My Tempting Highlander (Highland Hearts #3) Read Online Free Page B

the soaked straps of leather across Ronan’s chest to his face. “Come to think of it, how in the world do you keep from burning down everything around you?”
    A groan escaped him as Ronan scrubbed one hand across his face. “The fire burns, but it never consumes. ’Tis the raging energy of my spirit as I pass between forms—an unnatural and heatless blaze.”
    “Well, why the hell didn’t you tell me that before I spent the last three hours trying to make sure everything was water-soaked and protected from fire?”
    “Did it ever occur to ye to ask?” Ronan rose, pulled his body free of the wet leather straps, and dumped the soaked pack to the ground. This was not the way such an important journey should start. An ill omen, perhaps?
    Granny’s scowl darkened, while her trembling fists twisted the folds of her skirt.
    Lore a’mercy.
The old woman was about to strike him. Ronan returned his hands to shielding his most prized parts, and took a step back. Honor demanded he respect and accede to the old woman’s wishes. Honor did not require him to sacrifice his bollocks.
    “Do you have another plaid to take with you?” Granny’s nostrils flared and her thin cheeks reddened. “A
dry
plaid, perhaps?” ’Twas a wonder he wasna reduced to a pile of smoldering ash from the look she gave him.
    “Aye.” Ronan nodded toward a neatly trussed bundle leaning against the bench. “I didna ken what ye planned, so I brought extra supplies.”
    “Good.” Granny huffed something indistinguishable under her breath and bent to pick up her staff. “Then wrap it around your bare ass and prepare yourself. It’s time.” She trundled to the edge of the clearing, all the while grumbling to herself.
    Ronan opened the pack and shook out the dark wool cloth tucked in the middle of the supplies. He ran his thumbs across the heavy coarseness of the winter weave. His heart got the strange feeling it always did when he stopped to ponder the bit of cloth that held so much meaning.
    A background of darkest gray was shot with alternating wide and narrow crisscrossed bands of black. Then a single stripe, almost so narrow as to be overlooked, made of silver white threads, raced its way in and out through the dark bands like a mist winding through the trees. His colors. The dark bands for his father, the gray for the curse, and the silver for his mother. He held his history in his hands. With a few quick turns, Ronan wound the plaid about his body. Somehow, he always felt stronger cradled in his colors.
    Ronan secured the remaining supplies he’d packed for the journey and slung them over one shoulder. “I’m ready.” Thankfully, his voice didna sound as unsure as he felt.
    Granny pointed to the reflecting pool surrounded with a ring of brush already crackling with flames. “The portal is also ready and the path along the web is true. When my hand drops, time will stop and the flames will freeze. At that time, you must leap into the circle. Hurry now. I can speak no more lest the direction of the portal shift with the path of the moon.”
    Granny’s knuckles whitened as she gripped her staff and turned away from the pool. She held one hand above her head, her bent fingers tensed. The blue crystal atop her staff hummed as a spark of white exploded at its center. The pulsating light grew and strengthened, setting the crystal on fire.
    Ronan edged closer to the roaring flames. It had to be soon now. The air was so thick with pulsing energy it stung across his flesh. A dull thud then a deep monotone hum growled from the center of the pool. The dancing flames licking around the water’s edge slowed their movements, strained upward toward the moon, then solidified with a crackling pop that sounded like shifting ice across a loch.
    Ronan glanced back at Granny. The fingers of her raised hand trembled then stretched open wide. Then, like a guillotine, her hand swiftly dropped.
    It was time. Ronan sucked in a deep breath and jumped.

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