The Highlander Next Door (28 page)

The men born in
this
century had also had to deal with introducing their women to the magic—men such as Robbie MacBain, Duncan, young Ian, and Hamish MacKeage. Even Greylen’s daughters had been compelled to reveal their family secret to their husbands. The only first-generation highlander who
hadn’t
wrestled with the problem was Alec; but then, he’d had the questionable good sense to fall in love with the daughter of the biggest magic-maker of them all. But the true magic, as far as Niall was concerned, was that their modern wives loved them
despite
their fantastical origins and ancient-mindedness.

Niall went back to grinning at the ceiling, thinking Birch had dealt rather well with a talking tree, although the fact it had just saved her life may have helped. And now that he thought about it, her two interactions with Telos appearing as a tree and an immature eagle might actually work in his favor when it came time to explain the magic.

Hell, just thinking the bastard’s name made him scowl again. Almost as if to prove Nicholas’s dire prediction of the havoc clashing deities could wreak, last night Telos had—without compunction, apparently, and with ruthless precision—not only made short work of the new god trying to manifest, but had also made damn sure Sebastian and his equally power-hungry cohorts could never call forth another one.

Dawn had revealed eight dead men—five ruthlessly crushed by giant oaks and three lost at sea—a few others with broken bones, and a good number sporting gashes inflicted by . . . claws. The precision component of the attack was that none of the women were hurt, other than a few minor scratches. And even those likely had been self-inflicted when the women had fled to the southern end of the island and hidden in the crags of huge boulders on the shoreline—almost as though Telos had herded them to safety before unleashing the full brunt of his power.

A
demonic god
Nicholas had called the newly manifested entity just before charging into the maelstrom; the mythical warrior’s own ruthless precision with a sword being something Niall had never witnessed before and never cared to again. Hell, half the time he hadn’t been able to tell if Nicholas was fighting
against
Telos or
with him
against the small army of demons the new entity had brought with it, since Niall, alongside of Duncan and Alec, was himself rather busy trying to protect the confused and terrified colonists.

Niall had felt rather unsettled, however, to see the five of them—Dante having joined the fight—using swords while Telos had slaughtered more than his share of demons using two large-caliber, semiautomatic pistols with a seemingly endless supply of bullets. And when Niall had asked Nicholas about it later, the warrior had in turn asked why he was surprised a
modern
god preferred a modern weapon. He and Dante and Niall, as well as Titus and Mac, were more comfortable using swords simply because that had been the weapon of choice at the time of
their
births. Nicholas had also gone on to say that Telos would likely continue using modern technology to his advantage and eventually not even bother with guns.

And wasn’t that just a goddamned wonderful notion.

Well, Niall thought on a stifled snort as he threaded his fingers through Birch’s hair—if the original colonists had come here wanting to be close to the kind of magic that created inland seas, they’d certainly gotten their wish last night. He only hoped they now understood that just as every coin had two sides, so did the energies that powered the world. And after personally seeing the flip side of Telos, just the idea of the bastard being interested in Birch sent cold chills down Niall’s spine.

He touched his lips to the top of her head when he felt a wet spot he suspected was drool begin to form on his pajamas—which he’d put on to cover several
demon
-inflicted scratches—and closed his eyes on a sigh of contentment. Aye, he did admire a woman willing to go after what she wanted. And that tonight Birch had wanted to fall asleep listening to his heartbeat was enough for him . . . for now.

Birch woke up lying facedown on a plain old regular mattress, and shot to her hands and knees when she realized the light was angled downward coming through the window instead of sideways—which meant the sun had been up over an hour!

“
Merde.
Why didn’t you wake me?” she growled when she heard Niall moving in the kitchen. She scrambled off the bed, grabbed her bathrobe off the floor on her way by, and marched down the hall. “Everyone at home is probably up by now.”

“I did wake you,” the fully dressed man said as he poured coffee into a pair of mugs. “Three times, in fact. The first time all I got out of you was a grunt, and when I tried again a few minutes later you called me a nasty name.” He stopped pouring and grinned over his shoulder. “I quit trying after you took a swing at me.”

“I did not,” she said on a gasp. “I’ve never taken a swing at anyone in my life. I am not a violent person.”

He shrugged and went back to pouring the coffee.

Birch walked to the window and looked toward the main house as she un-balled her robe and tried to find a sleeve hole. “The back door’s still closed and I don’t see Mimi, so maybe Mom’s not up yet.”

Niall walked over beside her and took a sip from his mug as he also looked out the window. “Do you usually sleep with your bedroom door closed? I could give ye a boost through your bathroom window, so if anyone’s in the kitchen they won’t—”

Something clattered onto the hardwood floor and Birch looked down to see the ring the eagle had given her roll to a stop against one of Niall’s socked feet.

He picked it up before she could, held it up between them and frowned, then arched a brow when she snatched it out of his hand. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, setting his coffee on the windowsill. He ran his fingers through his hair, straightened the collar of his shirt, then clasped his hands behind his back on a deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready. No, wait; are ye not going to get down on one knee at least?”

“Huh?”

“Although knowing you’re not much of a traditional woman, I do admit to being surprised you brought your own ring. But I suppose ye might be particular about what you’ll be wearing every day, and probably wanted to make sure it fit properly.”

“What
are
you talking about?”

Up went that brow again. “Are ye saying you didn’t slip the ring in your pocket before coming here last night with the intention of asking for my hand in marriage?”

Birch felt her chin drop nearly to her chest, even as she tried to decide if the man was serious or not. He certainly looked serious. No, wait. There; that had to be laughter turning his gorgeous eyes an even deeper shade of green.

“Nay, what am I thinking,” he said on a groan as he picked up his coffee and headed back to the kitchen area. “You told me the first night ye knocked on my door that you weren’t looking to get married. Or pregnant.”

“Will you get serious,” she said, rushing after him. “This is the ring the woman in the white car was wearing when she flipped me off while I was being forced off the road. Or if it’s not the exact ring, it’s an identical twin.”

He frowned down at the ring, then at her. “How can ye possibly know that? I was under the impression you were rather busy at the time trying not to be killed. You don’t recall what the woman looked like, yet ye recognize a ring you must have seen for all of two or three seconds?”

“Look, I have a thing for jewelry, okay? Being a cop, you know that if you ask ten people to describe the same event, they’ll each mention different details based on their particular lifestyles and interests. And since I’ve always been interested in jewelry, this ring is the one detail that stood out to me,” she said, holding it up between them again. “And I can’t recall what she looked like because her hand was blocking my view of her face. But I can tell you that hand belonged to a woman in her thirties or early forties, that she was wearing a ring exactly like this one, and that the nail polish on her middle finger was a very ugly passion red.”

“Okay,” he said slowly, “if we assume this is the ring she was wearing, can I ask how you got hold of it?”

She gestured toward the door. “A bald eagle gave it to me last night when I was on my way over here. It was perched on the light rack on the roof of your truck.”

She saw him stiffen, his gaze darting to the door, then back to her. “A fully mature bald eagle, or the younger one ye fed the pie to?”

Birch grew a little concerned when she realized he had the same really focused look in his eyes the eagle had had last night. “This one had a white head and tail feathers,” she said softly. “Only it was covered in dried mud or something. It looked sort of beaten up, and one wing drooped a little, so I figured it got caught in the same storm you did.” She gave him a tentative smile when he didn’t say anything, because she really, really didn’t want him to think she was crazy. “Do you suppose eagles can communicate with one another; like when they find a food source they can go back and tell their buddies where it is? I saw a Discovery Channel special that showed how bees come back to the hive and do a little dance to . . . Anyway,” she went on when his eyes narrowed. “This one could have been the mom or dad of the bird that was here last week . . . couldn’t it?”

“Did ye get close enough to touch it?”

“No,” she assured him, shaking her head. “It was perched on the roof of your truck. It shifted its stance and the ring hit the windshield, rolled down the hood, and fell on the ground in front of me.”

“Did the eagle say anything to you?”

Still unable to read his expression, Birch dropped her gaze to his socked feet. “I’m not crazy, Niall. I know I told you at the river that the tree talked to me, but that was . . . it was just my way of coping with my fear of drowning.” She looked up. “My dad tried to teach me to swim when I lived with him, but every time my head went under I felt like the water was crushing me to death. So thinking about it later, I decided that while I was stuck against the bridge, I talked to the only thing keeping me from falling in that cold, dark river. And I imagined the tree talked back because it . . .” She looked at his socks again and hugged herself on a shudder. “Because it was better than screaming and screaming and not having anyone hear me,” she ended on a whisper.

“Ah, lass,” he murmured, pulling her into his arms and pressing her head to his chest. “Hush now, don’t cry.”

“I never cry,” she mumbled into his shirt.

He released her just enough to sweep her off her feet, then walked to the living room area, sat down on the couch with her in his lap, and slid his fingers in her hair when she hid her face in his shirt. “Aye,” he said thickly, “the sun reflecting off your beautiful eyes must have tricked me into seeing a tear.” He gently tilted her head to look at him, his own eyes softened with concern. “So ye found a mature eagle perched on my truck, and it gave you the ring and then . . . what?”

“I, um, I walked up the driveway a short distance and gave it one of your sandwiches.” She leaned against him with a heavy sigh. “I reinforced its belief that the gullible lady who lives here gives out food in exchange for trinkets, didn’t I?”

Niall took the ring out of her hand and also sighed. “I’m afraid so. But in this instance, I would say it was a fair trade. I only wish we could find out how the eagle got hold of it.” He held the ring up in front of her. “If ye know about jewelry, can you tell me anything about this piece? It appears old.”

Happy to be off the subject of eagles, Birch turned the stone toward him by turning his hand. “I’m ninety percent sure the ruby and diamonds are real, and that the setting is quite old. The insignia on this side,” she went on, turning his hand again, “appears to be some sort of family crest, and the one on this other side could be the family motto, but I don’t recognize the language. My best guess is the ring is from an eastern European country, or might even be Russian.”

“Would ye mind if I held on to it awhile?” he asked. “I know someone who might be able to trace the ring’s origin, which could help lead us to whoever’s after you.”

“You can keep it for all I care.” She tilted her head back. “Daddy told me about Leonard Struthers—or rather, Jacques Rabideu—being found dead on the same day I was run off the road,” she admitted softly, not hating the man enough to want him murdered. “And that he may have crossed a family of professional con artists. Dad said there are actually several families operating in Canada.”

“Aye, he told me the same thing when he came to the station the day he arrived. And since ye feel certain this is the ring the woman in the white car was wearing,” he said, holding it up to see again, “it may tell us which one of the families Rabideu was involved with. So,” he went on, lifting his hips just enough to slide the ring in his jeans pocket, then capturing her chin to look at him. “Will I hear another knock on my door tonight, and maybe this time have the pleasure of making love to an
awake
woman?” he asked, his grin lighting up his eyes.

Birch went perfectly still. “What are you talking about? You and I . . . we didn’t make love last night.”

“No? Are ye saying you usually wear your pajamas inside out, then?”

Birch pulled her oversized top away from her chest, only to gasp when she saw the label in
front
instead of the back as well as on the
outside
. She lifted a leg to look at her pants, but seeing they were on correctly she went back to staring at the label on the shirt, trying to remember if she might have had an erotic dream. People sleep-walked, but could a person actually have sleep-sex?

Finally realizing the mountain she was sitting on was shaking with silent laughter, Birch scrambled off his lap and rounded on him. “We did not have sex last night. I want you to admit right now that you’re just teasing.”

“Aye,” he said, pushing himself to his feet and pulling her into his arms again. “But only because I can’t resist seeing your eyes fill with fire,” he murmured as he bent and kissed her gaping mouth.

Birch couldn’t stop herself from melting into the maddening man and kissing him back, even as she tried to remember the last time anyone had teased her. Imagine pretending to think she’d brought a ring over here to ask for his hand in marriage. And then implying they’d had sex but that she’d slept through the whole thing.

Like she could ever sleep through his lovemaking.

She leaned slightly away. “I . . . ah, I’m wide awake now.”

He touched his forehead to hers with a groan. “And so is your mother. I believe I just heard her calling to you.”

Birch pushed away from him with a gasp and swiped her robe off the floor. “Dammit, I forgot.” She stopped trying to find a sleeve hole and glared at him. “This is all your fault. What in hell am I going to tell her?”

He walked to the counter and picked up the basket, walked back, and held it out. “Tell her you were worried I might be hungry after sleeping twenty-four hours and thought you’d be a good neighbor by bringing me breakfast.”

“Yeah. Okay. That’ll work,” she said, finally getting her robe on. She neatly tied the belt, combed her fingers through her hair to smooth out the tangles, then took the basket from him just as she heard her mother call her name. “So how do I look?”

“I’m sorry to say a lot less tousled than the last time ye left here in pajamas,” he said dryly. He opened the door only to have Shep come barreling inside, then followed her out. “She’s over here, Hazel,” he said, actually waving at the woman and then lowering his hand and holding it out to Birch.

And like an idiot, she automatically reached out and shook it.

“Thank ye, Miss Callahan,” he said a bit loudly, continuing to pump her hand as her mom came across the yard toward them. “After sleeping all day and night, your sandwiches were just what I needed to finish feeling like myself again. Good morning Hazel. Can I ask if ye have any news on Johnny?”

Birch watched her mother’s eyes, slightly narrowed in suspicion, dart between the two of them before finally settling on Niall. “I stayed at the hospital until Johnny was out of surgery. The doctor told Macie everything went well, and that he should be able to go home tomorrow. So I booked Macie and Cassandra into a motel until then.”

Birch slipped the basket over one arm, slid her other arm through her mother’s, and started toward the house. “Come on, Mom; let’s let Chief MacKeage eat his breakfast in peace.” But she stopped in front of Niall’s truck when she spotted dried bird droppings splattered all over the roof and running down the windshield. “Looks like you’re going to need another bucket of hot, soapy water,” she said, stifling a snicker when she saw Niall also looking at his truck and having no problem reading his eyes this time, since they perfectly matched his scowl. She could not, however, stifle a laugh when he muttered a nasty curse in French—completely slaughtering the word with his Scottish brogue.

Wanting to head off any questions about why she’d taken breakfast to her neighbor wearing pajamas, Birch decided to ask one of her own. “So, Mom,” she went on as she started across the yard again, “what are your plans for today? Because I thought we could go to this nice little artisan shop in town and you could give me your opinion on a purse I’m thinking of buying.”