Chapter 20
ELENA PIERSON
Acheerful rhythmic knocking at the cabin’s front door jolts me out of my deep sleep.
I stir against Lachlan’s massive side, groaning softly as I blink against the shaft of morning light filtering through the nearby window.
Beneath me, a low rumble vibrates in Lachlan’s chest. He’s already awake, his large body instantly tensing into a protective stance.
“Good morning my dears,” a bright and melodic English voice calls out from the porch, followed by a deeper chuckle. “We brought you a bit of breakfast to help you recover from that dreadful storm last night,” she says, the sound muffled.
Oh god. It’s the cottage owners.
Like a shot, I sit upright in the bed, my cheeks instantaneously burning as I realize we’re both completely naked under the sheets. And memories of how intensely he loved me just hours ago flash through my brain.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, panicking as I move to scramble to my feet and pull the duvet to my chin. “Lachlan, your shirt. Do you know where it is?”
Lachlan doesn’t move, just lets out a low amused laugh that shakes the mattress. Apparently, lake monsters are unperturbed by being caught in the nude, but his calm attitude only makes me more frantic.
I watch his massive muscles flex as he reaches over the side of the bed and effortlessly snags up his discarded flannel shirt from where he left it on the floor.
He moves with a slow and methodic grace that makes my breath catch, entirely unbothered by the intrusion.
“Relax, my flower,” he says, lying back down on the mattress and looking entirely too appealing. “They’re only bringing food.”
“Yes, but they think were just normal tourists, not this,” I say, gesturing broadly at his oversized frame, his massive chest, and at the faint and shimmering scales that subtly catch the morning light on his skin when he’s relaxed this way and not hiding himself.
If anyone were to look too closely, they’d notice how his skin turns a blue green in some spots or that his turquoise gaze tracks movement a little too fluidly to be human.
I gaze again, longingly, at his chest and scales. “Put your shirt on, you’re too distracting.”
I frantically scan the room. Shit. I don’t have my robe.
I look toward the chair where my clothes from last night are piled, but they’re a lost cause and streaked with mud and lake water from where Vivian’s storm dropped on top of us.
The knocking comes again, a bit louder this time. “Hello, anyone in there?” Beatrice calls out.
“Just a moment!” I yell my voice cracking slightly.
In a total and complete panic now, I yank the top sheet off the bed and twist the white cotton around my body to make a makeshift and rumpled toga. I tuck one corner of the sheet in tightly over my boobs and clutch the excess fabric in my other hand, so I don’t trip and fall on my face.
“Don’t you dare laugh,” I warn him, glaring as he leans back against the pillows with that deliciously wicked smirk playing on his lips.
I rush from the bedroom, holding onto the sheet for dear life and pad my bare feet across the hardwood floors to make it to the cabin door.
I let it open just an inch and poke my head along with one bare shoulder out.
Beatrice’ and Arthur’s voices erupt as they enter the cabin.
She wears a bright and quilted vest with tiny birds embroidered over it, her silver hair in short ringlets around her head, while Arthur stands behind her in a thick tweed jacket.
“Oh hello love, look at you all tucked away,” she chirps, beaming as she sets a heavy and cloth-covered basket onto the kitchen counter.
The sudden and rich aromas of savory meats, and warm butter fills the cabin instantly.
“We were worried sick when the lightning hit an old oak tree down the road. Blew the transformers right out it did. We brought a full English breakfast with proper sausage, eggs, grilled tomatoes, and some freshly baked scones with clotted cream.”
“And a massive pot of strong tea.” Arthur says, his voice warm and jovial as he tips his flat cap to me. “Guaranteed to warm up the bones after such a strong English gale wind. Is that big chap of yours awake yet? He looked like he could eat enough for three men when you got in last night.”
I offer them a tight and slightly breathless smile, clutching the bedsheet tighter against my collarbone and subtly shifting my weight to block the view of the bedroom hallway.
“Thank you both so freaking much, this is all incredibly sweet. He’s …
he’s still waking up. The storm kept him awake,” I blurt, trying to save face.
Beatrice gazes down at the white sheet wrapped precariously around me in a knowing but highly amused maternal wink spreads across her face, making my cheeks instantly burst with heat.
“Ohh, I just bet it did. A big fellow like that needs his rest. Now make sure he eats those scones while they’re still hot, and I’ll leave you to it. ”
Before I can even begin to reply to her, the floorboards behind me groan as if suddenly put under a large weight.
The small cabin suddenly feels much smaller as Lachlan steps out of the bedroom.
He hasn’t even bothered to button his flannel shirt, and the thick plaid fabric hangs open, completely exposing his broad and heavily muscled chest, along with the faint and shimmering green hue that suddenly catches the morning light along his ribs.
He’s so tall, his messy red hair practically brushes the ceiling rafters, and he looks every bit the wild creature of the loch, and seems completely unperturbed by his lack of clothing.
“Good morning,” Lachlan rumbles, in his thick Scottish brogue. His voice is deep and gravelly, and I swear I can feel it quake the room.
Oh my god.
I freeze, my hand gripping the cotton of my makeshift toga tightening so hard that I can sense my knuckles turning white.
I turn and pray to whoever’s listening that Arthur and Beatrice don’t notice how Lachlan’s skin almost shimmers in the morning sun, or maybe I can now see it better because I know it’s there?
Beatrice stops mid-sentence and her mouth forms into an O of surprise and her gaze goes wide as she takes in the absolute wall of a man standing in the small hallway. For a moment, the talkative and cheerful English woman is completely speechless.
But Arthur doesn’t miss a beat and lets out an amused chuckle.
He looks Lachlan up and down and, cool as a cucumber, tips his flat hat a bit higher on his salt and peppered head.
“Right then, suppose I spoke of the devil, and glad to see you survived the gale, mate. Though it looks like you’ve been keeping yourselves plenty busy. ”
“Arthur!” Beatrice gasps aloud, and swats her husband’s tweed covered arm, though a big and delighted grin spreads across her face.
She looks back at Lachlan, then at me, no doubt taking in my twisted bedsheet and flushed face.
“Oh, don’t mind him my dears. We were just leaving the breakfast, a proper fuel for a big lad like you. ”
Lachlan steps closer, towering over the elderly couple.
The contrast is ridiculous; he looks like he could pick up them both with one arm. As he gazes down at the wicker basket on the counter, the scent of savory sausages and butter clearly catches his attention.
“Thank you,” Lachlan says, his accent thick and rolling. “The storm was loud, and we appreciate the food.”
“Think nothing of it,” Arthur replies, giving Lachlan a friendly if cautious pat on his big shoulder. “Eat up and we’ll leave you to your rest.”
“Och, before you go, you wouldn’t happen to take credit card payments?” he asks. “It’s true we did lose our luggage on the way here, but I kept a hold of my emergency card and we’d like to pay for last night’s stay.”
Beatrices gaze darts back to my toga, and she grins anew. “Oh of course. Are you not thinking of staying a bit longer?”
“No, we’ll actually need to be on our way,” Lachlan says, glancing back at the old map on the wall. “And we’re going to need travel accommodations down to Margate, in Kent.”
I wonder why we’d need to go in the opposite direction, but know there will be time enough to ask him about it later. If he says we need to get to Margate, I guess we’re going to Margate.
Arthur lets out a loud whistle and gives Lachlan a surprised look. “Margate. Blimey, that’s a proper trek from here. You’re talking a good six to seven hours on the road, or a full day’s shift of trains from Cornwall.”
Beatrice gasps, her gaze lighting up as she swats her husband on the arm again.
“Oh! Arthur you brilliant old fool. What about the tractor being broken down, that tractor part you’ve been moaning over for months now?”
Arthur blinks his jaw dropping as realization hits him.
“You’re right, I completely forgot.” He turns to Lachlan, an expression of sheer excitement lighting up his worn face.
“Listen lad, I’ve got a vintage tractor I bought at auction and I’ve been waiting on this part in Kent.
I’ve been trying to find an excuse to go down there and pick it up since Christmas, but Beatrice wouldn’t let me go alone. ”
I glance up at Lachlan. A private trip with an oblivious and incredibly sweet old man is infinitely safer than taking Lachlan to a crowded train station.
“We can settle the cabin fee and fuel costs right now on my card if you fancy it.”
Lachlan looks down at Arthur, his blue gaze tracking the old man’s genuine excitement. “Alright Arthur, the timing couldn’t be better. We’ll be obliged to take you up on the offer.”
“Grand!” Arthur beams a smile and pulls a small card terminal from his deep tweed pocket with a flourish. “Let’s get this sorted then you two can enjoy your proper English breakfast while it’s still hot.”
The moment the lock clicks, Lachlan turns back to me and the playful wicked smirk returns to his face.
Before I can protest about my makeshift clothing, he steps forward and effortlessly bends to hook one big arm under my knees and the other around my lower back.
He scoops me up as if I weigh nothing at all, lifting me off the floor. I could get used to this.
“We need breakfast,” I say, instinctively wrapping my free arm around his thick neck while my other hands scrambles to keep the sheet together.
A low and rumbly chuckle goes straight to my middle, but he leans down and easily grabs the handle of the heavy wicker basket off the counter. Carrying both me and the full English breakfast, he walks us back into the bedroom with slow steps.
He deposits me on the mattress and settles the basket between us.
Crawling onto the bed, his big arms loom over me, his unbuttoned flannel hanging wide so I can see every ripple of muscle his chest makes. I reach into the basket and grab the first thing to distract myself.
“Okay, big guy,” I say softly, breaking a piece of scone in half and handing him a piece. “You shocked me out there with Arthur and Beatrice. Why are we heading all the way in the other direction of Scotland? I thought you wanted to hurry and get to Loch Ness?”
Lachlan takes the bread from my fingers, and chews thoughtfully looking toward the open bedroom door where the map hangs on the wall.
“My cousins,” he says. “They’re selkies, and they have enough magic to get in and out of almost anywhere. It’s what they do. They migrated to the coastal waters there long ago, and they know how to move between worlds to retrieve lost things.”
He leans closer, his heavy chest pressing lightly against my sheet-covered knees effectively holding me to the mattress.
“They’re who can help us get our things back from Vivian’s with her being none the wiser and without a debt needing to be paid,” he explains. “They’ve the means of slipping into places other supernaturals can’t.”
A huge wave of relief and affection rolls over me completely overriding the anxiety of losing my things. I set the scone down, reaching up to frame his jaw with both my hands, completely undone by him. “Selkie cousins, huh?”
Lachlan lets out a rumbling purr from his chest that shakes the bed.
“Aye, my flower. We’ll get your things back.
But before that we’ll make our way to get Arthur’s tractor parts.
” His lips pull into a wicked and hungry grin as he edges closer.
“And I believe we’ve still got a few hours to ourselves. ”