bothering you, Maggie?”
“He’s just one of many,” I grumbled.
“And what concern is it of yours, Ross?” Callum said, standing a bit straighter and tightening up his barrel chest.
“What concern is it of yours as to what concern it is of mine, Callum?” Ross shot back, eyeing the man as if he’d laughed at his kilt like a tourist that had said the dreaded S word – s-k-i-r-t.
“Make it stop,” I hissed at Moira, but she was busy sniggering while I could feel my blood pressure climbing.
“Where’s your sense of fun?” she asked, leaning towards me, but keeping her eyes firmly on Ross and his kilt. “Oh, that’s right, he stole it.” She said and tossed an absent nod towards Jack.
I made the mistake of looking at the man as my cheeks blazed heat, and his eyes were locked on me like a heat-seeking missile.
Busted!
I didn’t want to be busted looking at the man-god, but I did want to bust some heads. Ross and Callum going at it like eejits. The gossips on the corner chattering behind their raised hands. Moira sniggering in my ear, and Jack – poor Jack, who had just elbowed everyone else on my to-kill list out of the way to claim the number one spot.
Life sucked. It was official, and I was raising a banner over the bistro proclaiming – not that I’d walked five hundred miles and five hundred more – but that life truly sucked.
Just then Jack’s phone rang, and you could have heard a pin drop, as a gaggle of gossips all eavesdropped on his call. Me, personally, I would have hummed a tune, if it wasn’t just plain rude.
“Aye, dead, I’ll head out now,” Jack said, not realizing that everyone had their radar tuned into him. “Sheep, you say, aye – got it.”
A collective breath was released by all. Sheep dying wasn’t exactly a new thing on Skye; people ran them down all the time, especially those poor unsuspecting tourists. Well, when you’re driving along looking at the scenery and taking a picture out the car window, who had time to look at the road ahead?
“We’ll continue this later, Maggie,” Jack said, pulling me out of thoughts of killer tourists mowing down sheep, killing Gran for the love potion thing, killing Jack for being, well, Jack, or the fact that he’d let his toilet brush hairstyle grow out a little and how it looked good on him. I felt confused.
“Will we now?” I said, snubbing my nose at the man.
“Aye, we will,” he tossed back over one broad shoulder, and I opened my mouth to speak, but was suddenly, painfully aware that I had an audience watching my every move.
“I’d ask that you hold your breath on that one, outlander,” I tossed back and got the required sniggers that I was hoping for from the small gathering. With any luck, they would be deflected from thinking about anything other than him being an outsider.
“That told him, Maggie,” Callum said, looking pleased, about what exactly I didn’t know, and didn’t care to ask.
“Now, I’ll tell you, Callum McIntyre, remove that jack from outside my bistro, before a tourist tries to sue me for looking at it wrong.” I offered him the kind of scowl that a man in his right mind didn’t argue with.
“Aye, Maggie, consider it gone.” He looked suitable sorry.
“But, thank you for thinking of me,” I offered back before I turned back into the bistro and saw his chest puff out again.
Men.