Page 31 of Wild Scottish Fortune

I mean, of course there wasn’t really a pirate about to rescue me from an attack. I was delusional, slipping into themurky depths of Loch Mirren, knowing I didn’t have the strength or acumen to fight the evil being from the Auld Mill on my own. I didn’t really know, nor did I have the air or the mental capacity to understand what was happening.

Life-changing events reallydohappen fast. People always talk about what they would do in an emergency, but the reality is, you have moments, if not seconds, to make decisions that will change an outcome. And I, sad to say, couldn’t quite get my legs or body to work well enough to claw my way back up to the surface of Loch Mirren.

Swimming lessons hadn’t exactly been in my budget growing up.

A hand closed over mine and I was ripped from the water, propelled forward across the surface, and deposited in a heap on the beach, gasping for air. I didn’t look up, didn’t care what I would see, and instead crawled across the beach, forcing my body to move, move,run, away from the edge of the loch. Tremors shook me as I scrambled, clawing my way up the side of the hill, until I landed in a heap next to my lorry, my back resting against the tire as my entire body shook with adrenaline.

Footsteps crunched closer, and I wiped the water from my eyes, raising my head.

“Well, now, honey. I can’t say I much enjoy swimming either, but if I’m going to do it, it’ll be in that pretty turquoise sea right outside my doorstep at home in the Keys, not in this dark and dingy water.”

A woman stood before me with luminous brown skin and wise eyes, wearing a tartan caftan with sparkles and feathers at the hem. A silky black turban wrapped her head and at the center winked a jet-black stone. I hadn’t evenknown that caftans could be made with tartan, let alone sparkles and feathers, and I gaped at the woman.

The pirate hovered over her shoulder.

A ghost.

He was a ghost pirate, and somehow, he’d managed to help me from the water.

“I love seeing you swim, my lovemountain,” the pirate all but purred.

“You just like seeing me in my bikini, Rafe.” A loud chuckle reverberated from the woman, the sound filling me with warmth, and I tried to gather my thoughts.

I still wasn’t entirely sure that I wasn’t dead.

Movement caught my eye, and I angled my head, peering behind the woman’s caftan to see three husky men in kilts, with their shirts off, mind you, leaning against a car. Their muscular arms were crossed over their burly chests, and they waited, a mix between male strippers and beefed-up security guards, and I blinked at them.

Right, Ihadto be dead. WasIa ghost now?

“Am I…dead?” I asked. Wiping water from my face, I tried to fight through chills that wracked my body. My teeth chattered together, and I didn’t think that my teeth would still chatter if I was dead.

“Lads! A blanket for this woman.” The lady in the tartan caftan snapped her fingers, and then snorted, leaning over to whisper to me. “Lads. Don’t you love saying that? I do. Sounds so proper. And here I am taking myself on a tour of the Highlands. Never thought I’d be one for a man in a kilt, but I have to say, I can see the appeal.”

I goggled up at the men who approached, all musclesand bare skin, and one crouched to wrap a blanket around me.

My eyes widened.

Listen, I’ve lived in Scotland my whole life. It wasn’t unheard of to catch a glimpse beneath a kilt on a windy day here or there. But when a man crouches in front of you, wearing a kilt, while you’re sitting on the ground, let’s just say…it was enough to bring the heat coursing back through my body.

“Th…th…thank you,” I stuttered, accepting the blanket, and the woman grinned at me.

“What’s your name, child? I think we need to have a chat about that nasty bugger that just tried to kill you.”

So she’d seen it too. And didn’t seem much bothered by the darkness. Interesting.

The woolen blanket helped ward off some of the chill, and I tucked it more tightly around me as I stood, glancing back out to the now placid waters of Loch Mirren.

“I’m Orla.”

The woman threw her hands to her waist and grinned, looking me up and down.

“Isn’t that just fine, then, honey? I’m Miss Elva. Look at that, Rafe. Elva and Orla. Sisters from another mister.”

“She doesn’t look anything like you, my lovemountain.” Rafe, apparently the name of the pirate ghost, adjusted his hat and sneered as the half-naked men in kilts returned to the car. “Nice skirts,lads.”

The men clearly couldn’t hear him, or I’m sure they would have corrected the pirate, as some Scots would—with their fists.

“She can be my sister if I wanther to be my sister, Rafe.” Miss Elva scolded the pirate, and his cheeks pinkened. “She’s clearly messing with magick and can see ghosts. That makes her more my sister than most, doesn’t it?”

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