Awaken the Highland Warrior (13 page)

Faelan opened his eyes. Bree was under him, her lips parted, both of them panting for the same air. Her nightgown was pushed above her breasts, and his hand crushed between their locked bodies, holding aside a scrap of material she wore underneath. This was no dream.

He pulled out and leaped from the bed, heart in his throat, body aching with near release. The front of his pants gaped open. He adjusted them, afraid he’d spill it on the floor.

“I’m sorry.” His mouth opened and closed, but he didn’t know what to say. Had he raped her?

Bree pulled her nightgown and strange undergarment over her breasts. “Faelan—”

He struggled again for words, shaking inside. “I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry.” How could he guard her if he could do this? He would have to leave. He would take her to her archeologist, or Peter.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she said. Her face was still flushed. “You were dreaming at first.” Her fingers clutched the hem of her gown. “I think I was too.”

He’d done a lot of unforgivable things to her, but this…

She stood and moved next to him. “You didn’t force me, Faelan. I could’ve stopped you… if I’d wanted to. This has been building since I opened the time vault. We both know it.”

For half a second he was tempted to drag her back to bed, beg her to let him finish, so he could rid himself of this burning in his loins just once, but he’d already crossed the boundaries of acceptable behavior. He rubbed at the knot of tension in his neck as the throbbing in his body gave way to disgust. “The sun will be up in a few hours, then we should be safe until nightfall.”

***

Bree watched Faelan leave the room, his shoulders stiff. Hers still tingled. She wasn’t sure what had just happened, but when she’d realized it wasn’t another sizzling dream, that it was really Faelan lifting her gown above her thighs, it was too late to care. How they’d managed it without even removing her panties, she didn’t know, but she’d never felt anything like it. How he fit inside her, the sheer beauty of male and female joining, had been pure magic. If that was his sleepy version of lovemaking, she’d never survive him wide awake.

She felt guilty. He must be ready to pop. He was the one with the appetite problem, and he hadn’t even finished. He was off tormenting himself thinking he’d raped her, while she was bathing in the afterglow. She couldn’t leave it like this.

She found him in the family room, staring out at the moon, his body still. She was sure he heard her, but he didn’t move. The sight of him standing so stoic, so full of guilt, made her want to comfort him. She slipped behind him and touched his back. He tensed, but still didn’t turn. His skin was so warm through his shirt, she wondered if he had a fever. She checked his neck, his arm, and before she could question the wisdom of it, slipped her hands around his waist and laid her head against his back. The feel of his body, so big and strong, so protective, stirred more than a desire to comfort. She ran her hands over his chest, exploring the hard muscles encased in the soft T-shirt.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“Finishing.” She let her hands slide down his rib cage, along the outside of his hips.

He pulled in a sharp breath. “Don’t.”

She kissed his back through the T-shirt, and her fingers drifted inside his thighs.

He groaned and turned, pulling her into his arms. His lips were on hers, on her neck, her face, like a man desperate for a drink of water. His hands roved her body, almost too rough, but she accepted it, knowing his need for her was stronger than chivalry. He lifted her gown over her head, letting it fall, then struggled with her bra clasp, his fingers clumsy with need. And he’d probably never seen a bra before tonight. She helped with the snap, releasing her breasts. In a flash, he was naked, tugging at her panties. She tried to help wriggle out of them. Their movements were quick, desperate, and she felt the fabric tear. He ran a hand between her legs, gave her a hard kiss, then put one arm around her waist, the other beneath a thigh. He picked her up and planted her against the wall. Her legs lifted, latching around his hips.

“Are ye sure?” he asked, his brogue thick, eyes locked on hers, dark as night.

She couldn’t speak, only nod. He’d barely touched her, and she felt like a she was ready to explode again. He rubbed himself against her and then slipped inside. She moaned as he filled her. He stopped, staring at her, and stroked her face. “I’m sorry… we should do this in bed.”

“No,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.” She clutched his shoulders and pushed down harder on him. He pulled out and thrust in again, and again, each stroke bringing her closer to the edge. They panted, trying to kiss, but the movements of their bodies were too rough.

His breathing grew faster with each thrust. “
Mo
,” he whispered in her ear.
“Mo.”

Gaelic? She couldn’t think anymore, with her body erupting into a million fragments of shimmering light. He groaned and shuddered as his body released. Limp, she clung to his shoulders. He touched his forehead to hers, then rested his head against the wall. They stayed that way for several minutes before he eased out and lowered her to the floor. Her legs trembled. Faelan swung her into his arms and carried her back to bed. He put her gently down, grabbed an old T-shirt off the floor—Russell’s, and wiped off the semen running down her thighs. She had no words, so she didn’t speak. He crawled in beside her and pulled her against his chest. Her heart soared, but a small voice whispered doom. What had she done? Had unprotected sex with a man from another time, a man she barely knew, who, until tonight, had told her nothing but lies.

***

The tall man stood over the open grave, surprised they’d left it uncovered. God forgive him, there was no time to cover it himself. He had to hurry. He looked at the house once more, making sure he hadn’t been seen and made his way to the chapel. The outer walls and roof still stood, along with some pillars, but the place was littered with fallen stones. At one time it would have held the locals who’d come to pay their respects to God, but now the place was like a tomb. His foot struck something, and he started at the sound. It was a sword. There were half a dozen of them.

His curiosity piqued, but he had more important things to worry about. He took out the piece of paper he’d brought from Scotland. Studying it, he made his way to the front. Stones were scattered from a small interior wall that had collapsed. Behind them, he found the hidden steps. His pulse quickened. This was it.

Bree woke snug and warm, completely at peace. A ringing sound broke through her haze of tranquility. She heard a grunt, lifted her head, and found herself face to face with Faelan. She was draped over him, both of them naked, her leg between his, his between hers, breasts pressed to his stomach, a spot of drool on his chest where she’d used it as a pillow. They stared at each other, eyes bleary from sleep.

The ring sounded again. “What is it?” Faelan asked, looking around the room.

“The doorbell,” she whispered. “Someone’s outside.” She wasn’t expecting anyone. Would Russell come right up to the house? Or the killer? Bree scooted off the bed, grabbing her robe, but Faelan was already at the bedroom door.

“Stay here,” he ordered.

“No.” She belted the robe. “You can’t let anyone see you.” Especially like that. “It’s probably Peter.” And she was getting tired of being told what to do. She hurried to the living room. Faelan lingered in the hallway as she eased the curtain aside and peeked at the man on the porch. “It’s okay,” she whispered, “but you should—”

“Aye, I know,” he muttered. “Go hide in the other room.”

Bree gave Jared a weak smile as he kissed her cheek. If she’d been in the market for romance, Jared would’ve been the mother lode, good-looking, charming, kind, with a love of old things that rivaled her own. Not to mention a fabulous library she hadn’t yet seen. That he was an archeologist, and all lean, sexy muscle, didn’t hurt either. A match made in heaven, but Bree wasn’t looking for romance, not even from a man with a fabulous library. Certainly not one from a time vault.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Jared asked, eyeing her robe and her hair. “You don’t look so good. Sorry. That didn’t come out right.” He smiled, and the dimple in his cheek warmed his face. “I mean you look tired and your hair’s…” He made a sticking-out motion with his hands, and his grin widened.

His smile was infectious. She longed to throw open the door and bare her soul. “I have a headache,” she lied. “I was in bed.”

“You having trouble sleeping again? Your message the other night sounded strange.” Jared glanced behind her at the open door. Had he overheard Faelan whispering when he rang the doorbell?

“I called to see if you’d heard about the guy who was murdered.”

Jared frowned. “Murdered?”

“Out in the woods. They don’t know who he is or who did it.” If it was one of those things in the chapel, they’d need more than good luck and a gun.

“I just got back. I hadn’t heard. I go away for a few days, and all hell breaks loose. You shouldn’t stay here.”

“It’s okay. I keep the doors locked, and I’ve got my grandpa’s old gun.”

“If there’s a killer out there, it’s not safe for a woman to be here alone.”

Another overprotective male—it was like a disease. “I’ll be fine. Peter has the cops driving by every few hours. It was probably a wild animal anyway. How was your trip?”

“Not good. Some locals are raising a stink.”

“Why? It’s not like you’re digging up graves.”

“My backers are threatening to pull the funding. If I don’t find something soon, this project’s over. Have you thought any more about my proposal?”

He wanted to expand the dig closer to the house. She’d planned to tell him yes. That was before she’d found Faelan. “I haven’t decided. I’ll have an answer for you soon, I promise.”

“Thanks for considering it. You need anything before I go?” he asked, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Thanks, but I’m good.”

“Maybe I should stay—”

“I’m fine. Really. You have your dig to worry about.”

His calloused palm touched her cheek as he brushed her forehead with a kiss. “Keep your doors locked. That’s an order. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Guilt set in the minute he left. Jared was her closest friend. She’d told him things she hadn’t told another living soul. He’d listened without judging, comforted her when she was sad, and restored her faith in humanity. The male side.

How could he forgive her when he found out she’d hidden the biggest secret of all?

She turned and found Faelan watching her, holding a pillow over his groin.

***

“Who was that?”

“Jared.”

“The archeologist? What’s he doing here?” And how did he know she had trouble sleeping? “Is he your lover?” Faelan was certain he’d heard a kiss.

“Jared? No, he’s just a friend. We have a lot in common. We both love old things.”

Her eyes glowed with a warmth that made him want to pound the archeologist into one of the holes he’d dug.
I’m old
, he wanted to shout. “He proposed marriage to you?” Would he still want her if he knew she’d had Faelan’s body in places only a husband should be?

“No. He proposed moving the dig. I’m not looking for marriage.”

Weren’t all women looking for a husband? It was the goal mothers drilled into a lassie’s head from the time she could talk. Of course, for him, relationships with women could be only a dalliance, and highly frowned upon, at that.

His mate had been decided before he was even born.

“Jared’s just looking for friendship.”

No man could know Bree and not want more than friendship. “He insulted you. Doesn’t sound like much of a friend?”

“He didn’t insult me, and he is a friend. My best friend. He was there to pick up the pieces after Russell almost destroyed me.” She scowled. “I have to go out for a while. I won’t be long.”

“You can’t leave. Not alone.”

“I’m going out to meet a friend.”

“Him? The archeologist?”

“Does it matter?” Bree glared at him. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

Of course it mattered. He’d just made love to her. He had a right to know where she was rushing off to. “I’m trying to protect you. A man’s been murdered, and there’s an eight-hundred-year-old demon who’s spent centuries perfecting ways to destroy humans like you. If that’s not reason enough for a bodyguard, there were twelve half-demons in the chapel last night. One of them tried to capture you.”

“I counted ten.”

“I killed two before you got there. I’m trying to keep you alive, but you’re making it bloody hard.”

Bree sighed. “I’m going to see Janie. If her boyfriend can trace the tag number on that vehicle from last night, we’ll know where to start looking for Druan. And I think he knows some people who might be able to get you a passport and fake driver’s license.”

“It’s not safe to go alone.”

“You can’t go with me. If Janie sees you in person, you can forget protecting clan secrets. You think I ask questions. I’ll be back in a few hours. You can raid the fridge and flip through the TV channels to your heart’s desire. Your sex likes that.”

“My sex?” Faelan readjusted the pillow.

Bree picked up a camera and pointed it at him. “I need a photo in case he can get you an ID,” she said stiffly, and clicked a button. She rushed from the room, leaving him wondering who he wanted to kill first, Druan or Jared. Faelan had held her, made love to her, and here she was, defending another man. She obviously regretted last night. He heard the shower turn on and wondered if she was trying to wash him off her skin. He showered in the hall bathroom, and when he came out, she was gone. A note on the kitchen counter said she’d be back in a few hours. What kind of society allowed women to go rushing off into danger without a thought for their safety?

Enlightened? Advanced? Hell, they were insane.

He stormed through the house looking for his kilt. She must have thrown it away. His body thrummed with tension. He needed exercise. He needed to ride Nandor, and he needed his sword. Except for the battle in the chapel and chopping wood, he’d been still for too long, hiding inside like a lass. Some fresh air and sunshine might clear his head. Maybe he’d run into a demon. A fight would relieve some of his frustration.

He pulled on his boots and heard a car turn onto the driveway. Bree must have forgotten something. He’d talk some sense into her if he had to tie her to a chair. He hurried outside and moved around toward the driveway, when he noticed this car sounded different. It didn’t rumble. A strange vehicle rolled up to the house, and Faelan dove behind an apple tree, slamming his arm into the ground. He felt fresh blood soak the bandage and trickle down his arm. A man got out. Her friend, Peter. He went to the door, knocked, and when no one answered, he wrote something on a piece of paper, stuck it on her door, and left.

Faelan read the paper. “Call me. Having trouble tracing your friend’s name. Urgent.” It wasn’t enough that demons were hunting him, now the authorities were after him, too. He went inside, still dripping blood, and fixed his bandage. The cut would’ve been nearly healed if he hadn’t used so much energy with the talisman while he still hadn’t regained full strength from the time vault. He crossed the backyard and started running along the old trail. In Scotland, he’d raced against Nandor to keep ready for battle. The last time Faelan had seen the stallion, Nandor had followed along the fence, neighing softly, as if he’d known Faelan was never coming back.

Everything Faelan knew was dead, even his horse.

God wasn’t dead. Michael wasn’t dead. Did Michael even know he was awake?

There was no going back. He couldn’t change what was done. He started running again, slowly at first, then picking up speed, until his thoughts were banished and all that touched him was the wind. He could feel Nandor running beside him, could hear the whinny of excitement as the stallion surged ahead. For miles he ran, feeling nothing but the life pumping through his veins, his feet pounding the earth, the talisman slapping his chest as Nandor urged him on.

***

Bree ran her finger across the drop of blood on Faelan’s bedroom floor, stark fear erasing her earlier worries of pregnancy and disease. Druan’s demons must have come back for Faelan. She shouldn’t have left. He was still weak from using his talisman. The car must belong to one of his minions. They’d probably taken Faelan there. She grabbed the DMV report and hurried to the computer, working for once. She printed the directions from MapQuest, snatched her tote bag, and raced out of the house to rescue Faelan yet again.

Foot to the floor, she flew past familiar streets, onto a small road she didn’t know existed, and another so isolated she doubted God knew it was there. She’d have been less surprised to see Disney World than the stone castle outlined against the sky. At either end, towers stretched toward the heavens, dark and forbidding. Thick forests surrounded the castle, blocking out the fading sun. This wasn’t the home of a minion. This was a demon’s lair, and it felt familiar.

Faelan had told her the demon would have a base nearby, but she hadn’t expected a castle or an iron fence like the Great Wall. A dungeon. The castle probably had a dungeon. That’s where they’d keep him. If he was alive.
Don’t even think it. He’s alive. He has to be.
The problem was getting him out. She couldn’t march up and knock on the door. She should’ve called Peter. What could the police do against demons? What could she do? She didn’t even have a weapon.

Something moved in front of the massive structure. She slowed the car as two huge vultures took flight, then continued past the heavy gates until she found an opening in the trees where she could hide her car. Across the road, a large tree grew next to the fence bordering the castle, a good place to climb and jump the fence.

After hiding the car, she whispered a prayer, tossed her sandals over the fence, and hiked up her skirt. She got a firm grip on the lower branch of the tree and started climbing barefoot. At the top of the fence, she slipped a foot between the iron bars and swung over. That scumbag rock climber she’d dated hadn’t been a complete waste after all. She dropped to the other side and bent over, hands on her knees, as she caught her breath. How would she get Faelan back over the wall if he couldn’t walk? First, she’d have to find him.

The first-floor windows were covered with bars. She’d have to find another way in. She darted from tree to bush until she was a hundred feet from the castle and then ran. Pressing her back flat against the wall, she dried her sweaty palms on her denim skirt and switched her cell phone to vibrate, in case it rang. Russell had wrecked everything else. It’d be just like him to spoil the only covert mission of her entire life. Keeping to the shadows, she slipped around to the back of the castle and found a door unlocked. It opened to a pantry behind a large kitchen. Empty. She peeked out into a corridor wide enough for her Mustang.

The walls and floors were made of stone, and draperies covered windows taller than a house. Statues stood in the corners, and ancient weaponry decorated every space. A battle-ax and a war club hung next to a lance. Even without examining them, she was certain they were authentic. There were a few pieces that didn’t resemble anything she’d seen, and she was an expert. After Faelan destroyed Druan, she would come back, but now, she had to find the dungeon. There must be stairs somewhere.

Holding a shoe in each hand, she darted from statue to statue, hiding behind each one until she was sure the way was clear. Footsteps rang on the stone. There was no place to hide. She squatted behind a fat statue of a hellhound and stopped breathing as the footsteps drew near. A tall, well-dressed man with a shocking streak of silver in his auburn hair passed by. Was that Druan?

The man stopped outside a door, peered up and down the hall, then fiddled with a lock. The door opened, and he darted inside. Why would Druan break into a room in his castle? A crash sounded, followed by a raised voice. Bree hurried inside an arched doorway and almost dropped to her knees. The room was two stories tall with bookshelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling. The castle library. She gazed in awe imagining the stories, the history held there. But this was a demon’s castle, and Faelan’s life was in danger. She didn’t have time to look at old books. Bree started to leave, when she felt the air shift and pressure against her back, like a hand. She bumped into a tall table and grabbed it to steady herself, dislodging a book.
Castle Druan
.

It couldn’t be. Just like that? She’d always been fascinated with castles, studied them, visited several, gotten lost in a few. Most had a written history, often including a map. If she could find one, she’d get to Faelan far faster than stumbling around looking for stairs. She opened the book to the back. There it was, a meticulous diagram, like an answer to a prayer. Someone was watching out for her.