Spellbound Read online

  Spellbound

  Warlocks MacGregor

  Michelle M. Pillow

  www.MichellePillow.com

  Contents

  Copyright

  About Spellbound

  Warlocks MacGregor Series

  Michelle’s Bestselling Series

  Dedication

  Note from the Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  About the Author

  Complimentary Material

  The Dragon’s Queen

  Please Leave a Review

  Spellbound (Warlocks MacGregor) © copyright 2015 by Michelle M. Pillow

  First Electronic Printing July 2015, The Raven Books

  Cover art by Ravven, © Copyright 2015

  Edited by Heidi Moore

  ISBN-10: 1625011199

  ISBN-13: 978-1-62501-119-0

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  All books copyrighted to the author and may not be resold or given away without written permission from the author, Michelle M. Pillow.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any and all characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or events or places is merely coincidence. Novel intended for adults only. Must be 18 years or older to read.

  Published by The Raven Books

  www.RavenHappyHour.com ~ www.TheRavenBooks.com

  Raven Books and all affiliate sites and projects are © Copyrighted 2004-2015

  About Spellbound

  Paranormal Contemporary Romance

  Let Sleeping Warlocks Lie…

  Iain MacGregor knows how his warlock family feels about outsiders discovering the truth of their powers, its forbidden. That doesn’t seem to stop him from having accidental magickal discharges whenever he’s around the woman who has captured his attention. Apparently his magick and other “parts” don’t seem to care what the rules are, or that the object of his affection just might be his undoing.

  Warning: Contains yummy, hot, mischievous MacGregor boys who may or may not be wearing clothing and who are almost certainly up to no good on their quest to find true love.

  Warlocks MacGregor Series

  Scottish Magickal Warlocks

  Love Potions

  Spellbound

  More Coming Soon

  Visit www.MichellePillow.com for details.

  Michelle’s Bestselling Series

  Shapeshifter Romances

  Dragon Lords Series

  Barbarian Prince

  Perfect Prince

  Dark Prince

  Warrior Prince

  His Highness The Duke

  The Stubborn Lord

  The Reluctant Lord

  The Impatient Lord

  The Dragon’s Queen

  * * *

  The Dragon Lords series continues with Lords of the Var.

  Lords of the Var Series

  The Savage King

  The Playful Prince

  The Bound Prince

  The Rogue Prince

  The Pirate Prince

  * * *

  Captured by a Dragon-Shifter Series

  Determined Prince

  Rebellious Prince

  Mischievous Prince

  Headstrong Prince

  To learn more and to stay up to date on the latest book list visit www.MichellePillow.com

  To B. I hope you find magick in the world.

  Note from the Author

  People know magic is fake—card tricks and illusions, magicians and entertainers. But there is an older magick, a powerful force hidden from modern eyes, buried in folklore and myths, remembered by the few who practice the old ways and respect the lessons of past generations.

  The term “warlock” is a variation on the Old English word waerloga, primarily used by the Scots. It meant traitor, monster or deceiver. The MacGregor Clan does not agree with how history has labeled their kind. To them, warlock means magick, family and immortality. This book is not meant to be a portrayal of modern-day witches or those who have such beliefs. The MacGregors are a magickal class all their own.

  As with all my books, this is pure fantasy. In real life, please always practice safe sex and magic.

  Chapter 1

  Prologue

  “Dè tha thu ag iarraidh?”

  “What do I want?” Jane whispered, looking around in confusion for the speaker. She was unsure as to how she’d come to be outside. One moment she’d been in bed, the next in a garden. “I’m losing my mind.”

  She knew this garden. She’d itched to get her hands on it ever since she’d moved to Green Vallis, Wisconsin. The plants were choking from neglect, but beneath their twisted wildness was rich soil. Most of the trees and shrubs would be salvageable—if not at their current location, then transplanted elsewhere. The grounds were expansive and had so much potential. Being located on a hill above the small town, it had ample sunlight and natural drainage when it rained. It belonged to an old mansion that had just recently been purchased after decades of sitting empty. Everyone in town knew the story of its builder—the displaced English lord. He’d been a rake or a rogue or whatever they called the rambunctiously decadent men of the time.

  Despite whatever the nobleman had lacked in his personal life, he’d had a great eye for creating picturesque beauty. The property came with eighty acres of land, including part of the surrounding forest with a stream running through it and the old English landscape garden. Yes, the giant house was nice, but Jane saw it more as a backdrop to the nature surrounding it. She couldn’t imagine owning eighty acres of land. The mere idea of it was a kind of what-would-you-do-if-you-won-a-million-dollars pipe dream.

  “Dè tha thu ag iarraidh!”

  Jane flinched as she found the bearer of the mysterious voice. Why was a Scottish woman screaming at her? And why was the woman’s tiny frame aging so rapidly Jane could see the wrinkles forming on the pretty face as if the woman was living an entire lifetime in a single afternoon?

  Jane knew she was hallucinating. What else could this be? The doctors had warned her that her mind would eventually deteriorate. Even so, this hallucination felt very familiar as if she’d lived this moment but couldn’t remember it.

  “Thalla’s cagainn bruis!”

  “Chew a brush?” Jane tried to translate the woman’s words. It made no logical sense that she understood any of it, as she didn’t speak Gaelic. She frowned, looking at an overgrown gooseberry bush a few feet from where she stood on the cobblestone path. Not knowing why she tried to obey, she lifted her arm in its direction but couldn’t reach. Why couldn’t she reach it?

  She looked down. A light fog surrounded her legs. It held her immobile like metal shackles. Fog like shackles? She should be able to run through the fog.

  “Dè tha thu ag iarraidh?”

  “I don’t know what I want,” Jane answered, blinking rapidly as a wrinkled finger pointed a little too close to her nose. How could the finger be so close? The woman was nearly twelve feet away down the path near the mansion’s exterior wall. Fear filled her, nearl
y choking the breath from her lungs. “Why can I understand what you’re saying? Who are you? How did I get here? What do you want?” She remained rooted in place, like the wild overgrowth around her yearning to be saved. “I don’t understand why you’re yelling at me.”

  The aging woman’s finger dissipated into mist but did not disappear. Instead, the mist surrounded Jane’s head. She swatted it away, but the action only caused the mist to swirl up her nose. Around her, the plants moved, coming to animated life. They stretched and grew, aging like the now-old woman before her, then transforming into a beautiful combination of lilac and purple Scottish heather. The heady scent of flowers and honey was so strong it burned her nostrils and caused her eyes to water. Bagpipes sounded in the distance, impossibly carried on a wind that did not stir.

  And then…nothingness.

  Chapter 2

  Green Vallis, Wisconsin, Present Day

  Bagpipes. More friggin’ bagpipes!

  Jane Turner pressed her dirty gloves to her temples, trying to get the sound to stop. At first, it had been a call on the wind early in the mornings when she tended the plants in her nursery, so distant she assumed one of the new Scottish guys who’d moved into town was playing in their mansion on the hill that overlooked Green Vallis. Who else would suddenly be playing bagpipes if not the local Scots? She’d seen some of the MacGregors around town in kilts, and Scottish descendants always seemed to take a lot of pride in their heritage.

  She could handle morning band practice. It was actually kind of relaxing and unique while she worked in her gardens. But then the music became more insistent, filling her mind at all hours of the day, becoming louder until she was humming along to a tune she couldn’t possibly know. It dug into her brain like a singing earworm she couldn’t get out. She’d walked the perimeter of the small piece of land that held her two greenhouses and gardens, trying to see where the men practiced. No one was there.

  And then the music started at night, so loud it woke her from a dead sleep. She’d gone to her bedroom window expecting someone out on her lawn serenading her.

  Ha, Jane thought sarcastically. Someone serenading me. That will be the day pigs fly to Mars and back.

  In Wisconsin, men appeared to like three things. Football, the outdoors, and beer. No, really. It was true, and Jane had witnessed the evidence to prove it. Football season showcased bankers in state football team colors instead of classic suit choices, and locals sported foam cheese-wedge hats. Church services even let out early on game days. And, much to the local bars’ bragging pride, the state had ranked the fifth highest in the nation for beer consumption, with each person drinking nearly thirty gallons in one year. Wisconsin was also ranked the highest for avidly drunk sports fanatics…or something like that.

  Okay, so maybe it wasn’t fair stereotyping everyone into those categories, but Jane had yet to meet a single local who didn’t enjoy such things. Jane didn’t care for football or beer. She did like the outdoors, but she didn’t encourage people to come into her private sanctuary. Of course, she had landscaping customers. To run a small business, she needed customers.

  She had hoped the MacGregor family would hire her to tend their expansive property. Though she’d mailed flyers and the realtor who’d sold them the mansion assured her that given out her card, the family had not called her. It wasn’t that she just wanted to breathe new life into the landscape—which she did—she also needed the work. Desperately.

  Melancholy filled her. She’d put every penny she could scrape together into purchasing the nursery. She worked all the time, from the moment she woke up to the second she fell asleep. What else could she do? Keeping busy made her feel better.

  Despite the beer and the football, she liked Green Vallis. The people were warm and friendly. Family units were strong—at least they appeared to be from her vantage point on the outside looking in. They invited her to join them, but she wasn’t really good at making those kinds of friendly connections. The small town was as good of a place as someone like her could find. She didn’t trust easily, and the locals accepted her quiet ways without question. For the most part, they ignored her unless they needed her services.

  She dropped her hands and patted the soil. It was a needless gesture, but the firm feel of earth against her gloved palm was comforting and familiar. A light breeze stirred. Strands of her hair tickled her cheek and neck. The nature of earth and plants she understood. People were more complicated. Those complications were messy and painful.

  The bagpipes became progressively louder. At first, she tried to ignore them, but the sound filled her mind and called her to her feet. Unable to help her curiosity, she started to walk. She told herself it was pointless to look. She’d already tried to find the source of the music and had been unsuccessful.

  Then something new was added to the music—laughter and the muffled voices of a crowd. She pulled the gloves from her hands and tossed them on her worktable as she passed by the exterior wall of a greenhouse. Townsfolk greeted her as she walked by the building that housed her small storefront. Men dressed in formal jackets and kilts paraded over the old brick street, stepping in time to their music. Two horses flanked the bagpipers, showcasing what was obviously a family crest.

  Jane held back in the shadows, simply watching their approach. A chill ran up the back of her spine, and she shivered violently. Her eyes automatically went to a group of women in tartan gowns. Fierce eyes met hers as a withered old woman stared at her from a wheelchair. The woman was being pushed by a young beauty who didn’t seem to notice her charge’s bony old finger lifting toward Jane.

  Taking a step back, Jane tried to hide deeper in the shadows as the small parade moved down the street away from her. Camera phones flashed as people took pictures. The old woman turned, watching her with uncalled for intensity. A sense of foreboding and fear filled Jane as if she’d met the woman in a previous life. The wrinkled face and angry eyes were familiar. Jane’s limbs suddenly became very heavy. What was even stranger was the fact she felt as if she deserved the woman’s unhappy attention.

  Age and illness were clearly taking their toll. It was only a matter of time before the woman died. Is that why the old lady stared at her? Those close to death often sensed Jane’s secret. Did the woman blame her for what was naturally to come? She wouldn’t be the first dying person to look at Jane like that.

  A loud bark drew Jane from her trance. She jolted to awareness as a very excited English bulldog in plaid attire trotted behind the wheelchair to lead the playing men. Jane gave a small laugh as her gaze swept toward the musicians. She’d seen a few of the MacGregor men around town and had thought them an attractive bunch, but to see them in full force was impressive. Genetics clearly ran strong in the family, as it was apparent they were each related. They all had dark hair and proud features, each as handsome as the next—from the young twenty-something hunks to the older salt-and-pepper generation.

  Her laugh instantly died. Brown eyes flecked with green glanced in her general direction. She gasped and tried to press into the building. Unlike the old woman, the man’s sparkling gaze caused an intense heat to erupt inside her. His hair was shorter than some of the others, and dark locks blew forward across his face. His eyes didn’t meet hers. He continued to play his bagpipe, and she was glad when he moved along. Desire filled her, causing her to tremble. She didn’t trust it.

  “Are you keeping bees now?”

  Jane turned in surprise at the question. Chef Alana had moved to Green Vallis about a year after Jane. Her business, Perfection Restaurant, was one of the best in town. But that didn’t stop the locals from supporting her competition. Within the first year, Alana had put two of the local boys out of business. To get back at her, they’d combined efforts, opened a new restaurant and proceeded to do everything they could to sabotage Alana’s business. In town, the feud was legendary.

  Jane was on friendly terms with the woman. They didn’t hang out or anything, but Jane would have named her as a frie
nd if asked. “Uh…?”

  “Bees. You smell like honey.” Alana’s question finally registered.

  Jane lifted her wrist and sniffed. She did smell like honey. She tried to shake off the feelings swirling inside her. Her tone sounded a little distracted as she tried to form a coherent answer. “No, I’m allergic to bees.” She dared a glance at the kilted men, but the man who’d captured her notice had marched on. “I must have brushed up against something. I was tending the vegetable garden, getting ready for the farmers market.”

  “Vegetables?” Alana’s voice demanded her attention. “Forget the farmers market. Sell me your inventory. I’m terrified to order through the grocery store after the tainted-mushrooms incident.”

  “I read about that a few days ago in the paper,” Jane said. “Tainted casserole at a potluck at Sheriff Johnson’s house, right?” She hadn’t been invited to the potluck so had missed out. Considering most of the guests had ended up in the hospital with food poisoning, she’d deduced it was for the best she was anti-social.

  “Honestly, what I remember about that night reminds me of a misspent youth.” Alana gave a small laugh. “The doctors say it is temporary amnesia due to severe hallucinogens.”

  Jane arched a brow.

  “Magic mushrooms,” Alana clarified.

  Jane started to give a polite laugh and then realized Alana wasn’t joking. “If you’re serious about needing vegetables, let me know what you want. I have more garden space I can till out back. I’ll try to fulfill whatever order you need.”