Awaken the Highland Warrior (5 page)

“He and another man with him.”

“What year?”

“Early 1860s. After I read the journal, I remembered seeing McGowan’s name on the box holding the map. The map resembled the graveyard. The riddle said ‘close to God,’
and the graveyard is close to the chapel. I thought someone had buried coins or jewels. Then I noticed the crypt was missing on the map, the biggest and oldest thing there. I figured it had to be a clue. And there was no place to hide anything except inside the burial vault.”

“Can I see the journal?”

Bree started to refuse, thinking it would be invading Isabel’s privacy, kind of like opening her underwear drawer and waving her bloomers around, but Faelan seemed very curious about Isabel’s visitors, and Bree wanted to know why. “Sure,” she said. She found it on the floor beside her bed, where it usually fell after a long night of reading, and carried it back to the table. “I’ll read it to you.”

“The most dreadful thing has happened. McGowan and another man were robbed and murdered last evening as they walked through the woods to town. The bodies were found early this morning. Frederick tried to keep it from me, but I overheard the men talking about the vicious attack. There was speculation that someone else was also searching for McGowan’s treasure, or it may have stemmed from an argument over this impending war. Someone in the area has been helping slaves escape to Canada. The men did seem rather intense. The older one in particular was disturbing. I think Frederick regretted inviting them to stay.”

“War?” Faelan asked, his voice hollow.

“The American Civil War.” If he wasn’t from this country, or had been locked in the time vault prior to 1861, he wouldn’t know about it. “With your memory loss, you probably don’t recall what a terrible time it was for this country. Brothers killing brothers. More than six hundred thousand soldiers died.”

He sat back in his chair, looking ill. “How long did it last?”

“From 1861 to 1865.” She knew everything there was to know about the Civil War. Her childhood obsession had become her passion. It was the reason she’d become a historian. “Shall I read more?”

He nodded, and she continued.

“Today was one of the saddest I have known, watching McGowan’s son remove the bodies from the crypt. I could feel his grief. I would not admit it except in these pages, but I think even before McGowan arrived I sensed death. Perhaps it is the reason I wanted the disk for a good luck charm, something to ward off evil. I should have known those things don’t work. Frederick watches me as if I will have a nervous breakdown. I suspect he knows I’m reminded of my grandfather’s tragic, untimely death. He was also robbed and brutally killed. Father was a baby then, and according to his mother, barely escaped with his life.

“Perhaps Frederick is right, and the pregnancy is making me emotional and restless. I am not the only one unable to sleep. Even as I write, I can see a lantern moving in the graveyard. Ghosts? Or McGowan’s son searching for his father’s treasure? I feel certain I have seen the son somewhere. I remember now—”

“The next page is missing,” Bree said. “I’d kill to know what Isabel remembered—”

A scream sounded outside.

Bree jumped to her feet, and the falling journal struck her plate, dumping the contents on her jeans before it hit the floor.

Faelan grabbed the knife and lunged at Bree. She yelped, but he was there before she could jump clear, shielding her from the door. She tried to peer around broad shoulders, but all she could see was a muscular forearm and long, lean fingers gripping the blade. He’d put himself in front to protect her. She felt a quiver that had nothing to do with the horrible scream.

“Where’s my dirk?”

“In the bedroom.”

“Stay here,” he ordered. In three strides he was at the door. Whoever he was, he was used to being obeyed.

“What was that sound?” she asked, but he was already gone. She ran to the window and watched him move through the pale pre-dawn, one hand gripping the knife, the other clasped to his chest. He stopped and lowered his head, then trotted along the path like a bloodhound scenting a trail, as he disappeared into the woods.

What if he didn’t come back, just kept going? Bree jerked open the door and took off after him. She found him in the clearing near the dig, standing tall and motionless, like a valiant protector of an ancient Scottish realm.

“Did you see anything?” she asked, panting.

He whirled on her, his expression fierce, the kitchen knife still in his hand. “I told you to stay inside.”

She jumped back, alarmed, but she didn’t care what time he came from, she wasn’t his dog. “Excuse me?” Her glare was wasted.

His eyes scoured the forest like a predator, concentrating on one spot beyond the tree line, before moving back to the empty holes nearby. “What’s this?”

“It’s a dig. My friend is an archeologist. He thinks this was once an Iroquois settlement.”

Faelan frowned. “How long has he been digging?”

“A few months. He’s working from notes an old trapper left. Grandma opened the site to him before she died. She loved Native American history. He hasn’t found much, only some arrowheads and a beaded necklace.” Jared was going to kill her when he found out she’d gone treasure hunting without him.

Bree caught a glimpse of Faelan’s talisman as he moved closer to the holes. She’d feed him as much as he could eat, if he’d let her examine it. “Be careful,” she warned, when his foot neared the edge. “Those holes are dangerous.”

“These wee holes?”

“I sprained my ankle in that one.” She muttered to herself, “The same ankle I broke in the cave.”

He gave her a look that bordered on insulting. “What were you doing in a cave?”

He not only healed fast, he had ears like Superman. “Exploring.” She shuddered at the memory, running her hands through her hair. “Did you figure out what that sound was?”

“No,” he said, glancing at his dusty boot.

Bree saw a footprint in the dirt smeared with something… red?

Faelan nudged a rock, covering the print, and turned his attention back to the trees.

“Does this place seem familiar?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Do you get many trespassers?”

“Just campers,” she said. “There’s a campground a few miles through the woods. Every year a few of them get lost.” Several since she’d moved in. “I think I saw one last night.” She nodded toward his boot. “Is that blood?”

Faelan gripped her arm. “You saw someone last night? What did he look like?” His accent was stronger now, the brogue more distinct.

What did it matter, since he couldn’t remember anything? “I’m not sure it was even a man. It was dark outside.”

“Do you have a horse and carriage?”

“I have a Mustang—”

“It’ll do,” he said, pulling her across the grass, his longer legs forcing her to jog to keep up. His eyes never stopped scanning.

She wanted to ask what he was looking for, but she was almost certain she wouldn’t like his answer. “Where are we going?”

“We need to leave.”

“Why? Did you see something back there?”

He didn’t answer, just kept pulling her forward.

“I guess we could ride around the area, see if you remember anything.” While they were out, they could get extra sheets and get him some new clothes. Nothing would be open this early except Walmart, but if secrecy was so important, he was going to have to lose the kilt. Probably best. Knowing he was naked under it wasn’t doing her any good. “Let me change clothes and get my bag.”

“Do you have to change?” he asked, eyeing the glob of food on her jeans.

“I’m wearing jelly,” she said panting. “Can you slow down?”

He did, but not much. “Has this place been in your family long?”

“For generations,” she said, looking at the house coming into view, faded, yet grand, like an old woman who’d once been a beauty, and now only character remained. Like Grandma Emily. “My great-great-grandmother’s family owned the land. Her father gave it to her and Frederick, her husband, as a wedding gift. Frederick built the house for Isabel when she was only eighteen. The chapel was already here. A lot of my ancestors are buried in the graveyard. There was a village through the woods. This path was the road back then. My great-great-great-grandfather had a farmhouse not far from here. It burned down a long time ago.”

For a man whose movements were so smooth, the hesitation in his stride struck her as extraordinarily clumsy.

“What was his name?”

“Samuel Wood. Does that ring a bell?”

He didn’t answer, just watched the trees as if he expected them to attack. They hurried past the orchard her grandmother had planted near the house. “Look out!” Faelan said, as Bree’s shoe caught the edge of a log Jared’s men had carried over from a tree they’d cut near the dig.

She felt herself falling, and then she was in Faelan’s arms, her breasts plastered to his chest. His heart hitched. Or was it hers?

“Are you okay?” he asked, untangling their legs. He didn’t let go. He searched her face, blinked a few times, and jumped back as something poked her stomach. She didn’t have the courage to look down and see if it was his sporran or something else.

“I think so. Thanks. You’re fast.”

His lips twitched. “Now I understand how you fell in that wee hole.”

Let him fall in one and see how little it was
, she thought, checking to see if she’d torn one of her favorite shoes. “I meant to split the wood a few days ago but never got around to it.” She’d gotten sidetracked by McGowan’s map. “I love a fire in the winter. I may have to hire someone.”

Faelan scooped up an apple, cleaned it off on his kilt, and took a bite.

“Take all you want,” she said, looking at the fruit wasting on the ground. “Grandma used to make applesauce, but I never got the hang of it. All I can manage is a pie.”

“Apple pie?” he asked, wiping a drop of juice from his chin.

“I’m not the most graceful person alive, but I make a pretty good pie. I suppose I could bake one for dessert tonight.” Maybe a full belly would loosen his tongue.

“Hurry and get what you need,” he said as they reached the back porch. He hurled the apple core into the trees so far it would’ve put a major-league baseball pitcher to shame, and posted himself at the door like a guard.

What did he think was out there? She changed into a print skirt and grabbed her tote bag before meeting him outside. His eyes roved over her legs, looking as shocked as if she’d slapped him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

She led him toward the azaleas and pines hiding her red 1968 Fastback from view, dropping back a few steps when he kept glancing at her legs. “There’s my Mustang—”

He stopped so fast, she plowed into him. “I thought you meant a horse,” he said, finally looking at something besides her knees. He approached the car like she would Noah’s Ark, running his hands over the hood, smudging her wax job, pressing his nose to the window like a kid who’d crash-landed in the North Pole.

More proof he wasn’t a demon. All human males were as fascinated with cars as they were with breasts. Faelan appeared to be no exception.

“It’s yours?”

“It was my dad’s. He died when I was a kid.” One day the car would be hers, he’d promised. One day he’d teach her to drive. He hadn’t.

“You loved him,” Faelan said.

Bree heard sympathy in his voice. Did he miss his father as much as Bree missed hers? She and her dad had done everything together, Civil War re-enactments, metal detecting, exploring caves. The only time he’d let her out of his sight was to visit her grandmother. Bree had never understood why she wasn’t allowed to attend summer camps and have sleepovers like the other girls. She asked him about it once. He’d smiled a little sadly and said fair damsels had to be protected. That was before she found out about her dead twin.

There was a rustling in the trees, followed by a shriek, and something white flew overhead. Faelan grabbed Bree’s arm. “Let’s go.”

She opened the car door, and he shoved her inside. What was he so afraid of? “Was that an owl?” she asked after he moved around to the other side. “I’ve seen a huge one hanging around. That could be what we heard earlier.”

“Maybe.”

She showed him how to work the seat belt, then started the car. The engine roared to life, and Faelan’s eyebrows rose. At the end of her long driveway, she pulled onto the road and hit the gas. Faelan’s shoulders were thrown back as he gripped the seat. Bree played tour guide as they drove, but he wasn’t listening. His gaze was everywhere—on the car, the scenery, the traffic—but his hand never strayed from the bump where the necklace lay under his shirt. They passed a massive rock sticking out of the ground, and he twisted around. Bree saw the look on his face. Recognition.

“Is that a talisman you’re wearing?”

He clamped his hand over the necklace, as if she might leap across the seat and rip the thing from his neck. “How do you know about talismans?”

“I have all sorts of useless knowledge floating up here,” she said, tapping her temple. “Who gave it to you?”

“Mi… my family.”

“The one you can’t remember?” Touché. She saw a muscle in his jaw twitch. “If you knew your last name, we could search for them on the computer.”

“Computer?”

She could tell by the way he formed the word that it was the first time he’d uttered it. “You can find anything you want on a computer, and some things you don’t, but I need a name first.”

“Hopefully I’ll remember it soon. I have nothing. No home, no horse, no food.”

She was pretty certain he’d remember when he wanted to. “I wanted to talk to you about that. Since you can’t remember anything, you’re welcome to stay here until we figure out who you are.”

He looked at her as if she’d offered him cyanide. “You’d do all this for a stranger after…” He shook his head. “Why?”

“You have an odd way of showing appreciation.”

“You’re too trusting. I could be dangerous.”

She knew he was dangerous, but he was also the key to a mystery. “I woke you. It seems the right thing to do, in here.” Bree patted her heart, and Faelan stared at her breasts. With Russell calling every day, it wouldn’t hurt to have a strong man around, even one she’d found in a crypt. Russell would think twice before coming after her with Faelan here.

“I’m becoming more and more indebted to you,” he said, not sounding pleased about it. “I can take care of the farming and chores until your brother gets here, then I’ll leave.”

Leave? She’d just found him. “I don’t have chickens or cows, but there’s work to be done, that’s for sure.” Isabel’s journal had distracted Bree from remodeling.

“I’m surprised you don’t have someone to help you with the place.” His tone gave away what he didn’t say. That she was too old not to have a husband. Unmarried at twenty-six would have been a spinster in his time.

“I don’t have much luck with men.” She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until he lifted one sexy eyebrow in disbelief.

“You can’t be serious?”

“I can’t find a
good
one.” With those ears of his, she’d have to be more careful what she said. She had a tendency to talk to herself, something Jared teased her about. Jared. “You know, the archeologists will be back in a few days. You’ll have to stay hidden.”

“Aye. We can’t have your reputation sullied.”

Her reputation sullied? “I was thinking of someone asking questions.” She glanced at his kilt. “You said no one could know about you. I could say you’re Cousin Reggie. He owes me.” She pictured the crypt rising from the weathered gravestones, the old tree hanging over the top like a shroud, and remembered the crippling fear. Screams. And blood. The memory stopped there, as it always did.

“What in tarnation is that?” Faelan asked, looking out the window at a silver glint in the sky.

“An airplane.”

“Airplane?” The word sounded as strange on his tongue as
computer
had. He watched the white line cut through the clouds, and she could see a thousand questions in his eyes. His astonishment erased any lingering doubts. She took pity on him, knowing he must be dying of curiosity, too.

“It’s remarkable how much travel has changed in the last century. We’ve gone from carriages and hot air balloons to airplanes that can carry hundreds of people anywhere in the world in less than a day.”

“You jest?” he murmured, obviously forgetting his amnesia as he watched the plane disappear, his expression a mixture of fascination and alarm.

If he wasn’t the demon, why didn’t he admit who he was?

***

When the last of the policemen had gone, the tall man slipped from the woods, carrying the shovel he’d taken from the dig. He hurried through the graveyard, stopping at the back of the crypt. Counting off five paces from the corner, he approached the third grave. Just as the paper had said, a headstone with no name. He heard a cry and something white swooped overhead. A huge owl settled in the gnarled tree, tucked in its wings, and watched with steady, round eyes. Was this a bad omen? Swallowing, he raised the shovel and drove it deep into the earth.