Chapter 18
“I’ll give young Master Tyler this much—even though he’s the smallest of the lot, I do believe he’s the best.” Grant shifted on the hard aluminum bleachers, clapping and whistling as Tyler rounded the odd-shaped circle again after hitting the ball so far away that none of the other players could reach it. “Well done, lad! Well done!”
Odd game, this baseball was. Entertainin’, but appeared t’be a great deal less rough than shinty. Grant unconsciously rubbed his right leg well below the knee. He still sported a scar from when he and his brothers were young lads and Alec had hacked him with his caman and split open his shin. He returned to his position of elbows on the knees, feet spread apart, ready for the next bit of action. I believe I could grow t’like this game. He smiled to himself. Funny how such everyday things of this century ne’er interested him until they were somehow connected with Joanna.
He leaned over and nudged Joanna’s shoulder with his. “What did ye call it when he hit the ball with the stick, then made it around the circle afore the other lads could catch him?”
“Home run,” Joanna supplied without taking her eyes off Tyler. She clapped her hands over her head and waved two thumbs up at the cluster of uniformed boys hopping around the victorious Tyler, who was currently running in circles and roaring out some sort of seven-year-old battle cry. “Tyler loves any kind of sport where he can run wide open and be as loud as he wants. Lucia refuses to let him play football—’fraid he’ll get hurt, and I totally get that. He’s not as strong in basketball. He’s so small compared to the other boys. But he’s fast and super-coordinated, so if we can work on his shooting, I bet he’ll excel at that too.”
“Shooting?” Grant sat up straighter on the bleachers and stared at Joanna. “What sort of target or game do they hunt in basketball?”
Joanna gave him a look that clearly told him he’d made another feckin’ twenty-first-century blunder. Sons a bitches. So much t’remember in this damn time. Sixteen years and he still didna have the gist of all of it. He shook his head. “Never mind, lass. I can tell by the look on yer face that my ancient arse is showin’ again.”
Joanna giggled, wrapped an arm across his shoulders, and squeezed. “I love your ancient arse and don’t you forget it.”
Her words warmed his heart and made him keenly aware of the weight of the binding brooch he’d tucked away in his pocket. Today was the day. As soon as the best time presented itself, he was going to do it—ask Joanna t’be his wife. She’d accepted his legacy well enough. Believed it t’be true, although she didna try to hide her aversion to the Heartstone or the goddesses and what they might choose t’do at any given time. He didna blame her for feeling so. He hated the fact that they still had so much control over his life just as much as Joanna did.
“Look over there,” Joanna whispered with an excited pat on his back. “You were right. She does like Taggart.”
Lucia and Taggart were standing side by side, shoulders barely touching, stealing shy glances at each other like teenagers on a first date.
“Of course I was right.” Grant looked where Joanna had directed with a subtle nod of her head. “The man’s been smitten with her for well over a year now.” He wrapped an arm around Joanna’s waist and pulled her closer. “Almost as long as I’ve been smitten with ye.”
“Smitten, huh?”
“Aye.” He knew it wasna the proper word for this time, but that could just be damned. He’d adapted as much as he could. Besides—he’d won this fine woman even though he was still a bit…how did Esme put it…ah yes…still a bit backward. “I told ye why he was takin’ his time. And then there’s the matter of young Tyler. He doesna wish t’dishonor the lad’s memory of his father.”
Joanna brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes that the wind kept catching and tossing with wild abandon. She glanced over at him and smiled. “You Scots are honorable men. Lucia and I are lucky to have you.”
’Tis time. The instinctual knowledge that now was the time to ask Joanna t’be his wife shoved him up off the small section of freestanding bleachers and had him go down on one knee on the slightly muddy ground in front of her.
Joanna sat up straighter. Her lips parted, cheeks flushed, and eyes flared wide. “What are you doing?”
“What I shouldha done some time ago.” Grant fished the royal-blue velvet pouch out of the inside pocket of the leather vest he’d worn over his léine and emptied it into his hand. He stared down at the precious piece of jewelry for a long moment, gathering his courage for what he was about to do.
“When MacDara men choose a wife—and the union is fully blessed by the Heartstone and the goddesses—we give our women a brooch of Scottish agate placed in a silver setting forged by the goddess Bride herself.” He took Joanna’s hand, turned it palm side up, then placed the pin in it along with a silent prayer. “Ye ken how much I love ye. Tell me ye’ll be my wife, Joanna, so I can spend the rest of m’life with ye at my side.”
Joanna stared down at the pin, motionless. Grant watched her so closely he couldna even tell if the lass was breathin’. The longer she sat without responding, the worse he felt. Lore a’mighty. What will I do if she refuses?
“Married?” she finally whispered, the fingers of one hand trembling, pressed to her mouth while her other hand slowly moved the pin in the sunlight to set its rich iridescent colors to dancing.
“Aye, m’love. Marry me.” He didna add the silent please running over and over in his mind. He prayed he wouldna have to.
Joanna shifted, made an indiscernible sound, then curled her fingers around the precious bit of jewelry and gripped it so tightly her fingers lost their color. She looked up at him and smiled.
“Was that a yes?” She’d made a bit of noise that couldha been that precious word, but he couldna tell what the hell the woman had said for certain.
She barely nodded. If he hadna been staring at her face, he wouldha missed that too.
“For God’s sake, woman, tell me loud and true so I can hear the words and ken yer wishes for certain. Yer killin’ me, ye are.”
Joanna leaned forward, tucking her fisted hands under her chin and bringing her face to within barely an inch of his. “Yes, Grant MacDara. I will marry you. I said yes.”
Grant lunged forward, grabbed her up off the bleacher, and spun around with her in his arms. “The woman said yes!” Head thrown back and face upturned to the heavens, he roared at the top of his lungs, then spun around again. “She said yes!”
Scattered clusters of parents and friends of Tyler’s team and the opposing team they’d just beaten that still remained on the bleachers clapped and stomped their feet until the aluminum seating rattled like thunder.
Joanna framed his face with her hands and kissed him, then wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed.
My wife. She said she’d be m’wife. Gently, Grant lowered her to her feet, reluctant to release her from his hold. It had been such a long time since he’d felt such joy. “We must celebrate. A fine cèilidh with all the clans. We can announce the wedding date then.”
“A fine what?” Joanna gave him a confused look. “Is whatever you just said Scottish for engagement party or something?”
Grant did his best not to laugh. A fine matched set, m’lady and I. I’ll teach her about a Scot’s past and she can teach me about this future. “The word cèilidh is Scots Gaelic for a social gathering or celebration. A party, aye? We’ll unleash Esme. She loves plannin’ such things and fancies herself as quite the authority on all things social.”
“I bet she does.” Joanna waved for Lucia and Taggart to hurry over, holding the brooch aloft in one hand and giving another thumbs-up with the other. As Lucia and Taggart headed their way, she turned back to Grant. “Lucia will probably want to help. Esme would be okay with that—right?”
“Aye and for sure. Esme would welcome the help.” Grant laughed and felt the knots of tension in his shoulders melt and disappear. Happiness. Finally. He blew out the deep breath that he felt like he’d been holding for the past sixteen years.
“Wow,” Joanna said as she stole a peek out the window.
MacDara Keep’s private courtyard at Highland Life and Legends had never been fitted out in so much glory. Esme and Lucia had outdone themselves with the assistance of Grant’s mother and an easily recruited herd of helpers from all the druid clans, as well as several ladies from town.
Strings of the tiniest lights, their whiteness as piercingly bright as stars, were stretched back and forth across the cobblestoned courtyard and wound in and about the surrounding shrubbery and tree branches until the entire area looked as though it had been dusted with diamonds. The MacDara colors hung from every archway and post; sashes of the rich blue plaid surrounded the snowy white linens covering the tables. Thick pillar candles with gently flickering yellow flames were strategically placed to create the best possible sense of peace and calm.
Bagpipe players stood at attention, one at each end of the head table and several more scattered about the grounds. All were stoic and unsmiling, patiently waiting for Esme’s signal. Two chairs that looked more like thrones as far as Joanna was concerned were placed at the center of the main table, with lesser chairs on either side finishing out the place settings.
“They outdid themselves.” Joanna stepped away from the window and hugged her middle. I think I may puke. Fingering the brooch hanging from a dark blue ribbon around her neck, she turned to Grant. “So…we’re going with August for the official date then, right?”
Grant huffed out something under his breath, then gave her a look that fully translated what he’d probably just said but didn’t mean for her to hear. “Aye, love. If ye insist. We shall wed in August—but the first day of the month. I’ll no’ put it off a day longer.”
“Fine.” She’d wanted to wait until the thirty-first because by then, she might have the battle plan to handle her miserable financial state fully figured out and put into play. She wasn’t about to go to Grant for help and she also wasn’t about to saddle him with all her debt. She wouldn’t be debt free by August—Hell, I won’t be debt free ’til ten years after I’m dead—but at least she’d have a plan and hopefully would be on the way to recovery. Student loans had been a great way to get through college, but that debt coupled with several bad financial choices had nearly ruined her when she’d lost her high-dollar Chicago job. “And don’t be pissy. What will people think if we show up at our engagement party fighting?”
“We’re no’ fighting,” Grant said as he pulled her into his arms and stole a long, slow kiss that made Joanna wish they could forget the party altogether. “We’re discussing.” He turned her to one side and playfully swatted her rump. “I must go down and begin greeting our guests now. Hurry and finish readying yerself so ye can join me, aye?”
“I’ll be down before you know it.” She pretended to preen and gave him a mock look of being sorely put upon. “After all, I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of all your little helper clans.”
“Little helper clans?” Grant gave her a disbelieving look and shook his head as he straightened his vest and tailored black dress coat, then left the bedroom with his finest kilt swaying with the seductive rhythm of his hips.
Joanna padded barefoot back into the bathroom, stopping to stare at her wide-eyed reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. The redhead in the mirror, the one in the royal-blue dress with the MacDara sash crossing her body from shoulder to hip, looked like she had the world by the tail, but the redhead standing there staring at her wasn’t so sure. Was life really taking a turn for the better?
She swallowed hard and rapidly blinked even harder. Apprehension and the threat of tears closed in on her, stirring her emotions and making her feel as though she couldn’t breathe. Something’s gonna go wrong. It always does. Life always bit her in the ass whenever she let down her guard and relaxed. And marrying Grant…with his history, his story. I’m so afraid…
The not-so-subtle sound of bagpipes, fiddles, and drums interrupted her unreasonable moment of panic. Joanna bowed her head and smiled. She pulled in a deep breath, then stretched to fix her gaze on the skylight above, and shook out her hands and arms as though sloughing off a dousing rain. It’s gonna be all right. Grant and I will make it okay.
Her phone rattled across the marble vanity and vibrated its way off into the sink. “Thank goodness no water.” Joanna snatched up the phone and glanced at the display. Apprehension and fear returned in full force. Chicago area code. Had to be some demon from the past.
“Who the hell are you?” She stared at the phone, so paralyzed by the thought of what might be about to attack her that she couldn’t even hit the button to silence it. “I’m not answering you.” She tossed the phone to the counter and backed away. It finished its ringing cycle, then dinged. Voicemail. Son of a bitch. It’s a real call. Not a telemarketer.
“Shit.” Joanna glared at the phone, debating whether to listen to the message now or wait until after the party. “If I wait, I’ll worry about the damn thing all night and Grant might pick up on it. Might as well get this over with.”
She picked up the phone, punched the button for speakerphone, then closed her eyes and held her breath.
“This is Jonathan Broadbent, attorney for Mrs. Lilian Tasker, and this message is for Ms. Joanna Martin, formerly associated with Asclepius Pharmaceuticals. Please contact me at your earliest convenience at this number. It’s of the utmost importance.”
“Are you coming down or not? Grant’s getting antsy,” Lucia called out from the hallway. When Joanna didn’t answer, she banged so hard on the bedroom door, it nearly rattled in the hinges. “Come on, Joanna! It’s showtime.”
Joanna jumped, thudded back against the wall with her hand to her chest, then slid down to the floor. Fucking life. I knew you were gonna hit me in the gut. She covered her face with both hands and propped her elbows on her bent knees.
“Joanna?” Dead silence, then hurried footsteps across the wood flooring of the bedroom. Lucia stuck her head through the bathroom doorway, then rushed to squat down beside Joanna. “Did you fall? I heard a thud. Are you okay?”
“I don’t know if I’m okay or not.” Joanna didn’t look up from the marble floor tile between her feet. Mrs. Lilian Tasker, a.k.a. Mrs. Matthew Tasker, hidden wife to Matthew the son of a bitch and the mother to his two children. What the hell did she want? “I don’t have anything left for them to take. What the hell do they want now?”
Lucia swept Joanna’s hair back, grabbed hold of her chin, and forced her to look her in the eye. “What are you talking about? What’s wrong?”
“Get my phone.” Joanna pointed up at the bathroom counter. “Listen for yourself.”
Lucia retrieved the phone, sat on the bathroom floor beside Joanna, then listened to the message. “Oh shit. That can’t be good.”
“Thanks, Lucia. You’ve made me feel so much better about the whole situation.”
Lucia held out the phone. “Here. Call him back right now.”
“Seriously?”
“Dreading the monster and feeding it with unfounded fears is way worse than fighting it head-on.” Lucia put the phone between Joanna’s hands.
“You’ve been watching too damn many of Tyler’s superhero cartoons.” Joanna rubbed her thumb across the phone, staring at her muted reflection in the darkened screen.
“Do it, sweets,” Lucia countered. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever known. You’ve got this, now own it. Don’t you let them win.” She took hold of Joanna’s arm with both hands and squeezed. “And you’re not fighting alone this time. Remember?”
Lucia had a point, and that alone settled Joanna’s nerves enough for her to find the courage to push her fears aside and take control. “Watch the bedroom door. If Grant comes up here to check on me, I need you to run interference—okay?”
“You got it.” Lucia hopped to her feet and hurried out of the bathroom. “All set,” she called out. “If he shows up, I’ll just tell him I think you’re queasy ’cause I think you’re pregnant. That should distract him.”
Yeah. That’ll be a big help. Joanna took a deep breath, punched the call-back number, then silently promised herself she could puke after the call. An excruciatingly polite receptionist picked up the call after one ring and put it right through.
“Ms. Joanna Martin?” Jonathan Broadbent sounded as though he was at least ninety years old. Either that or the poor man had one hell of a head cold and was about to lose his voice.
“Yes.” No sense expounding with useless niceties about returning calls or any such bullshit. This needs to be done with. Now. “What do you want, Mr. Broadbent?”
“It’s not what I want, Ms. Martin. It’s what my client wants.”
“Which is?” Damn, the man must be padding the estate he plans on leaving his heirs, because if he gets paid by the minute, he’ll be a fucking millionaire by the end of this call. I wish he’d get on with it.
“Ms. Tasker wishes to meet with you to discuss a business proposition.”
“A business proposition?” Seriously? “The woman helped fire my ass, Mr. Broadbent. There’s no ‘business’ left to propose.”
Lilian Tasker had been on the board of Asclepius Pharmaceuticals three years ago. Probably still was, since her father had started the company and still owned a major part of it. She’d been quite cooperative with everything that Matthew’s brother, Mason, had recommended when it came to getting rid of her husband’s lover and ruining Joanna’s life in Chicago as punishment. Payback had been a bitch, and that bitch’s name had been Lilian. Although—in all fairness—Joanna couldn’t really blame the woman. After all, Joanna had been having sex with Lilian’s husband. But in her own defense, if she’d known Matthew was married, he would’ve immediately been labeled “off limits.”
“And as I’m sure you’re aware, I live in North Carolina now. If your client wants to meet with me, she’s gonna have to come here.” Home court advantage.
“That is not a problem,” Broadbent droned on in his rasping, nasal tone. “Would you be available tomorrow at noon? At the Brady Townhouse Café?”
Feeling as though she’d just been gut-punched, Joanna swallowed hard against the burn of nauseating bile rising in the back of her throat. “How do you know so much about Brady?”
“Let’s just say I take the utmost care of my clients, shall we?” A buzzing in the background, muffled words, then Jonathan Broadbent came back on the line. “Well, Ms. Martin. Tomorrow. Noon. Brady Townhouse Café. Agreeable?”
“I wouldn’t exactly define it as ‘agreeable,’ but it is ‘do-able.’ Tell Mrs. Tasker I’ll see her tomorrow.”
“Very good then.” Then the call was disconnected.
Joanna crawled over to the bathroom cabinets, pulled herself to her feet, then sagged against the counter, sucking in deep breaths to keep from puking. If she puked, she’d ruin her makeup and never make the party. Then Grant would get involved, and that wouldn’t be good. This shit was from her past and her problem to handle. She glared at the redhead in the mirror, then shook her head.
“You can puke tomorrow. After the meeting.”