Awaken the Highland Warrior (22 page)

Ian lay face down in the dirt, his horse nowhere to be seen. Faelan jumped off Nandor and sprinted to his brother. “Ian?” He crouched over him, but Ian didn’t move. Faelan pulled Ian’s kilt over his backside and rolled him over, putting his ear to Ian’s chest. His heartbeat was strong. “Come on, Ian.” Faelan shook his brother, but he didn’t move. A horse whinnied behind him. He turned and saw Tavis jump from his horse and run toward them. He should have known Tavis would never stay behind. “His horse must have thrown him,” Faelan said.

Tavis nodded.

Together they carried Ian to where Nandor stood. Faelan whistled, and the young stallion straightened his forelegs and leaned down. They laid Ian across Nandor’s back, and Faelan jumped on behind him, adjusting Ian so he was leaning back in Faelan’s arms. Tavis mounted, and they hurried home. Faelan gripped his brother’s lanky body as he urged Nandor to go faster.

Ian roused in sight of the house. He tried to move, but Faelan held him still.

“Hold on. We’re almost home.” His father ran across the field toward them, his face black as the sky.

“What happened?” he yelled as they lifted a grumbling Ian off the horse.

“He fell.”

“You should’ve come for me. Why do you try to do everything yourself? There’s no shame in asking for help, lad. You’re not God. All we need is for your mother to lose another son.”

Faelan opened his eyes and looked at his bedroom. Loneliness settled like a heavy fog. He squeezed the stone he held. He should’ve given it to Tavis. He’d won it fair and square.

Faelan stuck the stone in his pocket and shoved his feet into his boots. Crossing to the small balcony, he climbed over and dropped to the ground, landing lightly, like a cat, almost hitting a huge elderberry bush in the same place where he’d helped his mother plant hers. He sprang up and ran. Whoever was watching the cameras would see him, but he needed space to think. He filled his lungs with the night air, thick with memories, and felt the breath of others who’d walked here and gone.

He moved forward without thinking, letting his feet lead the way. He passed the stables, the trees he’d climbed as a lad, fields where he’d raced with Nandor, and he headed for the knoll. The crumbling wall stood as it had for centuries. Faelan swallowed the lump in his throat as he stepped inside. The markers stood in silence, their occupants undisturbed by evil or wind or cold.

He moved between the headstones, past grandparents and great-grandparents, generations of Connors who slept here. There hadn’t been so many graves then. In the corner, he found them, their markers stained with age. Ian dead in 1863. Beside him were his wife and three sons, two of them born on the same day. Twins. Then Alana, who’d lived until 1925, and her husband. A small headstone lay alongside them.

Faelan, beloved son of Alana and Robert Nottingham, eleven months old.

Alana had named a son after him. Faelan’s throat tightened. Beside the tiny grave were two more sons and three daughters born to his sister. Next was Tavis’s marker. Dead in 1860, buried at sea, the year Faelan had been locked in the time vault. Why hadn’t they told him? Behind his brothers’ and sister’s graves, sheltered under an old tree, Faelan found his father and mother. Aiden and Lena Connor. His mother had lived until age fifty-three. His father had died the same year as Tavis. Between his parents lay Liam’s small grave.

Memories welled like a dam and broke free. A giggling Alana, smelling of apples and sunshine. His brothers in swordplay as their father corrected their form. Dirt smudges on his mother’s cheery face as he helped her plant the elderberry bush. Liam, his limp body drenched with water when they pulled him from the well. Gone. They were all gone.

He thought about how many others had grieved for a father or brother or son who’d died in a war he failed to stop. A wife mourning a husband who’d never return. A mother weeping over a son who’d died far too young. Another who’d killed his brother for a cause that was nothing more than a distraction for Druan. Families destroyed, lives ruined, because he hadn’t stopped Druan in time. The lonely wail of a dog pulled Faelan’s pain inside out. He moved back to where his brothers lay and placed the white stone on Tavis’s grave.

Bree reached for the telephone and let out a delicate belch. The haggis. Her stomach rolled. She’d been too distracted watching Faelan’s reunion with his family—and all those men wearing kilts—to notice what was on the plate Brodie handed her. Maybe she just dreaded the thought of facing all those warriors and admitting she’d almost married an ancient demon. Or it could have been the wine. She’d had only one glass, but it felt like four. Faelan had disappeared earlier. It was some consolation that she’d seen Sorcha wrapped around another man downstairs, but with Sorcha’s flirting and Faelan’s out-of-control lust, it was a matter of time. If Duncan didn’t kill Sorcha first. He obviously saw something in the witch that no one else did.

Laughter drifted from below as Bree dialed her mother’s number. Coira had told Bree to make use of the house phone. Her mother didn’t answer. She must be out with Sandy. Bree checked her voice mail next. There was one message.

“Bree, this is Peter. Thanks for letting me know you’re out of town. Call me as soon as you get this. I’m having trouble tracing your friend’s name. I don’t know how long you plan to be away, but longer might be better. We still haven’t caught the killer. This case is getting stranger by the minute.”

She’d call him when she got back. Bree went upstairs to the room they’d given her, a few doors down from Faelan’s. She stepped onto the balcony overlooking the fields and stables at the back of the castle, her thoughts on Sorcha and Faelan and dead bodies and how she could get Peter off Faelan’s tail. The night was cool, the moon bright, but not full. A hill rose in the distance, and Bree saw a stone wall enclosing a graveyard.

Her aching stomach forgotten, she left the room and hurried downstairs, smiling at two men in kilts she passed in the hall. She’d met them earlier but couldn’t remember their names. Outside, she wove her way through the cars parked in the driveway and made her way up the hill. Hugging her arms against the night air, she approached the crumbling wall. She loved cemeteries. She was some distance away when she spotted a figure near the back of the graveyard. Her heart lurched for a second, then she saw it was a man standing underneath an old tree. He moved from grave to grave, head bowed, stopping to touch each one. She watched as he dropped to his knees and leaned his head against a stone. Faelan had found his family.

Her eyes stung. She wanted to go to him, but was afraid to intrude on his grief. Instead, she turned away, hurrying back to the castle, her face wet for him. She crawled into bed and cried for his pain. Then she cried for herself, her father, her grandmother, her twin, and her poor Aunt Layla, who died too young.

Bree woke when the covers lifted and the mattress dipped. Her nose told her who it was before a masculine leg brushed hers. Faelan. She lay still as he slid closer and slipped both arms around her, cradling her against his warm body. He didn’t speak, just held her. Did he want to sleep next to her again? She wasn’t sure it would be enough for her tonight. Several heartbeats later, she felt a prod against her backside and started to turn, but he held her in place. He slid his hand under the soft cotton of her top, filling his hand with her breast.

“I need you,” he whispered, nudging her hair aside, touching his lips to her neck. His hand moved to the other breast and then lower, dipping inside her pajamas, until with an impatient sigh, he made them disappear.

With her back still facing him, he slid a hand under her thigh and pulled her leg up. She bent one knee, giving his fingers the access they desired. For minutes she hovered between two worlds, then she felt the tip of him nudging for entry.

She reached back, clutching his thigh as he slipped inside, one slow inch at a time, until their bodies were joined. He pulled her against his chest, holding them both still. His teeth scraped her ear. Steadying her hip with one hand, he pulled out slowly, and then slid in again. Two strokes, three, and she was ready to fall.

His fingers dug into her hip as he moved faster, driving in, pulling out… then nothing. He was gone. She turned, but he was already pushing her onto her back. He lowered his body between her thighs, and locking eyes with hers, he entered again. His mouth covered hers, and on the second stroke she exploded, lips open against his, her heart crying words she had no right to feel.

Still inside her, he rose to his knees and wrapped both hands high around her thighs, eyes glittering as he watched their joining. He groaned and dropped back down to her, body against body, still, except for the throbbing inside as he emptied himself into her.

They lay quietly, the only movement the fast rise and fall of chest against breasts, and Faelan’s breath warm at her ear. He dropped a gentle kiss on her brow, her cheek, and finally her lips. He slipped out and gathered her in his arms, snug against him. She lay with her head on his chest, her leg resting on his hip, listening to the beat of his heart, and she knew it was where she belonged. She’d met him only days ago, yet she trusted him more than anyone she’d ever known. If the world was ending, which it might well be, he would be the one she’d run to.

But what about him and her? Would he want to stay here? Would she have to leave?

“Are you okay?” Faelan asked.

She nodded, too sated to move, even to clean up.

“You’re quiet,” he said, gently stroking her arm.

It was hard to speak, with her heart so overwhelmed. “I’m worried,” she said, deciding to share the lesser of her concerns.

“About what?”

“Tomorrow I’m going to have to tell everyone about Russell. How he deceived me.”

“You needn’t worry about that. They’ve all faced deception, in one manner or another.”

She felt his even breathing and thought he was asleep, until he spoke again.

“I had a brother. Liam. He was two. Tavis, Ian, and I were keeping an eye on him while my father was having a sword repaired. We were in the village playing marbles outside the blacksmith’s shop. We got busy and didn’t realize Liam had wandered off. Then we saw a man leading him away. I chased them. Tavis followed me. Ian went to get my father. The man grabbed Liam and ran. When he turned, I could see he wasn’t a man. He was a demon. He let me get close enough to taunt me, then he dangled Liam over an old well. I was the closest, just on the other side of the well. Tavis was a few steps behind me. The demon laughed and dropped Liam. I grabbed for him. Caught his hand. I tried… but I couldn’t hold him. He was screaming and wiggling, and my hands were sweaty. My father came running, but it was too late. He climbed down, but Liam was already dead.”

“Oh, Faelan.” Now she understood why he was so protective. Bree turned and wrapped her arms tighter around him, resting her head on his chest. Her face tingled where it pressed against his battle marks. “I’m so sorry. How old were you?”

“Seven. That’s why we moved to Philadelphia. We didn’t come back until my father thought it was safe.”

“What happened to the demon?”

“He ran as soon as he dropped Liam. We never found him. Never knew who he was. I dream about it sometimes. There was something about the demon…” Faelan sighed. “But I can’t rightly place it. I can’t see his face. All I can see is Liam screaming.” Faelan ran his hand hard across his eyes. “It was my fault. If I’d been watching him…”

“It wasn’t your fault.” But that was like telling the waves to stop crashing. At least he had memories of his brother. She hadn’t even had a chance to know her sister.

He pulled her closer, holding her too tight, and in minutes, he was asleep. His hold on her relaxed, and Bree lay there, aching inside for the little boy who’d watched his brother die, believing it was his fault, and grown into a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. And now he was trying to save the entire human race. Whether he knew it or not, he needed her. She couldn’t fight her feelings anymore.

He’d hidden things from her, but he hadn’t outright lied. He’d had to be certain she could be trusted. So what if he was a warrior born in another century? Did it matter in the long run? He was here now. There was no way back. He was honorable, and he loved his family. That was a plus. Except for his lovely cousin. And there was something about him that made her feel as though she’d found the one thing she had searched for all her life.

She would accept whatever he would give, make the most of the time they had. After her heartbeat calmed, she slept. In the early hours of morning, she woke, still snuggled close to him. She’d dreamt of making love to him again. She wiggled closer, and he murmured her name, tightening his arms around her. Bree ran her hand over his chest, and the muscles quivered in his sleep. She worked her way down his flat stomach, dragging her fingers through the arrow of hair until she met firm, hard flesh. His body tensed as he woke.

“Mmmm.”

Her hand slid lower, detouring over his thighs before coming back to the parts that made him groan. He started to turn, but before he could move, she climbed on top, sitting astride him, knees digging into the mattress. She rubbed against him until his breath grew ragged. He clutched her hips and tried to lift her, but she snared his hands and planted them on her breasts. He groaned again, hands kneading, hips thrusting. “Have a care, lass. I’m dying here.”

She smiled and let go of his hands. He lifted her hips, impaling her body on his.

***

“They died the year I was suspended?”

Sean sighed and folded his hands. “I didn’t want to ruin your homecoming with sadness.”

“How did they die?” Faelan asked. “Tavis’s gravestone said he was buried at sea.”

“There was a shipwreck on the way home.”

“From America? From coming to help me?”

Sean nodded.

Tavis had died trying to save him. Faelan had to swallow before he could speak. “Ian?”

“He survived, but your father died around the time Tavis did.”

“How?”

Sean lowered his gaze. “There was heavy fighting after Druan’s virus was destroyed. The Underworld was in chaos. Even retired warriors were caught in the battle.”

His whole family had paid for his failure. His whole clan. The whole world. He wouldn’t let her suffer, too. She wasn’t even his.

***

Bree hid behind a rosebush, watching Faelan race across the field beside a huge black stallion, a descendent of Nandor. The horse must be holding back, because they ran neck and neck for the length of the field. At the end, they slowed. Faelan swung onto the stallion’s back, and the horse reared, front paws dancing in the air. Faelan threw back his head and gave a fierce shout that sent shivers through Bree’s body. The stallion lunged forward, and horse and rider galloped like the wind, hair and mane flying, melded together, man and beast, an image she’d take to her grave.

She watched as he brought the horse toward the stable, shading her eyes from the midday sun. “Hi,” she said, stepping onto the path. She blushed, thinking about last night. He hadn’t talked to her all day. If there hadn’t been so much activity at the castle, warriors arriving every few minutes, she would have thought he was avoiding her.

He frowned and jumped off the horse, affording her a good look at his kilt-clad legs. He led the horse past her without a glance.

“That was amazing,” Bree said to the back of his head.

“I have to take care of the horse.” He picked up a bucket of brushes and kept walking, leaving her gaping after him. Not even a hello, how are you, did you sleep well after I spent my body in yours? Mr. Hyde was back.

Had she been too bold last night? Was he just preoccupied? Confused, she turned and trudged toward the house. She looked back once and saw him staring at her. She knew that frown. She’d worn it many times herself. It wasn’t preoccupation. It was regret.

Sean’s wife, Coira, was in the kitchen, trying to pull a man away from her stove.

“Come join us, Bree,” she said, voice tinkling with laughter. “Rescue me from this rogue.” She swatted the man with her dish towel, and he turned. He was stunning—weren’t they all? Tall, muscular, dark hair a little lighter than Faelan’s, and he was wearing a kilt. “This is Ronan. He’s Faelan’s… let’s see… great-great-great-nephew on his brother Ian’s side. Is that right? Oh, well, Ronan, meet Bree. She’s the one who brought Faelan home to us.”

“Bree, huh? You’ve caused quite a
bree
.”

“In Gaelic, that means
a great disturbance
,” Coira explained.

Ronan moved forward, lithe as a tiger, and took her hand. “Nice to meet you, Bree. Ah, sorry,” he said pulling back. “Bacon grease. Coira’s kindly fixing me breakfast for lunch.” He snagged Coira’s towel and wiped Bree’s hand first, then his own, leaving her breathless.

“Nice to meet you too.”

“We’ll be forever grateful for what you’ve done. In fact, I’d say the entire planet is indebted to you. Not that they’ll ever know.”

“I have to admit it was an accident,” she said politely, her thoughts still with Faelan.

“So you were searching for treasure and found the Mighty Faelan instead?” He smiled. “I hope you’re ready for fame. They’ll be telling this story for generations to come.”

Fame? She’d always been obsessed with legends, now she would become part of Faelan’s. Her story would be told and passed down, and someday, maybe a hundred and fifty years from now, someone would stumble across it and wonder if such a thing could happen.

“Ronan just got back from Ireland.” Coira turned the bacon sizzling in the pan.

“You’re a warrior?” Bree asked.

Something dark flashed behind his eyes, fading just as fast. “Until something persuades me otherwise.” He grinned mischievously and leaned closer.

“If he stares into your eyes, ignore him. He knows it’s too soon.”

“Too soon for what?” Bree asked.

“To find his mate.”

“You think you’ll find her by looking into a woman’s eyes?” Bree smiled, their frivolous banter soothing her gloomy mood.

“They know their mates at first sight.” Coira pinched Ronan’s arm lightly as she passed. “She must be from one of the clans, Ronan, you know that. It’s an excuse for him to look at bonny lasses,” she told Bree. “If he actually saw the sign, he’d run so fast there’d be no catching him. There was that one cousin from England. He stared at that lass every time he saw her, even knowing he wouldn’t see anything.” She gave Ronan a mild disapproving look. “I doubt it stopped him.”