Lachlan winced. That was another thing about unicorns — they loved poetry, with verses that went on and on.
“I don’t think—” Natasha started to protest.
But Fergus MacGregor tossed his head in a gesture of unicorn delight and motioned everyone to their seats. “By all means.”
Lachlan sat, trying not to fidget as his dragon tested the air for trouble. Something was afoot — but what?
Destiny, a little voice whispered in his mind.
Penelope cleared her throat. “I’ll begin with a few lines from Robert Burns.” She unfolded a sheet of paper, took a deep breath, and began. “Here is the glen, and here the bower…”
The unicorns nodded along, rapt. Colin McDougal, the dragon shifter, poured himself a whisky before settling in for the duration. Roger Birch-Thompson, England’s lion shifter envoy to Scotland, folded his hands over his gut and closed his eyes for a snooze. Obviously, both men had found coping mechanisms for dealing with unicorns’ love of verse. Natasha, meanwhile, rapped her long, lacquered fingernails on the buttons of the form-fitting business suit she’d worn for the occasion.
“Underneath the birchen shade, the village bell has told the hour…”
Natasha stirred the air with her hand, prompting Penelope along.
Tears streamed down Penelope’s cheeks, and she hung her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can go on.”
Natasha looked delighted. But Fergus stood and took the sheet of paper from Penelope. “Don’t worry. I’ll take over from there.”
Natasha’s eyes shot daggers when Lachlan rose and guided Penelope to the seat beside him.
“So sad,” Penelope whispered, wiping her eyes.
Lachlan patted her arm. “Trevor was well over one hundred, and he lived well.”
“Still, sad.”
He thought of all the soldiers and civilians he’d witnessed dying far too young. But Penelope would really start blubbering if he mentioned them. Instead, he pulled out a packet of tissues and handed her one.
She smiled through her tears. “You’ve come prepared.”
He grinned and showed her the two backup packets he’d brought. “I know you too well.”
Fergus stuck on his reading glasses and picked up where Penelope had left off. “So calls the woodlark in the grove…”
Natasha’s knee bounced impatiently.
Lachlan frowned, picking up on a slight vibration through the floorboards. Someone was running down the hallway outside. His ears twitched and his nostrils flared, ready for trouble.
But that was a light, woman’s step, not the heavy stomp of a soldier. Voices sounded outside — a woman pleading with the receptionist — and a moment later, the doors burst open.
“So sorry I’m late,” a woman cried, hurrying in.
Lachlan turned with everyone else, but Balloch Smith — the huge, lumbering representative of the Highland cattle shifters — blocked his view. Still, Lachlan’s heart hammered. Not in alarm — more like recognition, though he couldn’t place the voice or the fresh, flowery scent that wafted through the room as a young woman hurried toward the solicitor’s desk.
He craned his neck, wondering if he knew her. But Penelope dropped the packet of tissues just then, and he ducked to retrieve it. By the time he straightened, the new arrival had hurried past him, close enough for her elbow to brush his shoulder.
His blood rushed. Why? He fought the sense of joy and anticipation her touch had set off. Who was she?
At first, all he saw was a whirl of color, as if a gypsy had just danced by. Her clothes were bright and flowing, her gait light. Her long ponytail bounced like a thoroughbred’s tail, distracting him from the details that usually allowed him to judge a person at a glance.
Not a thoroughbred. A mustang, his dragon corrected.
Mustang fit — she was that free and spirited.
When she spoke, her words came out in a hurried American accent.
“I’m really sorry. I’m never late. Well, okay, sometimes… But sometimes, you can’t help it. Like today. I got off the flight first and everything. But then luggage took forever, and everyone’s came out before mine. Literally — mine was the very last one. Well, except a black suitcase, but that was from the flight before. Anyway, I caught a cab — one of the new ones — and we got lost. Actually, the driver got lost. Okay, more like turned around. Both of us. I swear, half the streets in Edinburgh are closed for that rally. Not that it’s not an important cause,” she hurried to add. “Just a little inconvenient for getting around. We had to take this long detour…” She waved a hand, nearly smacking Fergus, who’d leaned in to inspect her like an exotic specimen from a distant planet. “The driver tried South Bridge, but that was closed. So we headed all the way back to Princes Street, but that was backed up. Seriously — all the way back to the train station. Finally, I just got out and walked. But I had to drop off my things first…”
Everyone exchanged glances, unsure what to make of the one-woman whirlwind.
Every muscle in Lachlan’s body stiffened, and a slew of memories flooded his mind, transporting him to a different time and place. Rather than clutching thin air, his fingers were combing through long, wavy hair. Instead of parting in confusion, his lips moved over a soft pillow of goodness. And instead of the dull, mothball smell of the solicitor’s office, he caught the scent of fresh wild flowers — and the scent of desire. His desire, along with a woman’s. The only woman who’d ever made his heart sing.
He sat immobile, caught in memories he’d been forced to lock away for a long, long time.
Holly? his dragon whispered.
His first love. His only love. The one he’d spent a decade pretending to forget, though he knew he never would.
The solicitor beckoned her forward. “So pleased you could make it, Miss Jennings.”
She thumped an urn onto the huge oak desk, then turned as if to hurry away. But her elbow bumped the urn, and it nearly toppled over. When the solicitor lunged for it, it tipped farther, and everyone gasped.
“Trevor!” Penelope clasped her hands in horror.
Lachlan pictured old Trevor’s ashes spilling out and covering everyone in the front row. But at the last possible moment, Holly slapped one hand around the urn and another around the lid, keeping them clamped together. Slowly, she exhaled and set them back on the desk.
“Whew. Gotcha.”
Definitely Holly, Lachlan’s dragon murmured in glee. A walking contradiction.
That, she was. Clumsy yet agile. Breezy and beautiful. Tall and proud, yet humble and modest.
Captivating. Enticing, his dragon added to the list. My mate.
Lachlan balled his hands into fists. He was not going to allow himself to be swept away all over again.
Colin chuckled. “You know, I think Trevor would have gotten a good laugh out of that.”
The unicorns looked scandalized, but Lachlan had to agree. Well, he would have if his mind hadn’t been spinning. Usually, he could assemble the vaguest clues into a clear image. But now, they all jumbled in his mind. What was Holly doing here?
Mourning, his dragon whispered when Holly paused, touching the urn. Her shoulders slumped, and her head dipped as if in prayer.
“I’ll miss you, Trevor,” she whispered. Then her voice cracked. “I’ll never forget you.”