Highland Fling. Jennifer Labrecque

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      “I’m the exhibit caretaker.” He nodded toward the starkly sensual portrait. “You come often. You seem to have taken a liking to the MacTavish.”

      Busted. And although it was embarrassing the number of times she’d visited this portrait, she could hardly deny it when the old man had clearly noted her obsession.

      She flushed at being caught out and nodded. So, her man had a name. Her curiosity outweighed her embarrassment. “Yes, I’m fairly taken with…what did you call him, the MacTavish? So, he’s real? Or, I mean, he was?”

      The old man studied the portrait as if viewing an old friend. “Darach MacTavish. Once head of the clan MacTavish. One of the finest men to walk Scottish soil.”

      Kate drew a deep breath, her heart pounding. He was real. Well, he had been real.

      “Who painted the picture?” She’d often wondered.

      “The artist is unknown.”

      “Who’s the woman in the portrait?” Talk about total irrationality to resent the woman in the picture.

      “That’s unknown as well. I do know Darach MacTavish died shortly after the picture was painted.”

      His words knifed through her soul. What was wrong with her? She dealt with life and death on a daily basis and while she wasn’t inured, she handled it.

      Kate persevered, driven by the knowledge that after tonight this man who’d so captured her imagination would be forever gone from her world. “What happened? How’d he die?”

      “The Battle of Culloden.”

      Kate looked at him blankly. The man in the painting might have captured her imagination and awakened a fierce lust, but she was a doctor, not a historian. Science, not history, had always been her thing. “Never heard of it.”

      “A group of Scotsmen known as Jacobites wanted to restore Bonnie Prince Charles to the English throne. It was a doomed endeavor from the beginning. Darach MacTavish died on the battlefield at Drumossie Moor, later known as Culloden, in the spring of 1745. Even if he hadn’t, the British would’ve killed him afterwards.”

      Kate gasped and braced her hand against the wall as a physical pain wracked her body. “What about his wife? His children?”

      “No wife. No children. The MacTavish died without any heirs.”

      “So he died alone.” Unbidden, the thought came to her that if she died tonight, now, she too would die alone, much as the man depicted before her. With both of her parents dead and no time for a boyfriend or husband or even girlfriends with her schedule, who would miss her?

      The old man shook his head, his eyes looking beyond her and the present, into the past. “He didn’t die alone. His clansmen died along with him on that bloody field. Them that didn’t die along with him were hunted down by the British. And that was the end of the clan MacTavish.” He shook his head. “Actually, that day marked the end of the Highland clans.”

      It was her turn to shake her head. His story, in addition to eating up her last few minutes, had irrationally devastated her. “It seems such a waste. But I don’t suppose any of us can avoid our destinies.” It sounded better than life’s a bitch and then you die. This obsession she’d developed couldn’t be mentally healthy. It was just as well the exhibit would leave Atlanta after tonight.

      The old man’s enigmatic smile vaguely unsettled her. “Destiny’s an interesting concept. Did you know Albert Einstein was fully convinced time was yet another frontier to be explored?”

      “I think I’ve read that before. But I don’t believe it’s possible.” She started as the lights in the main section of the building dimmed, reducing the room to shadows.

      “It’s time for you to go, Miss.”

      Intellectually, she knew her time was up. The logical part of her wanted to turn and leave. The new, unfamiliar part of her awakened by the portrait balked at leaving just yet. “I know the museum’s closed, but do you think you could give me another minute?”

      His look apologized. “It’s time for you to go now. Do you have everything you need?”

      His words penetrated her heavy heart with their peculiarity. “Everything I need?”

      “Are your affairs in order?”

      The old man took her by the arm, but then rather than turning toward the door, he propelled her closer to the picture. She was too surprised to protest or pull away when he gave her a shove. Instead of banging into the wall, she felt herself spinning, faster and faster. Dizzy. Disoriented. Unable to…get…her…bearings. Dark…closing…in….

      2

      KATE SHOOK HER HEAD to clear it. At least the spinning had stopped. She opened her eyes, and immediately closed them again.

      What the hell…?

      “Well, lass, mayhap you shoulda asked before you showed up naked in my bed. I wouldn’t complain, except you are a stranger. I well nigh ken everyone in these hills.”

      Her fantasy man’s voice was even deeper and richer than she’d imagined with a thick Scottish burr. Under normal circumstances she’d find the voice, along with the rest of him, very sexy…but there was nothing normal about finding yourself naked on a bed with a very large stranger looming over you.

      Her brain raced as she opened her eyes and scanned her surroundings. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to replicate the exact setting of the painting, even down to the fire crackling beyond the stone hearth. She looked for any hidden cameras on the set. She wasn’t sure how they’d done it. How had they gotten her out of her clothes? This had to be some over-the-top reality show set or she was an unwitting participant in an elaborate hoax.

      Kate possessed a sense of humor. She appreciated a good joke, but naked? How had they gotten her here? One minute she’d been standing in the museum looking at the picture and talking to the caretaker. The next minute, he shoved her, she blacked out, and came to in the picture…and naked as a newborn at that. She was more annoyed than frightened. “This isn’t funny. If you don’t put an end to this immediately, I might have to sue someone’s ass off.”

      She scrambled for something to cover herself. Her clothes had vanished, but her purse still hung from her shoulder. Regardless of how sexy Tall, Dark and Yummy came across, he needed to know she meant business. She shifted the purse to her front, trying to shield herself.

      “And you can cut the accent.” She raised her voice and spoke to the room at large, so any hidden microphones could pick her up clearly. “If someone’s rolling tape cut it right now and we’ll just forget about a lawsuit.”

      Despite the affable smile curling his lips, the man’s dark eyes raked her, assessed her. Even under the bizarre circumstances, a betraying heat spread through her.

      “And I want my clothes.” She used the tone that always got results. “Now.”

      “Do ye now? I’m perfectly fine with the view. And I have no idea where you left your clothes, lass.” He СКАЧАТЬ