Highland Sorcerer (2 page)

". . . will be mine . . .
hidden . . ."

That's all she got before the woman
pressed her palm forward and Toren's ribs snapped. The punch of it
speared through Charity. She flinched back—screamed out the pain.
Toren's eyes rolled back in agony.

Charity fell forward, wrenched
violently back through the looking glass, her sight tunneled in
rapid force back to her kitchen and one hand caught on the floor,
the other on Toren's chest at exactly the same spot the witch's
hand had been above his ribs.

Charity jerked her hand
away.

And listed a little sideways before
catching herself. A tingly floaty sensation assailed her. She felt
dizzy like when you stand up too fast. The beginnings of a headache
dimmed the edges of her vision, her typical physical reaction after
a healing. It drained her. She could expect the headache to hit
with full force in about twenty minutes and then she’d need to
sleep it off for several hours. Except this headache seemed to be
already pounding against her skull a little faster than
usual.

Toren hissed, eyes fever-bright against
flushed skin, and locked on hers with a silent plea.

She pushed her own concerns aside for
now. She needed to attend to him quickly and see him on his way
while she was still functional. That woman had hurt him. Had been
hurting him for who knew how long? How could someone do
that?

"Shhh-shh." Charity ran her thumb
across his brow. During the healing, or rather that connection
between them, she'd felt his pain and vulnerability as well as the
hope he'd so desperately clung onto in the midst of horrific
torture. As much as she didn’t appreciate the intrusion, she also
had never wanted to help anyone more than she did this man. It
burned into like a physical need. She had to help him however she
could. She was going to help him. "I'm going to fix
this."

Still staring at her, his lips quirked
up in a sad smile and all sorts of things started leaping around in
Charity's belly. When he smiled like that, his face came alive.
Even with the coating of dirt cracking around the lines at the
corners of his eyes, he was breathtaking.

A warm palm slid around her wrist. "Ye
already have." His voice was petal soft. Weak.

"I have...?" She could barely speak
around the shock of what his mere smile was doing to her insides.
Or maybe it was just an effect of the dizzying weakness creeping
over her. She shook her head to try and clear and get back to
business. It didn’t quite work so she forced herself to take a
quick inventory. Bruises lingered where cuts and welts had been.
Skin tone, though sweaty, held a healthy hue. She felt along his
ribcage, finding no give or unnatural movement.

Where the witch hurt him, Charity had
healed. Her heart roared to life. She'd done that?

She'd done that!

"
Yes
." She fist-pumped the air and
immediately regretted the movement as a fresh spike of pain ripped
through her head. No more fist-pumping for a while, but she
couldn't stop the swell of excitement. All those injuries, all at
once. She had never mended anything more serious than a light case
of inflammation on her own before and that had exhausted
her.

He shifted up a bit to lean back on his
elbows. He watched her with a strange expression and a small part
of her wished he would smile again. Which why would he under the
circumstances? Geez, she better get it together.

Guess she wasn't exactly acting like a
professional. Poor guy still looked like he'd gone ten rounds in a
meat grinder. She should get him some nourishment before she passed
out on her, maybe some soup. She could use some as well. Or tea.
Definitely let him use her shower and get him something to wear,
though even her baggiest sweats weren't going to fit. She had a
blanket. He should be used to that after all he had been wearing a
kilt when she had the vision of him in that dungeon.

A kilt?

The dungeon.

Torchlight
.

Healer Enchantress.

“
Oh my....” She slapped a
hand across her mouth, those tiny details settling in her weary
mind. Her other hand started flapping.

"Oh my hell oh my hell oh my hell.
You…you..."

She was so stupid, so caught up in the
euphoria of being sought out and then actually healing. No wonder
she'd been able to do it—with the kind of power this sorcerer
had.

His magic had to be beyond immense if
what she was thinking was true.

Could it be?

Was that even possible?

"Where are you from?" Her voice came
out like a breathless whisper.

His head canted to the side, dark brows
bunched, the picture of innocence.

Charity swallowed past the hysteria
climbing her throat and tried again. "When? When are you
from?"

Chapter Two

Charity fell back on her
butt.

Toren's gaze tracked around her
kitchen, the lighting and modern appliances, then back to Charity.
"Your past. I think."

The past. And he wasn't talking like
a-week-ago-last-Wednesday past. No, the guy was a full-on sorcerer
powerful enough to not just transport himself through across far
distances—but through time as well.

At least several centuries worth, if
not more. Holy freaking cow.

Her chest lifted in rapid pants. She
was going to hyperventilate. Might as well go with it. The massive
healing had already taken a lot out of her. Passing out would be
for the best. She'd wake up and the time-traveler would be gone.
Poof. Back to his own time and--

"Lass, are ye well?"

Lass
. He said “
lass”
. And “
ye”
.

She inhaled a deep breath, let it out
slowly and nodded.

He smiled encouragingly,
coaxing her to relax.
Ah
man
. Don’t smile at her. It was hard enough
to think as it was. Her head was pounding, her stomach quivering.
She was going to throw up. She knew it.

Get it together,
Greves.
He'd suffered torture, broken
bones, traveled through a time rift that it must have taken an
inordinate amount of magic to open, especially considering he’d
have to have bypassed those spelled bands with the glowing symbols
holding him a dungeon wall. He endured the agony of a quick
healing—was too exhausted to drag his naked self off the floor—yet
he was making sure she was all right. She needed to just suck it up
and pull herself together.

Some healer she was.

"Okay, okay. I got this." She blew out
another breath, steadied herself against a sudden wave of
dizziness, and flipped her hair out of her eyes. "Soup. No, tea.
I'll put on some tea." She got up, spinning about the small space,
much too fast. He grabbed onto the counter and let the bout of
weakness pass. Shaky, she grabbed up the tea pot and shoved it
under the faucet. "Would you like some tea?" The water tinkled into
the pot.

He watched her warily. His nose
crinkled, making little creases in the dirt dusting his skin as
though he hadn't had anything to smile about in a long time before
he’d come here. Of course he hadn't smiled. He'd been pinned to a
dungeon wall.

Charity's hands shook when she flipped
on the burner and set the tea pot to heating. What was she doing,
leaving a poor exhausted sorcerer on the floor?

She sighed, hesitant to get near him
now that he'd been healed and she'd shared in his memories—and wow,
that had been…intimate.

Get a
grip
. She was his caregiver at the moment
so she'd better start giving care.

She turned back to him and those eyes
drew her right in. A startling bright blue flecked with soft gold.
They were intense. That little something fluttered in her belly
again.

"Here. Let's get you cleaned
up."

She stooped low in front of him to get
her arms beneath his and her gaze dipped then snapped back up to
his face.

"Um, hang on." She went into the living
area to grab the chamois blanket off the back of the sofa. Her
hands shook. Her head felt like a battering ram was banging against
her skull.

He was standing when she spun back
around.

"I can manage." His soft burr held
amusement.

"Uh-huh." She shoved the blanket at
him. He grabbed it. Smooth muscles rolled beneath the grimy arm
when he pressed the blanket to his stomach and left it dangling. He
was way taller than he'd looked on the floor. The top of his head
brushed the door jamb between rooms. Charity's throat felt suddenly
dry.

"Shower's this way."

He squinted. Oh yeah, medieval guy.
"Bathroom." What did they call them? Did Scotsmen even bathe back
then? "Uh, garderobe?"

"Bath room." The bland expression
clearly conveyed he wasn't an idiot. "A chamber for bathing.
Aye."

Yep. She'd insulted him.

"Sorry."

He smiled, showing a hint of white
teeth this time. He had to stop doing that. She froze. Apparently
history was wrong on a whole lot of hygienic habits or Toren came
from great calcium-enriched stock, which going by his size wasn't
too hard to believe.

They stood there awkwardly facing each
other. Charity waited for him to make a move to follow her. He
lifted a shaky hand and wobbled.

"Oh hey." Charity sprang forward,
ignoring the wobble to her own step and placed a hand to his chest,
the other at his back to steady him. He had great muscle
tone.

His arm draped over her shoulder. He
leaned into her, though she suspected he didn't give her his full
weight, which was good since she was about to go down any minute.
Her legs felt like Jell-O.

"Ye have my gratitude,
Lady."

She maneuvered him past the sofa and
into her small bathroom. "Charity."

"Charity." Her name rolled along his
accent. "Clan Limont is in your debt, Lady Charity."

"The entire clan?" She grinned, trying
to hide the fact that she was completely unnerved by his height and
muscle tone and beautiful smile…and all those emotions she knew he
carried deep down inside him. "And I'm not a lady. It's just
Charity."

He sagged against her more heavily and
she guided him onto the closed toilet seat. The bathroom seemed
considerably smaller as she stepped between his legs to turn the
spray on her shower/tub combination.

Toren leaned forward to study the
flowing water. Reaching out, he cupped a hand beneath the spray and
let it trickle between his fingers. Dirt immediately turned the
stream of water falling from his fingers a light brown.

"'Tis warm." His voice held all the
wonder of a three-year-old seeing his first gumball
dispenser.

Charity's chest tightened and she had
the sudden urge to show him all the modern conveniences in her
house and witness his eyes light up at the beep of her microwave or
flush of the toilet or fizzle when she popped open a soda can. Talk
about sensory overload. She rethought the idea. Better be careful.
Poor guy had never even seen a movie. Just the ring of a cell phone
could really freak him out.

For now, get him clean. "Wanna get
in?"

His nod was so eager, Charity laughed.
"All right then."

Still too weak to stand for a long
time, she helped him get into the tub, blanket and all, and lean
back where he immediately closed his eyes. It was the most peaceful
she'd seen him yet.

She slid onto the toilet seat lid,
grateful to sit down and just breathed in and out for a while,
letting the dizziness from getting him into the tub subside to a
dull grayness. Her legs were rubber.

Her bathroom contained an assortment of
soaps, lotions, shampoos and conditioners in an array of containers
and baskets—all test products, some created by herself for the herb
shop she and her sister owned.

Most of the dirt was off Toren, the
water running clearer down the drain, so she pushed the stopper
down and turned off the shower’s spray and let the faucet run to
fill up the tub.

Wanting something gentle, yet also with
added healing properties, she squeezed her favorite blend of liquid
soap into a wet wash cloth and went to work.

The Highlander didn't so much as
flinch, trusting her ministrations. Charity's heart gave a tender
little pull. After what he'd endured in the dungeon, she was amazed
he could trust anyone.

He sighed, pulling her from her
troubled thoughts. She poured her favorite shampoo into her hands
and began lathering his hair.

One blue eye opened to squint at her.
"Ye intend to have me smell of flowers?"

"Blue Tansy actually and any scent will
be an improvement."

His lips twitched at that and Charity's
mouth went dry. With most of the blood and dirt gone, she took a
long look at him while rinsing the shampoo. She wouldn't call him
exceptionally handsome, not in a pretty boy sort of way at any
rate. But there was something about him, something rugged and
masculine that called to the woman within her.