Call of the Highland Moon

And just like that, her hand was heading for the deadbolt. Everything was lovely, everything was fine. Everything was … well, no, Regan thought foggily, her hand pausing at the lock. Not quite right, though she couldn’t put her finger on just why. She was suddenly convinced of her visitor’s sincerity, but that didn’t mean she should just fling the door open in welcome. Did it?



Regan peered back out the glass, doubts creeping slowly back in. “It doesn’t really sound like I should let you anywhere near either of us, though.”



Gideon’s voice was strained, and the note of bone weariness Regan now heard in his voice tugged at her, though she tried not to let it. “She’s my responsibility now, whether or not she wants to be. Your friend has no idea what these … people … are capable of, what they might do. I need to protect her. I will finish this, but until then, I have to be with her. I need to talk with her.”



Then he said, so softly she could barely hear it, “I need to tell her how sorry I am.”



That did it. Regan turned the deadbolt and unlocked the door, although, as a matter of principle, she held out her hand to stop him when he stepped forward. Her head was clearing, thank God. Even if she was still feeling sort of warm and fuzzy. Which was so not like her. Well, she would just have to fight the power.



“For the record, I think what you did sucks. And the only reason I’m letting you in is because you need to stay alive to fix whatever the hell it is that you’ve done.” And because what I just heard in your voice when you talked about Carly is something she’s needed her whole life, Regan added silently, although whether or not he was worthy was something she had yet to decide. “And if you don’t, I will make sure that you pay for it for a long, long time.”



His eyes, strange and solemn in the dim light (were people even supposed to have eyes that color, she wondered?) met hers, and he nodded once, his mouth set in a grim line. “Understood.”



Regan put her hand down, stood aside to usher him in. She gave him a critical up-and-down as he hulked in, taking in the undersized sweats and tee-shirt. Property of Carly’s brothers, no doubt. That was never going to work if loverboy here needed to be taken seriously. Lucky for him, she had a repository of clothing left behind by past jerks that she’d never gotten around to getting rid of, and as a general rule, she liked tall. Plus, in for a penny, she supposed. But for the moment, first things first.



“Since it looks like we’re going to be working together,” she stuck out a hand, “Regan O’Meara.” And now, a ghost of a smile played about the corners of his mouth. A shame, Regan thought admiringly. He really was something to look at. But if anybody deserved a living centerfold, it was Carly. She couldn’t help but smile. If this worked out, the illustrious Super Mario Brothers’ heads were going to explode.



Gideon returned the gesture and shook her hand, firmly. “Irish, eh? I’ll be certain to stay on your good side, then. Gideon MacInnes.”



“That’s assuming I have a good side,” Regan snorted, turning to lead him back down the hallway whence she’d come. Still, she had to give him points for stroking her ego in one of its most susceptible spots. Her ancestry was a point of pride with her, famous Irish temper and all. And she had to admit, her temper, particularly, she reveled in.



“So. How about I bake, you talk, and we’ll see where we end up at.”



“I thought you were going to help me.”



Regan’s grin was wicked when she looked back into Gideon’s wide, pleading eyes. “I am going to help you. But to what extent … now, that depends on you.”



“I’ll warn you, it’s a rather long story.”



“I’ve got time.”



“You likely won’t believe it.”



She glanced sharply back at him then, her curiosity piqued. He still looked nothing but deadly serious. Maybe she’d wished a little too hard for Carly to have herself an adventure. Not that that made her any less intrigued. “Try me.”



Stepping into the secure kingdom of her kitchen, Regan inhaled deeply, basking in the scent of freshly baked goodies and the sound of one big, mouth-watering male tossing himself into one of her chairs. Life in the Harbor could get maddeningly stagnant sometimes, it was true.



But it was shaping up to be one hell of an interesting day.



t t t



Gabriel MacInnes paused just inside the elegant, etched glass doors of Solstice, swallowing his nervousness that he’d be recognized as a pretender to this sort of society and tossed out on his ear, and finding, almost too quickly, exactly who he was looking for. The latter, as expected, caused much more of a visible grimace than the prospect of the former.



Damn you, Gideon, he thought, which made him feel better even though he knew that none of this was his brother’s fault. He normally enjoyed Edinburgh, wandering Old Town with its singular mix of the modern and the medieval, watching the street performers in the summer, having a pint or two in one of the many pubs while he chatted up some local beauty or other in any season. But there weren’t enough pints in the world to make this outing enjoyable. And neither his cousin nor his aunt qualified as a beauty by any man’s definition.



Didn’t it just figure they’d be lunching together? Double the pleasure, indeed, he thought morosely. Still, there was nothing for it now. If he was going to do this, it was best done quickly.



Gabriel breezed past the maξtre d’ and strode towards the cozy corner table currently occupied by his apparently homicidal cousin and his unquestionably psychotic mother, keeping his demeanor cool, casual even as his insides roiled. He’d arrived in Edinburgh about an hour ago and staked out a position across the street from MacInnes’s, Malachi’s antique brokerage. Gabriel had been certain that his cousin would be heading off to lunch at some insufferable, overpriced restaurant at some point. Visibility, the appearance of prestige … truly, looking at his own last name affixed in huge gold letters to the front of the imposing faηade of the brokerage told Gabriel all there was to know about his cousin’s priorities. He’d listened to enough of Malachi’s blathering over the years to know he’d want to be in the public eye as much as possible, and was not the sort of creature who’d be slaving away at his desk over a limp sandwich during the noon hour.



Now, faced with the prospect of, at best, a severe case of indigestion, at worst having his aunt try to claw his eyes out, Gabriel tried to be happy he’d been right.



It was, of course, Moriah who spotted him first. Some ugly emotion flashed across her fine features for a split second before she composed herself and smiled, showing very straight, very white teeth. Malachi turned as well, but seemed to have decided against manners for today and kept right on glowering.



Figured.



“Well, if it isn’t my favorite nephew!” Moriah’s voice was as smooth as cream when she spoke, although Gabriel had been around long enough to hear the river of poison that ran just beneath the surface. She offered one rouged cheek to him, and Gabriel, through sheer determination, managed to kiss it without biting her. If Malachi was, against all manner of sane judgment, after Gideon, it was a sure bet Moriah was somewhere pulling the strings. “I had no idea you were in town. When did you get in?”



Gabriel settled his tall, lanky frame into one of the two empty chairs, enjoying the pained expression on Malachi’s face when he did so. “Had some business this morning and thought I’d grab a bite before I headed back.” He grinned. “Thought I’d go upscale today, and lucky I did, since now I have some company.”



Moriah’s face twisted into some interesting imitation of regret. “Ah, I’m afraid not for long, darling. I actually just popped in to tell Malachi I was going to have to break our lunch date today. Things do tend to crop up when you run in the circles we do. Not that you’ll ever have to trouble yourself about it, dear. Although I must say, you’re looking nearly civilized today.”



And that was Aunt Moriah, Gabriel thought as he graced her with an artificial smile of his own. Niceties and knives, all wrapped up in a pretty bow. And funny, but he could’ve sworn he’d seen her ordering as he’d walked into the restaurant. Must be the “circles” she and her exalted son ran in were telepathic as well as busy. He had to give her points for noticing his nod to polite society, though, in that he’d actually bothered to sleek his generally unruly hair back so that it didn’t fall into his eyes. He might keep his hair shorter than his brother’s, but it was no less wild without the pricey pomade Tori, his latest conquest, had picked up for him, and damned if he’d ever be putting that goo into his hair again after today. The rest of the package, though, worn jeans, dark green Henley, scuffed brown shoes, and broken-in leather jacket, were all, he was afraid, standard-issue.



And as for civility, he really didn’t give a damn past not getting booted out before he’d managed to get to the table. Of course, that was mission accomplished, so …



Gabriel winked at his aunt, shoved his fingers back into his hair, and scrubbed until it fell as it usually did, longish on top and brushing his cheekbones on the sides. Just a bit wild. Just like him. “Well, then, Auntie Mo, recognize me better now?”



Her lips, painted blood red, thinned as she stood and regarded him with glittering eyes that were never truly anything but yellow, no matter what exotic color name she’d come up with for the moment. A mark of her distance from humanity, Gabriel supposed, and wondered how she ever managed to lure in her little boy toys with eyes like that, eyes that held nothing but death. There was a cold allure about her, he supposed. If you liked worrying whether or not you were going to be ripped open from neck to nether region from one moment to the next. At least she seemed to have settled on a shade of red that made it look a little less like her head required the immediate services of a fire extinguisher.



She stood, spread her hands on the table like claws, and leaned forward. “Oh, I’ve always recognized you for what you are, dear. A self-centered, undisciplined, weakling half-blood brat. How could you be anything else, with the blood that runs in your veins? I knew her blood would out in you,” she hissed in a ragged whisper, “knew it the moment you were born. And you’ve never disappointed me.”