Shadows of the Keeper (4 page)

“Your clothing is beyond
repair.  Are you ready to try food?”

“You want me to get up?”

“Aye.”

“I don’t have pants on.  In
fact, how did I end up in,” she held out her arm, “this?  If you found me,
and I . . . I
distinctly
remember blood oozing down my face before
blacking out.”

“I bathed you.”

“
You
bathed me?”

“Aye.”

“In the
nude
?”

“I was fully clothed.”

“Not you, jerk, ME!”

Dark brow arched menacingly. 
“How else would
one-be-bathed
?”

“Don’t you dare enunciate each word
as if dealing with a child, you . . . you perv!”

I will boil him until he screams
for mercy of death, Keer’dra!

“Stop calling me Keer’dra, I’m
Emily
!”

“I ken who ye’ are!”

“Then why are you calling me by
that name?”

Broc stepped back, his face ashen.

“My God!  Was that woman at
least present when you bathed me?”

His chest swelled.  “I allowed
none entrance.”

“These clothes?”  Her
trembling fingers covered her mouth.

“You wear my shirt.  My
finest.”

“And the panties?  Your
wife’s?”

“My wife died many, many years
ago.”

“Oh.”  Something passed over
his face she did not wish to view again.  “I’m sorry.”

“As am I.”  He lunged, wrenching
the heavy blankets from her.

“Hey!”  Emily smacked at his
arms, his chest, and clutched his short beard like a roller coaster safety
latch.  Roaring, he lifted her in one swift move.

“Let go of my face!”

“Try anything, and it comes
off.”  She sniffed loudly.  “You smell nice.”

He grinned.  It completely
rearranged his features.  He was gorgeous.  Gone was the
savagery.  Dark eyes melded with golden ones.

I’ve done this before
. 
A man she’d felt powerful love towards had carried her much in the same
fashion.  Slowly, her fingers relaxed their grip to instead caress his
face, his beard tickling her palm.  Her gaze fell to his mouth.  “Why
do I know you? 
How
do I know you?”

“I have no idea.”  Non-too
gently, she was deposited into an overstuffed chair.  Yanking long shirt
over her thighs, he remained indifferent to her near nakedness. 
Big
surprise
. 
Probably took his full when I was unconscious. 
Louse.
  Shame and fury heated her face while watching him yank free a
blanket from the huge bed.  Heaving the coverlet, he strode towards her,
his scowl matching her own.

“Here,” he grumbled, tucking it
around her legs.  “Weather changes rapidly, preferring cold.  You
have been ill.”

“Gee, thanks.  I think.”

When he took his own chair,
leggings tightened across oh-so-defined thighs. Gah, to be jealous of fabric .
. .trancelike, she watched him methodically butter a swollen blueberry
muffin.  Her mouth rivered. 
Wonder his reaction if I jump him,
seize the muffin
—

He eyed her suspiciously. 
Hesitantly, he held out the treat.  Emily snatched and mauled it apart,
stuffing hot pieces into her mouth, fanning the morsels scalding her tongue.

“Maeve will return with what you
refer to as dinner.”

Emily chewed, swallowed, nodded,
and swallowed again.  “How long have I been here?”

He set his cup down.  Dark
eyes gored her soul.  Her stomach knotted.

“My bed has been rendered useless
for a week.”

She stopped chewing what now tasted
like cardboard.  “A week?”

“Yes.  Swallow before you
choke.  There are drivers-for-hire on your side o’ the,” he cleared his
throat.  “You should utilize them for future traveling.  Drink your
coffee, Emily, ‘twill soothe you, as well as make it easier to get down that
unladylike mouthful you convulse on.”

“Soothe me?  And what would
you know about being a lady?  Been practicing?  You know what? 
I didn’t ask to be brought here.”

“Nor were you invited.”

“Then why didn’t you just have me
taken to a hospital?  Jesus, but you’re uncouth.”

“You remain here to protect ye’
from yourself.  Apparently, whomever your male lordship is, he lacks
ability to control the females under his charge.”

Emily shot out of her chair,
blanket flopping to her shins.  “Allow me to end your chore of suffering
my presence.”  She stepped over the damn blanket and away from the cozy
little coffee party.  “You will be duly paid for your troubles, and any
doctors’ fees incurred.”

“I doubt it.  Where do you
think you’re going?” His arched brow mocked her.  “Another drive perhaps?”

Fury confiscated her ability to
form words, let alone insults.  She did the next best thing.  Vacated
the room, slamming her exit. 
I’ve had enough male judgments
! 
He bathed me!  Touched me!  Then rips me apart with words and
attitude.  Screw him!
I am so tired of feeling like I’m everyone’s
pariah.  Always, I’m in someone’s way; inconvenient
.
First, Aunt
Millie, and then Peter.  And now, this aristocratic prick!
 
Well,
screw him and his castle!
 
Peter probably forewarned him that he
dumped me, the two of them having a good laugh
. 
Bet it pisses him
off to no end that I couldn’t just take my photos of his stupid castle and be
on my way.  Sorry I was run off the rode by one of your dimwitted drivers,
Mr. Kilt.  Won’t trouble you one more second
.

Male voices intermingled with
laughter and singing.  Food permeated the air.  But which way was it
coming from? 
Castle corridors really need diagrams with arrows or
green exit signs hanging from above.
  Panicked, Emily sprinted,
heedless of direction, just coherent she must get away from
him
.

Booted heels quacking against stone
floor made her leap into a darkened alcove.  Pressing back, she flinched
when closer than she’d realized, he started shouting in a foreign
language.  Almost, she giggled.  A gorgeous Highlander chased her
throughout a castle. 

Oooh, look, I’m even scantily
clad.  Gah!  I’ve stepped right off the pages of one of my historical
novels
.

Shouting erupted from far
off.  More booted feet running.  Darting out like a fox from hounds,
Emily ran towards the chaos she could hear.  Great hall meant great door
to the great outdoors!  Great escape!

“Emily!”

Her shirt was seized, spinning her.

Her fist smashed into his
face.  Sudden release forced her to backpedal or fall.  “It pays to
befriend a Marine.  I’ve got more, you touch me again.”

The MacLarrin lunged.

Screaming, Emily sprinted around a
stone bend, and was brought up short for all of five seconds.  Below her,
far exceeding her imagination, yawned a room doused with trestle tables, three
giant hearths, and so many men in tartans, plaids, whatever!  Highland
gear!  Refusing to dwell on borrowed shirt hiking up to her thighs as she
side-saddled the glossy, thick balustrade, she rocketed downward. 

His bellowing cannoned behind her,
jerking the men out of their stupor over a near-naked woman zipping towards
them.  Emily jumped down the last several steps, freezing stone killing
her bare feet.  A sword glinted from the dark bend not far from the path
of her crazed run. 
Sweet
!  In one fell swoop, she confiscated
the sword, leapt up onto a bench and onto the table, spun, sword thrusting.

Sir Butthead was brought up short.

“Not so threatening now that a
sword’s to your face, eh?”

He remained mute.

“Call a taxi.  I’m leaving.”

“Och, but the woman is foyne beauty
wieldin’ yer sword, MacLarrin.”

“Shut up, fool!  Toss me
yers’!”

“Ye’ canna be meanin’ ta’ fight the
wee lass!  She’s near naked, mohn!”

“She’s a wee lass. What harm could
she possibly incur?” another voice chimed.

“I’m dressed enough to maim or kill
anyone dumb enough to come near me!”  Emily sliced the air a couple of
times for emphases, accidentally nicking her nemesis’ short beard. 
“Perhaps my initials would be preferable to that thatch you grow?”  She’d
cut him.  She’d actually cut his face. 
I’m so dead
.

“S’blood, the lass embraces insolence!” 
Wagers were shouted as a black hilted sword sailed through the air. 
Obsidian eyes locked on her, his arm raised, effortlessly catching the hilt.

“Well, now you’re armed
and
seemingly talented.  Nice little circus act you’ve acquired.  Tell me,
do you clap your hands and bark for fish as well?”

Roars of laughter rang out, except
from the man facing her down.  He looked ready to kill.  Emily raised
her chin. 
Well, who knew my hobby would turn into self-defense? 
‘Course, En Guard would really sound stupid right now.  DIE would be more
appropriate
.

“Think you, she remembers?”

“Remembers what?”  Emily
snapped.  Realization strangled.  “Did all of you watch him bathe
me?” 

“The laird accusin’ ye’ of—“

Emily heard flesh against flesh, a
groan of pain following.

“We ‘ave been forbidden to speak of
it.  ‘Twill only frighten her.”

“What will
frighten
me?  That I’ll discover this heathen put his hands all over my
body?”  Emily glowered.  “Trust me, the gig is up.”  She stepped
down onto the bench and onto freezing floor.  Enraged, she advanced
against his retreat.

“You are rude,
sir
.”

“Aye.”

“You’ve seen me naked.”

“Ye’ seem fixated on tha’. 
Trust me, I am not.”

Emily turned red.  Male
laughter erupted, apparently mistaking his cold analysis as entertainment. A
sardonic smiled slithered across Broc’s face.

“I wouldna’ be grinnen, ye’
fool!” 

Emily nodded.  “You should
take your jester’s advice.”

“Jester?” Murmurs ensued, followed
with loudly whispered ‘village idiot’ and then, “She insulted me?”

Broc’s arched brow was answer
enough.

“Aye, well, a furious lass wi’
blade is dangerous ta’ yer’ heirlooms.”

“It’s
family jewels
, ye’
arse,” someone else piped up.

“You all mock me like I’m some sort
of simpleton.”  Emily’s lip curled.  “Just like Peter!”

“Who the hell is Peter?” onlookers
chorused.

“Gorgeous or not, you are going to
drive me to an airport, or I swear upon everything Holy, I’m gutting you like
the rutting pig you are!”  Emily jabbed with her borrowed sword.

“I think she’s rememberin’.”

“I think she’s lost her mind.”

“Silence!”  Broc commanded,
parrying her thrusts.

“Aye,” laughter erupted behind
her.  “Ye’ need ta’ concentrate or the wee lass will take yer’ manhood,
and that
thatch
on yer’ face!”  Laughter escalated as benches
scraped stone floor.  “Yer face bleeds, mohn.”

Peripherally, Emily witnessed the
rough looking lot elbow joust for a better view.  She growled.  Her
enemy joined their laughter.  Her continued vulnerability at the hands of
men emblazoned fury such as she’d never experienced.

She stepped back from the battle.

Broc MacLarrin lowered his
sword.  “Had enough of your temper tantrum, Lady Emily?”

Emily pulled the silver hilt flush
with her abdomen, broadside of the blade pressing against her forehead. 
Her lids closed of their own accord.  For the life of her, she’d never
been taught this in the few fencing lessons she’d been able to scrape money
for, but this just seemed so . . . right.

Coherency escaped her.

“What’s she doin’?”  The voice
was strangely faraway. 

Emily took a small step forward,
her left foot slowly coming down toe to heel.  Her body dipped as her
right foot crossed the left.  Methodically, she twirled, her blade making
a complete arc in front of her.  Her eyes remained closed.  Voices no
longer penetrated her trance.  Right foot stepping out, her left foot
snapped forward to join its mate as her sword arced over her head, wrist
windmilling the sword round and round over her head.

“Lugh’s blood!”

“I warned ye’, the soul remembers,”
Maeve muttered.

Entrenched in ancient magicks,
Emily’s mind engaged one objective: enemies would not see the coming sunrise.

“Summon Aunsgar, now!” Her opponent
bellowed.

Weapons unsheathed.  “She
performs the Lumynari dance of—“

“Do not step near her!”

Emily’s eyes snapped open, charged.

Broc narrowed his own. 
“Emily, release yer’ weapon.  You do not understand the power coursing
through you.”  Strong hand flexed, reaching for her.

She attacked.

Thrusting, swinging, slicing,
parrying.  Panting, Broc found himself backing towards tables, battling
for his life.

“Her eyes!  Ye’ see her eyes?”

“Look at that,” Allen said,
awed.  “I thought your tales exaggerated, but her eyes glow like your
fables of the Lumynari.”

Shouts and shuffling, bodies
surged.  “She’s gonna kill him!”

“Stay back!  She’ll kill you
before you draw a second breath,” Broc warned.

Emily’s wrist twisted.  The
loud clanging of Broc’s sword upon the stone floor silenced the great
hall.  Bloodlust absorbed her.  Sword tip poked the base of this
throat.  Her chin raised, legs slightly apart, her body poised for the
final kill.  “You will die now,” she hissed from clenched teeth.

A presence from behind penetrated
her senses.  Feral smile painted itself on her face.  “Seems your
fools desire to join your demise.”  Emily spun so fast, she was but a
blur.  As was her blade.

A mortal man would have been
decapitated.

The clash of her sword, brutal
against another, caused sparks to erupt.

“Christ’s blood!  No one’s
ever matched swords with ye!” A faceless voice muttered.