Lord of the Highlands (Highlands #4)

Lord of the Highlands (Highlands #4) Page 2

“Outside Los Angeles, dear.” She eyed the table full of tiny plates thoughtfully, and speared a bit of quiche with her fork. “Did you do that online dating thing you were telling me about?”

“The one in the TV commercials?” Felicity shrugged. “Yeah, I did it.”

“I wish you would stay away from that Internet stuff. I told you, Tarot is better for this sort of thing than that w-w-w business. Who knows what kind of characters—”

“Everyone is screened.” Felicity smiled patiently. “It’s scientific. There’s a formula. Fill out a questionnaire and they match you to your ‘Perfect Mate.’ Find your true love with Formu-LOVE!” she added brightly.

“Mm-hm.” Her aunt sipped her drink, looking skeptical. “You should use the cards like I taught you. And don’t forget the candle. The candle is the key. You need to find yourself someone better than that . . . that guitar-strumming . . . person.”

“I thought you liked those crunchy hippie-dude types.”

“I used to. But times have changed.” Livia gazed at her a moment, her eyes softening. “Honey, I’ve just seen one too many of those types screw my little niece over.”

A shocked laugh burst from Felicity, and she raised her nearly empty glass in a toast. “To hypocrites. Good-bye to the lot of them.”

“Hear, hear,” Livia said. “You need yourself a real man.”

“Yeah! A real man . . .” Felicity nodded enthusiastically, refilling her glass. “Someone who pulls grandmothers from burning buildings.”

Her aunt let out a tipsy giggle. “That’s the ticket, honey.”

“Who’d jump into icy water to save a stranger. A big Viking of a man. Who’d fight to protect me. Who does things like . . .” Felicity thought for a moment, then slamming her hands onto the table, announced, “Fish.”

“You want your man to fish?” Her aunt’s exuberance momentarily waned.

“Yeah.” Felicity shrugged. “I want a man’s man, but I don’t think I’m ready for any hunters yet.”

“Ha!” Livia’s shriek drew a few pairs of eyes to their table. Ignoring them, she declared, “Then here’s to fishing.”

They both tossed back the rest of their sangria.

“Ugh.” Felicity grabbed the table edge to steady herself. “We should get the bill and go.” Scowling, she reached across the table to pluck the last mushroom cap from its puddle of oil. Her stomach roiled in preparation. She always forgot what a bad idea tapas were. Sangria flowing from long-spouted jugs, with only some garlic prawns and bits of quiche to absorb it all.

She gestured to the waitress, then put a hand to her head. She lived only a short walk down Valencia Street, but she’d rather wobble home before all that cheap wine hit her any harder. And she still needed to make up a bed for her aunt. “Do you want the futon or the mattress?”

“Futon’s fine, honey.”

Felicity reached for her bag, but her aunt stopped her with an exaggerated frown, tossing a couple of twenties on the table before she had the chance to. “But first I’d like to walk off my sangria.” Livia glanced at her oversized men’s watch. “There’s just too much to see for me to be going to bed this early.”

Felicity stood abruptly. Normally she’d put up more of a fight, but the sangria had begun to burble in her belly. “You sure?” She pulled on her brown suede jacket and tugged the long length of her blonde hair free.

“Absolutely. I may be long of tooth, dear, but I’m not dead yet.” Livia shooed her toward the door. “Go, go. You’re looking green around the gills, as your lovely mother would’ve said. Go get some rest.”

Felicity pulled her into a quick hug. Mom. Livvie’s sister.

She swallowed back a pang of grief. Though it was still sharp, the passing years had dimmed her memories. Now the occasional washes of melancholy were less about her mom and dad in any specific way, and came more from the vague sense of what she’d been missing.

She made it home to find a letter waiting for her. She’d almost walked right past it. It must’ve been delivered to the wrong mailbox, and someone had slipped it under her apartment door.

Felicity picked it up and frowned. It was from Formu-LOVE. Scrunching her brows, she focused on the pink and purple envelope. Based on Scientific Research! Find your true love with Formu-LOVE!

She’d been waiting for it, and now that it was here, she was afraid to open the thing.

Felicity had answered pages and pages of questions, covering everything from “Ketchup or mustard?” to her thoughts on religion, birth, and death.

Could this be it? Would there be a name and a little mug shot of her “perfect mate” inside?

Her hands trembled as she tore it open. She looked at the front and back of the single sheet, then peeked in the envelope to make sure she’d gotten everything out. Shouldn’t there be more?

It was just a form letter, with her online nickname and pertinent details filled in with an elaborate, loopy font.

“The least they can do for my two hundred bucks is send me a real letter,” she muttered.

Dear Mellow Yellow,

We are sorry but the profile you provided

Formu-LOVE! was UNMATCHABLE.

But don’t be discouraged. Scientific research

has proven . . .

She stopped reading, crumpled the paper, and flung it across the room, where it fell short of its mark. She stared angrily at the trashcan, a grimace holding back her tears.

Staggering to the couch, Felicity curled into a fetal position. “Unmatchable.”

Stupid online formula. Nobody is unmatchable.

She bit her knuckle. What if she was?

She didn’t want to end up alone like her Aunt Livia. Felicity adored the woman, but she just wasn’t a nomad like her aunt. Traveling had been exciting, but now she was ready to nest, to build a life. Find that one true someone she knew her father had been for her mother.

“Alright, Liv.” She popped back up, striding to the cabinet where she kept her Tarot cards. “You win.” She lit her candle and flicked off the lamp.

She plopped onto the rug, spilling the deck out before her. It had been a gift from her aunt, not long after her parents had died. Felicity had felt guilty when she’d first contemplated those intricate and old-fashioned images. The brightly colored Hanged Man and the ominous Devil seemed like such transgressions.

But they never failed to pull her in, the cards alternately majestic, ominous, triumphant. Each suggesting a mysterious and unexpected tale, where a smiling countenance could bode ill and a dying man meant rebirth.

Felicity spread them out wide before her, rummaging them under her palms in a sloppy shuffle. They were reassuringly cool and waxy under her fingers.

“Where’s the one man who’s right for me?”

She gathered the cards back into a stack and did one more quick shuffle for good measure.

Unmatchable.

No, she wasn’t without a match. There was one man in the universe just for her. She shut her eyes and tried to visualize him. “Where is my great big Viking of a man?”

The candle flickered, and a shiver crawled up her skin. Taking a deep breath, she gave a shake to her sangria- fogged head. It was only the candlelight, she told herself.

Still, Felicity grew somber. Alone with the cards in the darkness, it was impossible to avoid the sense that she was tapping into some great, unknown energy.

She slowly began to deal out six cards. It was an arrangement her aunt called The Great House. A simple spread, but powerful.

Taking a deep breath, she whispered, “Show me where you are.”

She put her fingers on the first card, what her aunt called the Querent. It was her card, the one that represented Felicity’s situation. She rubbed it between her fingers before turning it. “I need you,” she whispered again. “How do I find you?”

The crisp flip of the card resonated in the silence of her apartment.

She drew in her breath. The Chariot. “Cool,” she said quietly. She loved this card. A conquering hero, bearing a spear, in armor decorated with stars and moons, riding in a chariot drawn by sphinxes. In the dim light, he seemed to be riding straight for her.

A small smile touched her face. It was a Major Arcana card, representing success. Turmoil, conquest. Possibly an imminent voyage, or a life-changing event.

She’d be off on a new venture soon. “Are you saying I have to come to you?” she mused, her smile growing.

She turned the next card quickly.

The Lovers. “Yesss . . .” she hissed, grinning outright. It was a man and a woman. Some sort of glorious, celestial being watched over them, his hands outstretched in a beneficent gesture.

Lovers. Her optimism swelled. There was her Viking right there. “Doesn’t get much clearer than that.”

Felicity flipped the next one more quickly than the last, and her hand froze. “What’s with all the Major cards?” It was the Wheel of Fortune.

She tried to remember what that one meant. A profound realization taking place? But it also meant twists of fate. She studied the spinning wheel and gave a shrug. “Round and round she goes, where she stops nobody knows . . .”

Felicity held her hand poised over the fourth card. “Come on. Give me something nice and easy.”

The Two of Cups.

“Oh yeah!” She patted the card triumphantly. “Yeah, baby.” She studied the image. Two people gazed at each other, both ready to share their oversized golden cup. Partnership, marriage, commitment.

Placing her fingers over the back of the next card, she rubbed it into the rug with the anticipation of a Vegas blackjack dealer. “Love and marriage, love and marriage, go together like a . . .” She flipped it.

The Five of Pentacles.

“Shit.”

Adversity and loss. This card pictured another man and woman, but this time they were trudging through snow, looking cold and hungry. The man’s leg was bandaged, and he struggled with his crutch in the snow. “What’s that about?”