Ronan pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and two fingers. This was why he never married. Women’s moods were too changeable. He’d only been teasing and she’d slipped into a snit. Heaven should have a special place for married men, where they could hunt, fish, work on cars, fart, and scratch their balls whenever they bloody well pleased. For Lord knew they went through plenty of hell here on earth, trying in vain to keep a woman happy.
If it were possible in our realm fer me to shift and kick yer arse, I would. Do ye think it was easy fer her to talk about sexual remarks at work and tapes made of her naked in her own home? How many men do ye think she’s shown her scarred back to? I’m betting ’tis only been ye and maybe a doctor. Didna ye listen to her? The pride in her voice about all her schooling and training? Then ye open yer foolish macho mouth and reduce her to a sex abject who gets what she wants by letting every guy sniff at her?
“ ’Tis sex object, not abject, ye opinionated bear.” Damn, he hated when his bear was right.
Shut the fook up! I’m so mad at ye right now, I could piss in yer boots. Ye upset our woman!
“And ye damaged every condom.”
I did what needed done. One needle punch through the foil packet.
“Right, ye and yer nervous stomach, ye numpty-headed bear.” Ronan stormed into his bedroom and opened a cabinet to search for an insulated long-sleeved t-shirt, a heavy sweater too small for him, a knit cap, and waterproof mittens. “Of all the bears, I had to get the talkative one. The self-righteous one who thinks ’tis feckin’ fine to break the shifting rules, but I canna misspeak just once.” There was also an extra scarf so he grabbed it, too. “I’m just not good at this relationship thing.”
Ye are. Just think of her feelings before ye speak. But do it so she kens ye’re her alpha.
By the time Ronan stepped outside, she had four large snowballs topped by four smaller ones as her fort. She was making her snowballs, grumbling to herself. Aye, she was one pissed-off woman. Hell, her top was soaking wet. She’d be sick by tonight.
“Dinna fight me on this.” He grabbed her by the waist and yanked off her wet top.
She batted at his hands. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m doing me job. Taking care of me woman.” He jerked the long-sleeved insulated undershirt over her head and yanked it down. “I meant nay disrespect by me remarks inside. This intimate kind of relationship is new to me. Aye, I’ve had me fair share of women, but none I respected or cared deeply fer. Not like I do ye. I’m going to fook this up from time to time with me brainless tongue. Get bloody used to it.
“Here’s a wool sweater I shouldna put in the dryer.” He slipped it over her head and she shoved her arms in the sleeves. He turned the cuffs up twice. “I’m so much bigger than ye, but not as smart.”
She wouldna look at him. “Thanks. This does feel better. I find you very smart. But you hurt my feelings when you said I used my looks to get what I want. I worked damn hard in school and survived torturous training to earn my position. I never screwed a single man to get ahead on the job.” Her blue-eyed gaze rose to meet his and there was sadness in her eyes.
Ah, fokin’ hell.
“What I meant was I’m so crazy about ye, all ye need do is flutter yer pretty eyelashes over those beautiful eyes and I’ll move heaven and earth to give ye what ye want.” He grabbed her hair and jerked her head back. “But make nay mistake, ye, yer lashes and eyes and every other fokin’ part of yer body belongs to me. I’ll kill the man who looks at ye sideways. Are we clear on that?”
She smiled and his heart rolled over. “Yes, sir. You’ve made it quite plain.”
He socked the cap on her head and wound the scarf around her neck. “Hold yer hands out. I’ve got waterproof mittens. Yer hands are red as beets.”
“What would a brawny Scot be doing with mittens?”
“Me smart-arse baby brother bought them for me last year fer Christmas. He did have a bottle of me favorite single malt whisky in each one. Otherwise, I’d have beaten his arse.”
“I only have one sibling, Ann-Marie. Her life is so different from mine. We aren’t that close anymore. She’s married with two little boys. Her husband is the typical French corporate male with a mistress on the side. Ann-Marie is heartbroken yet accepts her fate, which is silly to me.”
He kissed her reddened forehead. “If he doted on yer sister as much as he probably does his mistress, he wouldna need another woman to see to his needs. His wife would more than satisfy him. A real man tends only to his woman. Nay one else. I watch me brothers with their wives. The tenderness. The little indulgences. The compliments. All those little things keep the spark alive. One can almost feel the heat when they look at each other.”
“So they don’t fight?”
He smiled and looked away. “Aye. They squabble. Sometimes they yell at each other. Then ye dinna see them fer a couple of hours while they make up. And no one speaks of it. ’Tis their private affair.
“Ye’ll meet them when I take ye home with me. There are others in me clan I’m close to, like me many cousins. One is Thane Matheson, who replaced his uncle, our old veterinarian, now that he’s retired. Thane has been away at veterinary school, but we’ve kept in touch—emails and Skype. As a teenager, I was shy and reluctant to make friends, except for Thane and Kendric, another cousin, who’s a police detective. He’ll hear ye out, Anisa. He’ll help ye clear yer name. Trust me on this. Once he hears yer story and sees yer evidence, he’ll do all he can to help ye.”
She bent to shape another snowball. “But can he keep those rogue CIA officers away from us? They’ll go to ground…or Russia. Unless we can freeze their bank accounts, they could hide anywhere.”
“I see what ye mean. Aye, I do. Kendric will know how to handle things. He’s an intelligent man. He willna be happy to find out how ye’ve been set up, especially once he knows of our relationship. He will look on ye as family, as part of our clan.” He eyed her neatly built fort. “That’s a nice piece of engineering ye’ve got there. Looks like I need to get to work on mine.” A quick kiss and he grabbed the snow shovel.
He shoveled a path about six feet long and four feet wide, shoveling all the snow toward the side facing her fort. His makeshift fortress didn’t look the greatest, but it would do against her intricately shaped battlement. He peeked over the top of his wall. She was busy making balls. Bloody hell, they were all the same size and stacked in a triangular shape. The woman liked preciseness, that’s fer sure.
He formed a small ball, packed it hard, and tossed it at the middle of her back. It smacked her and she jumped around, murder in her eyes. She went back to making balls. So did he. When a larger snowball smacked him in his arse, he wheeled around, but no one was there. He bent low and crept to peer around the end of his shoveled area.
Another snowball walloped Ronan in the back of the head, knocking his hat off. He spun around, but couldna spot her. Damn, she was quick and sneaky. He stepped out from behind his hiding spot, a snowball in each hand, just as two blue mittens reached for more of her cannonball snowballs. He ran around the perimeter of their fighting area and hurled a snowball at each pretty arse cheek. She screamed. He laughed. She dove with a snowball in each hand. He got a faceful. They rolled, grabbing snow, and giggling as they shoved it anywhere they could on each other.
Somehow in the flurry of cold snow and wild laughter, she undid his zipper, sneaky Frenchwoman that she was, and thrust a handful of packed snow inside his pants. His cock and balls shriveled against the frozen ice. He reached back over his head and grabbed a chunk of snow and shoved it under her shirts. She gasped and writhed as he held it against her bra, and kissed her. He had no clue how, but he was suddenly airborne for a few seconds before he crashed on his back in the middle of his piled-up snow. Air whooshed from his lungs.
She’d broken his stomach or liver or…wait…feckin’ hell! His bear was bouncing in excitement, laughing with glee. He’d never heard him laugh before. His bear was giggling like a kid—an ecstatic, fun-filled youngster. Ronan’s heart filled with compassion for the other half of his persona. He kent he was a serious man. Aye, probably so severe, he didna give his bear enough fun. Prickles of shame danced over his skin. He needed to be kinder.
A toe bumped Ronan’s ass. “Are you laughing at me? What is that strange, faint noise? Sounds almost strangled.” She dropped to her knees, yanked off her mittens, and frantically examined him. “Honey, did I hurt you? Let’s go back inside, put some dry clothes on, and have something hot to eat.”
He was going to have to tell her. The time had come. A shiver of fear like he hadna felt since his youngest brother’s wife was attacked by a deranged wizard, ran rampant through his body. She deserved the honesty of what he truly was, even if he lost her in the process.
Anisa put away the clean laundry Ronan had folded this morning while Ronan showered. With such a small supply of clothes shoved into her backpack, she needed to do laundry again tonight. When she’d packed, she tried to shove as much as she could into her backpack, never realizing she’d be snowed in for who knew how long. It looked like this evening would be a silk pajama night—peach trimmed in aqua, worn with a purple thong and dark pink socks. Oh, how her sister Ann-Marie would roll her eyes in disgust, but how much could one shove into a backpack that would fit into the cramped quarters of a drone?
Ronan barely looked at her when he stepped out of the bathroom, wearing a kilt, his long, wet hair tied back with a leather cord. “I’ll heat an early dinner while ye shower. Put yer dark clothes…”
He stopped talking when his gaze landed on the pile of clothes she’d just placed on the bar. He’d evidently zeroed in on the purple thong lying on top. His long index finger slid around the narrow section of material that would cover her crotch. He picked them up and slowly examined their construction, front and back. “These are made to drive a man insane with lust. Ye ken that.”
He cast dark eyes hooded with desire on her. “And we have that condom problem to worry about. Are they leaking or are’na they? Dinna ye think me keeping me hands off ye will be hard enough without knowing what yer thong looks like?”
Oh, this man and all his testosterone would not get ahead of her. “And a Scot wearing a kilt isn’t designed to draw a woman’s eye or make her wonder?” She rested her hands at her waist.
His eyebrows rose. “Wonder what?” The man had such an expressive face, full of strength and a rugged appeal that caused her ceaseless heated reaction to him whenever he looked or scowled at her with his brown eyes.
Good grief, it was almost as if her hormones stood up and did the cancan whenever he was near. Which was why it took her a second to remember the subject of their exchange. “Ah…what, if anything, they’re wearing beneath their kilts.”
He nodded once. “Och. Aye. Every man is different, ye see. I prefer to wear nothing under mine.”
She nodded once to mimic his gesture. “Oh, and if the wind blows? What then?” Her damn hormones were wearing their net stockings and stilettoes, thrusting and shimmying at the thought of his being naked under his plaid.
“ ’Twill blow the stink off me arse.” The corners of his mouth twitched as if he’d laid a trap for her, and her hormones had danced right into it. The battle finally lost, he laughed, full and lusty. “Get out of those wet clothes and into a warm shower. Once ye’re dressed, put yer dark clothes in the washer with mine, and start it.”
She stepped out of the bathroom, wearing her pajamas and scrunching her hair. “The washer’s running. We had a full load.” She couldn’t help but allow her scrutiny to drift over his tall, muscled body and heat up with every fine inch she studied. God, he was so gorgeous, standing there stirring whatever was in the pot and shaking in some spices. His tat ran over his shoulder and down one side of his back almost to his waist. She hoped he couldn’t hear her swallow her mouthful of drool. “What smells so good? Is it a seafood dish?”
He spooned out the mixture. “Aye. We call it Cullen skink. I made some fresh coffee. Do ye want to pour? The mugs are in front of the pot.”
Her hands stilled. “Did you say skink or skunk?”
“Skink. It’s a smoked haddock chowder recipe. Has mashed potatoes in it to give it a creamy texture. We’ll eat at the bar and then move to the sofa. I have things to tell ye about me and me family that will be twice as hard to reveal as yer story was about how the CIA and a fellow Frenchman set ye up as a mole.” He placed steaming bowls and spoons on the counter.
Instead of their moving around the bar to the stools, he exhaled a long sigh. His fingertips caressed her cheeks, sending all kinds of sensual ripples through her body. No other man she’d known could do that to her. She gazed at his eyes and sadness was there, sadness and wariness.
To allay his mood, which seemed to border on distress, she wrapped her arms around his back and stepped into his body, all their curves and angles meeting and meshing. “What is it, sweetheart? What has you so troubled?”
“Let’s get the meal over with so we can talk. ’Tis a long, involved story.”
They sat at the bar eating soup Anisa wasn’t sure she could keep down. Her stomach was twisted in knots. What did this man she’d come to love have to tell her?
“Every generation or so, we have a change in storytellers. Orators. Our clan, the Mathesons, have kept our unique history secretly alive through the telling of our tales when we get together. Over the years, we’ve collected many. I am our clan’s current orator, trained fer years by an older relative.
“Sometime in the future, I’ll have to start training someone younger that I deem suitable, fer it takes a long time to memorize every detail of each extraordinary event in our past. We must choose someone who can memorize and become enamored of our history. A person who will delight in every aspect of what has happened to us before and gladly share these facts with our people.”
“I see. So, you’re kind of like a modern-day Cicero from Rome or Alcibiades of Athens?”
“To me clan, yes. But I am of no importance to anyone else. Are ye finished eating? We’ll take our coffee over to the sofa.” Ronan added more logs to the fireplace and took a seat beside her. He gulped his coffee and cleared his throat a time or two, almost as if he couldn’t get started with all he had to say. He placed his hand on her shoulder, the warmth passing through the silk material of her pajamas. His fingers wrapped around a few curls of her hair. “I fear sharing this will destroy any chance I have with ye.”
“Just tell me all of it, from the beginning, the way I told you about the mess I’m in. Lay it out in logical steps so my analytical mind can process it.”
“Aye. Ye’re right, of course.” He kissed her forehead and for a few brief seconds, rested his cheek against the spot where he’d pressed his lips. “All Scots value the telling of times gone by. ’Tis a gift we give our children, this passing-on of our history. ’Tis especially important for the Mathesons, fer we are a hearty band of Scots. Strong. Brave. Fearless. I need to tell ye of our olden times if we are to have a relationship. Fer ye must know all that I am. What I came from.”
Oh God, his clan killed Frenchmen. What else could it be? “Okay, I’m listening.”
“ ’Twas the year nine hundred sixty. Our band was growing and prospering. We fished, hunted, and grew as a sleuth. When the Vikings, thievin’, murderin’ bastards that they were, sailed to our shores in their long ships, we fought them. And they feared us.”
“What is a sleuth? I’ve never heard that word used except as a person who solves mysteries. But you don’t mean it that way, do you?”
Ronan glanced away and sighed. His gaze returned to her face only to soften as he cupped his fingers around her neck. “Both of me brothers told me, one day I’d meet a woman I’d love so much, I’d fear losing her. That I wouldna want to live a day without her. I scoffed at their comments fer I had no idea how love could make a man feel. Now I understand the truth of their words.” He glanced away again and exhaled a deeply held breath. “A sleuth is a group of bears.”
“Bears? So you’re telling me in nine sixty you were all bears? Your family—ancestors—were bears.” Her heart pounded heavily in her ears until she got control of her emotions. He was a storyteller. A master of fantasy. None of this was true. It was something made up by the light of some campfire generations ago. No doubt to entertain, like going to the cinema now. “Okay, proceed with your ancient tale.”
“Our battles were long and fierce. Our victories many. A Norseman by the name of Vulund the Flatnose led the attack on our shores. During this era, there were many bears on our shores and in the Highlands. Large, fierce, combative bears.”
Anisa chuckled. “Well, the big bear I landed on when I parachuted from the drone wasn’t so combative. In fact, he laughed. I had no clue bears could do that.”
Ronan looked at her strangely and smiled, shaking his head before he continued. “Vulund the Flatnose requested more longships and men from Eric Bloodaxe in York, the last Viking king of Jorvik, to battle the bears. And, as more Vikings came, the bears fought them off. Aye, they were victorious over the Vikings.”
She was fascinated by the story. Ronan had a way of adding emotion that drew her in and almost made her believe he was telling the truth. She bent her knees and sat on her calves and feet, warming her hands with the mug of coffee. He had her mesmerized.
“Not to be outdone, Flatnose, devious bastard that he was, concocted a plan. With logs to gain leverage, his men moved large boulders into the bears’ caves’ openings along the rocky cliffs of Mathe Bay, blocking them all—save one. After that chore was accomplished, large teams of Vikings were dispatched to round up the bears. They captured the mama sows and their cubs and forced them into the one remaining open cave. Then they set about killing as many male bears as they could. Aye, over time, they killed them all. But before they killed our grandfather of many generations past, he mortally injured Vulund who, before he died, placed a Viking curse on our family.”
“What kind of curse?” Man, this guy could write movie scripts. He’d make millions in historical action flicks.
“That the first male of each generation of our family would die before his thirtieth birthday unless he married a woman with the right amount of Norse blood flowing through her veins.”
“Wow, that’s…that’s the basis for a great legend.”
He took her hand and brought it to his mouth for a kiss. “Not legend, luv. Truth. And so it happened. The eldest male of each generation, our clan’s laird, died before he turned thirty. Some by their own hand. Some by illness or by the brutality of another band of enemies. Until Paisley, me Norse sister-in-law, married me eldest brother weeks before he turned thirty and broke the spell. Ye see, even as an American of both Scottish and Viking descent, she carried the right amount of Norse blood.”
Anisa’s mind was whirling with all the details of his story, for the man was fervent in his belief of it. “What happened to the little bears and their mamas corralled into the cave?” She might as well hear about it all—no matter how fabricated it was.
“Ye see, Anisa, the bears imprisoned in the caves were smart.” He tapped a finger against his temple. “They knew they couldna escape, for Vikings guarded the entrance to the large underground chamber. They cut down trees along our shoreline and cliffs, dragged them to the cave’s opening, and set them afire. Roaring flames imprisoned the bears.”
“Most animals are just as fearful of fire as we humans are. Didn’t they starve?”
“The bears hatched a plan, ye see. The mumma bears were intelligent and cunning, certainly smarter than the enemies. When the Vikings, with all their weapons, came into the cave to kill the bears, they were all dead. Or so it seemed, fer they all acted as if they were sleeping.”
Anisa nodded. “Like they were hibernating. How ingenious.” She could almost visualize the fairy tale in her mind.
“The Vikings left but, before they did, they rolled more boulders in front of the last cave’s opening. For many years, the bears were trapped. They ate roots of plants and herbs that grew downward from above. Ants and insects, too. In one of the chambers branching off from the main cave opening was a pool of water, fed by an underground spring. Aye. They survived.
“Several years later, another group of Vikings, led by Olaf the Yellow, sailed to our shores to rape and pillage our countryside. They sought a place to hide their stolen loot and, not knowing what they’d find, rolled away the rocks from the bears’ underground penitentiary. Imagine the Vikings’ surprise when people walked out. Proud, strong, fierce human beings.”
A chill raced up Anisa’s back. “Humans?”
“Aye. Men. Women. Children. And they were feared. Aye, invincible. Indomitable. Victorious.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hands. “And so we remain today, survivors from those fierce warrior mathes, or bears. We are Mathesons. Sons of bears. We are shifters. Part human and part bear.”