Awaken the Highland Warrior (17 page)

Faelan didn’t say anything, just studied her, so she didn’t know if he was horrified or relieved.

She touched his talisman again, the warmth of the metal soothing. “So no one else can use your talisman?” she asked quickly, changing the subject.

“Not unless it’s reassigned. It would kill him… or her.”

“These symbols,” she said, running her fingers over the markings, “look like writing.”

“They are.”

“I don’t recognize the language.”

“No one does. It’s a heavenly language.”

“Like
heaven
heaven?”

“There’s only one.”

“Is that what you were speaking when you destroyed the halflings in the chapel?”

He nodded.

“At first I thought it was Gaelic. You do speak Gaelic?” She was sure he’d spoken it when they’d made love.

“Aye.”

“Say something.”

“What?”

“Anything.”

A gleam lit his eyes. “
Tha thu as do chiall
.”

“What does that mean?”

He smiled but refused to tell her, and she finally gave up. She’d look it up on the computer, if she could ever get the thing to work.

“Where do the talismans come from?”

“Michael—” Faelan pressed his lips together.

“Who’s Michael?”

“It’s a long story. Why don’t you tell me about this instead?” He slipped one finger underneath her shirt collar, pulling out the silver cross.

“It was my dad’s.”

“What was it doing under the floor?”

A barrage of memories assaulted her. A young girl in tears, bloody fingernails, a glowing crypt. Her dad before he died, fear in his eyes, hugging Bree so tight it scared her. “It’s a long story,” she said, throwing his words back at him.

He met her gaze, then gave a brief nod and released the necklace.

“What about your tattoos? What do they mean?” She stroked one of the curved symbols on his chest, and his skin quivered under her touch.

“They’re battle marks. They appear after our training, when we accept our calling.”

“You have a choice whether to be a warrior?”

“A warrior can refuse his mission. He wouldn’t do much good if his heart weren’t in it.”

“Are all battle marks the same?”

“Each warrior is marked according to his strengths and weaknesses. Same with the symbols on the talismans. They protect and bless.”

“There’s writing on the side of your talisman, too. I didn’t see it before.”

“Before?”

“The night you passed out, your shirt was off. I saw the talisman and your marks then.”

Faelan’s look turned mischievous. “I remember waking with far less than my shirt. What else did you notice?”

“Very little. And I didn’t take your clothes off. You did.”

“Little? You think I need some of those supplements you were talking about?” His gaze flickered over her breasts and legs.

She grabbed a pillow and clutched it to her lap, cheeks burning. No, he didn’t need them.

“I remember a dream. But it didn’t feel like a dream. I was kissing you.” He brushed a knuckle across her lips. “And you were kissing me back.”

Danger, Bree Kirkland. Danger
. “Do I need to get a broom from Mrs. Edwards?”

He grinned and tucked his hands back under his arms, making the muscles in his shoulders and chest ripple. “Better?”

No. “Is this another battle mark?” she asked, touching the small circle behind his ear. She felt a jolt run up her fingers.

“I don’t have…” He stood and walked to the mirror. The color drained from his face.

Faelan scrubbed his fingers across the small circle with jagged edges. A mate mark. How? Bree stared at him, puzzled. Her hair was pulled back. He could see she didn’t have a mark, at least not behind her ear. A woman often got her mark later than her mate, and it wasn’t always in the same place, but Bree wasn’t his mate. She wasn’t even from his time or his clan. Was his mark for a dead woman he’d never known?

He wanted to sleep, to forget about coincidences and questions without answers and things that couldn’t be. Just for a few hours.

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m tired. It’s been a long day.” He sat on the bed with a weary sigh and lay crossways on the soft mattress.

“I should get back to my room.” She glanced at the door but didn’t move.

“Don’t go.”

She watched him, her eyes wide. Her hair was damp, and her skin, scrubbed clean, was as smooth as porcelain, cheeks with a hint of blush, growing deeper as he stared at her. Clear green eyes he knew he’d see in his dreams, whether he was alive or dead. And red, juicy lips, like an apple waiting to be tasted. She’d broken into a demon’s castle and escaped, but she looked like a princess. His bonny princess, he thought, like the stories Alana had begged him to tell. He touched his neck again and patted the bed next to him. “Sleep next to me.” He didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight. “Please.”

***

The man eased across the landing, unaware he was being watched. The air thickened, forming a black mist. The man turned. It was Faelan. The mist swirled like a great, dark cloud, and when it was gone, Faelan had vanished.

Bree’s eyes flew open, and it took her a minute to figure out where she was. Faelan’s body was curved around her, keeping her warm and safe. He moved his head, mumbled a name she couldn’t make out, and tightened his arms around her. Was this a premonition or another dream? She let the steady beat of his heart soothe her to sleep.

***

Faelan woke to a warm scent as familiar as his talisman, but he felt unsettled, maybe because Bree was sleeping half on top of him. Her head rested on his chest, one leg nestled between his thighs, and her hand curled close to his belt.

He shifted, and the arm holding her prickled with numbness. He needed to see the mark on his neck again, to make sure. It must be the time vault throwing things off kilter. He didn’t know everything Bree was, but he knew what she wasn’t. His mate. And lying here any longer would be a bad idea. He didn’t need the entanglement. He couldn’t let his guard down again, and she’d said she didn’t want a man in her life, but having her draped over him made it hard to remember what was best. He tried to lift her head so he could move, but she sighed and rubbed her face against his chest. He repositioned his arm, and blood flowed into the starved limb. Both of them.

He made the mistake of sniffing her hair, which had worked loose from its clasp. He pressed his lips to it and inhaled. Hunger stirred, making him hard. He suspected she wouldn’t say no if he persisted, but it wouldn’t be right. Last night he’d wanted her next to him for comfort. It would add insult to injury to ravish her after what he’d already done. Even as he tried to talk himself out of it, her scent roared into every part of his body. Now that he’d had a taste of her, it was harder to hold back.

He felt her wake and heard a soft gasp. Her fingers twitched, far too close to his groin. He reached down to pull the covers across his lap, to spare them both further embarrassment, but her hand moved quicker. He held back a groan as she grazed one fingertip over him. Did she have any idea what she was doing? She made the trail a few more times while he held his breath. Unbuttoning his pants, she tugged on the zipper, and slipped her hand inside.

He nearly lost it as her fingers wrapped around him. He remembered how it felt being inside her. Did he dare beg her to let him do it again? She stroked him twice, moved her hand lower, and he shifted to make room, gritting his teeth to keep from exploding as she cupped him. His lack of control was shameful. Not that any respectable woman in his time would’ve had her hand wrapped around his balls.

If she didn’t move away soon, he’d make a mess all over both of them. He didn’t want that. He wanted her, to join their bodies the way nature intended. Married would be better, but he couldn’t marry her; it wasn’t allowed. He eased her hand out of his pants, trapping it against his stomach. “I can’t let you do this.”

“Yes, you can.” She pulled free and continued caressing. His resolve fled as quickly as a hungry child tempted with sweets.

He touched her thigh, bare underneath her skirt, the skin silky and soft. He wanted her so badly it hurt. Other than a few mistakes, he’d tried to follow the rules, but he’d never felt anything like this burning, beautiful ache. Rolling over, he settled his thigh between hers and slipped his hands under her shirt, touching the warm skin of her stomach before moving higher. He pulled at her. “What is this thing?” It was much smaller than the undergarments lasses wore in his day.

“A bra.” With a flip of her fingers, she opened the front, spilling her breasts out for him. If he wasn’t awake before, he was now. He filled both hands with warm flesh, sure he’d die if she stopped him now, but the soft sounds she made told him she was enjoying it too. He was glad. He wanted her to feel good, but partly he was relieved he wouldn’t have to stop. He tried to be gentle, but all he could think about was getting inside her. He removed her shirt and started to push her skirt up, but he wanted to see all of her. He moved over, far enough to pull off her skirt and the thing she called panties. He threw them on the floor and feasted on the sight of her bare body as his hands stroked the inside of her thighs, caressing the rough scrapes—already healing—moving closer and closer to his prize. He wanted to taste her, to drown in her scent, but he couldn’t wait that long.

He shrugged out of his jeans and underwear, wishing he’d worn his kilt. Easier access. With one quick look at her, to be sure she was sure, he lowered his body to hers and entered, working in deeper and deeper until her breath caught as he slid home.

He withdrew, thrust in again and held, burying his face in her hair. He felt her tongue on his neck, against his throbbing pulse. She wrapped her legs around his hips, clinging to his shoulders as he drove into her.

“Stop,” she said, her voice muffled.

Damnation. He didn’t know if he could. “Am I hurting you?” he asked, forcing himself to hold still.

“No,” she gasped. “The bed. It’s shaking.” In spite of her words, she tilted her hips and gave a little moan.

To hell with the bed. He thrust in again, and from the sounds she made, she must have stopped worrying about the noise too. He wanted to make it last, but any chance of that was lost when her hands dropped to his arse, fingers digging into his flesh. Her body tightened around him, telling him she was already there. Her mouth, still open in a moan, reminded him he’d neglected to kiss her. Too late now. One more thrust, and he erupted, the pleasure so intense it hurt. He collapsed on top of her, shivering, and he knew for certain why warriors weren’t supposed to take a mate. She wasn’t even his, but she held the power to destroy him. If a demon came now, he’d be done.

He feared he was crushing her, but he didn’t want to leave. He wanted to lie here forever, locked in her arms. He eased a bit of his weight, but stayed inside her. Realization slowly seeped in. He’d done it again, a fast, hard tumble, without even a kiss. He hadn’t cleaned his teeth yet, so she was likely glad he hadn’t kissed her. But what kind of love was that for a woman? Even if she enjoyed it, that was no way to treat her, rough, without tenderness.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, but he didn’t sound sorry, even to his own ears. He lifted himself on shaky elbows, wanting, yet dreading, to look at her. “Are you okay?”

She blinked twice and focused on him. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

And he’d barely tried. He smiled and wished to God she could be his. He pulled out and rolled next to her, his body sated with pleasure, but questions were starting to fill his head. How did a man thank a woman for such a gift? Yet again. He should offer to help her clean up.

He reached for her, but she scooted away, moved off the bed, and stood, holding the pillow over her body like a shield.
Not good
. Brushing her tangled hair from her eyes, she searched the floor, still not looking at him.
Definitely not good
. She backed toward the bathroom, pillow in place, clothes dangling from her hand. If he hadn’t been so dismayed, he’d have found the sight amusing.

He leaned on one elbow and watched the bathroom door shut. Once again he’d taken advantage of the only human being who knew he existed. He slammed his head against the pillow. He was an arse. Not to mention, he could’ve made a bairn with a woman he couldn’t marry.

***

Cleaned and dressed, Bree sat on the side of the claw-foot tub still holding the pillow. What was wrong with her? It wasn’t bad enough that she’d almost entered into holy matrimony with a demon, that she could’ve been the mother of a halfling. No, she had to go and make love, unprotected, yet again, to a man who at best should be dead, who believed women were helpless creatures to be coddled and protected, and at worst, could be another demon pretending to be a warrior who was more than a century and a half old.

Then there was the sheer embarrassment of it. Had everyone heard the bed shaking?

There was a soft rap at the door. “Bree?”

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

Bree opened the door a few inches and peeked out.

“I’m sorry,” Faelan muttered, looking not sorry at all. His eyes were already darkening, roving over what parts of her he could see.

She lowered her gaze to his bare feet. He had nice feet. Strong, solid, sexy—

“Bree.” He slid his arm through the crack in the door, fingers tipping her chin. “Look at me. We need to talk. I was out of control. I shouldn’t have taken you like that. Again. A woman deserves more than what I gave you.”

“More?” She’d not have lived to dream about it.

“Gentleness and caresses.” He wedged the door open and pushed his head inside. His fingertips moved lightly up her arm. “Sweet words and kisses,” he said, eyeing her mouth. “Lots of kisses.” His head lowered, and Bree stepped back. “Damnation. I can’t even get close enough for an apology, and I want to make love to you again—” A knock sounded outside. Faelan glanced at Bree, and she watched through the crack as he went to answer it. He checked once more to be sure she was out of sight, then turned the knob. Bree couldn’t see who stood there, but she could see the red fingernail marks she’d left on his back. Cripes.

“Good morning—oh, my. What interesting tattoos. My goodness me.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Edwards.” Faelan put his hand on the door, preventing it from opening too wide.

“When you didn’t come to breakfast, I got worried. And Ms. Kirkland isn’t answering. If you
see
her, would you tell her about breakfast?”

Bree rolled her eyes. Mrs. Edwards had probably heard the bed shaking.

“I’m sure she overslept, like me,” he said, tugging his ear. “Uh, we’ll be down in fifteen minutes… if I find her, that is.”

“The other guests have up and disappeared, including your friend’s brother, so there’s plenty of food.”

“My friend’s brother?”

“I had a migraine last night. I got up for my medicine and saw you two on the landing. I’m glad you met. He asked for your name, but I can’t give out that kind of information. Policy, you know.”

Faelan’s shoulders went rigid. “It wasn’t me.”

“I could’ve sworn I saw… it must have been the other two guests. It was dark, and I didn’t have my glasses on. Then you didn’t meet him? Too bad. He thought he recognized you. Ms. Kirkland, too. Said you looked like his brother’s friends. Described you both, and everything. I wonder why he didn’t stay.”

Faelan’s knuckles whitened against the door. “Did he have dark blond hair?” His voice was all warrior now.

“Why, no. It was black, black as sin. Had these dark eyes, like they could see right through you.”

“He’s gone?”

“Must have been early, before all the policemen arrived—oh dear.”

“Policemen?”

“I shouldn’t have mentioned it. A homeless man was found dead in the woods.”

Bree’s brain whirled. Another dead body?