Highlander Undone (Highland Bound Book 5) (8 page)

“Hmm. Interesting.” Dickie took a sip of the coffee and then stared into the cup in disappointment. He set it on the table.

“Scary is more like it.” Moira shoved her fingers through her hair. “I hope its not genetic or something.”

“Most people get amnesia from an accident. Did she say if she was in an accident?”

The cellar door pushed open, silently, an inch behind Dickie’s head, and Moira nearly choked on her own tongue.

Chapter Six

Ballocks, but Rory wanted to open up the cellar door all the way. He’d cracked it enough to get a look at the jackanapes giving Moira a hard time. The moment the bastard had knocked—nay, banged—on the front door, Rory had despised him.

What a load of shite!

The arrogant man had walked into her domain as though he owned the place. Made demands. Interrogated her. If Rory hadn’t known the two of them were involved, he would have thought one of the king’s agents had knocked down her door in search of answers to some crime.

It took every ounce of his patience not to push the door the rest of the way open, grab the fool by his neck and pull him from the blasted chair.
His
chair.

His
woman.

The sense of possession filled him so greatly, he had a hard time breathing. Moira was
his
. Even if she was denying him at the moment. She’d been his since the moment he laid eyes on her three years before. He’d spent the last three years in his own time trying to figure out just how to get back to her—on the pretense that he wanted to bring Shona back to where she belonged, but who was he kidding. He’d really wanted Moira. To see her, touch her, hear her laugh, to make love to her all night long and wake up beside her peaceful body in the morning.

“Yes, an accident,” Moira was saying, her frown deepening as she concentrated on
Dickie
.

Fucking Dickie had better get his arse up and out of the house if he knew what was good for him.

There had been a split second where she’d spied Rory and he thought she was going to leap from her skin and blow his hiding spot, but she’d easily returned her focus to the arsehole sipping coffee as though it were wine, swishing it around his damned mouth like a ninny.

Saints, but Rory wished that in addition to time traveling he had the ability to read minds, or at the very least whisper into her head. He wanted to give her the strength to boot this bloke out. The strength to kick him in the ballocks, too.

The interrogation continued, and Rory was about to pitch the door open when her telephone actually did ring.

“Oh,” Moira breathed out, leaping from her chair.

Dickie stood, too, and for a moment, Rory had the sense the man was going to answer the phone for her, but he could see the hesitation in Dickie’s movements. At least the spoiled rat wasn’t a complete fool.

“Hello?” A moment passed, and all the color drained from Moira’s face. “Shona?”

The phone started to slip, her legs to buckle.

Rory was bursting through the cellar door and catching Moira just as her body fell to the floor, completely ignoring the rage-filled shout from Dickie.

“Moira?” Rory stared into her face, eyes closed, skin pale. He grabbed up the phone. “Hello?”

Dickie was quick to grab it before Rory could hear who was on the other end, and he wasn’t about to drop Moira in the process of fighting him for it. The bastard threw the phone toward the front of the house and bellowed at Rory, “Who the hell are ye?”

Rory sent the man a scathing look. He didn’t need to explain a damned thing. He lifted Moira up and carried her into the living room, settling her on the couch, then turned to face off with the bastard.

“I asked ye a direct question,” Dickie shouted.

“And I deliberately ignored ye.” Rory smirked at the indignation his retort brought to the arsehole’s face.

“Tell me who ye are and why ye’re touching my woman.”

“She was mine first.” Rory grinned, satisfaction filling him to brimming when Dickie’s face grew boiling red.

“Get the fuck out of here.”

“Why dinna
ye
get the fuck out of here,” Rory growled.

They both stood, fists clenched, chests heaving, teeth bared, about to pounce on the other when the phone rang once more.

Rory sprang toward the front of the house where Dickie had tossed the phone, but Dickie was right behind him. The two of them momentarily got stuck in the doorway in their haste to get to the phone first.

“Move!” Dickie shouted.

Rory didn’t bother with shouting. He wrenched back his arm, and landed a crack on Dickie’s temple with his elbow that had him crumpling to the floor of the kitchen in a deep sleep. “Ye move, bloody cur,” Rory muttered.

He picked up the phone, forgetting only momentarily to hit the button that made the voices speak on the other end. “Hello?”

“R—Rory? Ohmygod, is that ye, Rory?”

Holy hell, was it really Shona? He’d have recognized her voice anywhere—but here?

“Aye, but… how? Shona?”

“I can’t believe it!” There was a thudding sound and then a deep male voice said, “Who is this?”

“’Tis Rory, who is this?”

The man cleared his throat. “’Tis Ewan. Ye’re a wanted man.”

Wanted man? Rory shook off the accusation, his mind still reeling at hearing Shona’s voice. How the hell had she time traveled and how did she know he’d be here? “Who are ye?”

“Shona’s husband.”

“Husband? When the bloody hell did that happen? Never mind. How are ye here, in this time?”

There was a deep sigh from the connection, a sound that Rory knew well.

“One minute we were asleep, and the next, we woke up on a strange road, surrounded by people with flashing lights.”

“Flashing lights? What color?” Cameras, or police? Or flashlights?

“Blue and red. ’Twas the um… The guards. Their vehicle said police. Damn… I should have remembered all this.” There was another frustrated sigh on the other end, and Rory had a feeling Ewan was struggling with what had happened. And who wouldn’t? “They shackled us, threw is in a barred cell and they keep telling us we’re indecent and that we only had one phone call to make. What the hell is a phone? Is this a phone? God, I should remember, but I canna. And why would we be indecent? Have they never seen a man’s arse afore?”

“Take it easy, Ewan. I’ll help ye. Where are ye?” Rory had been lucky enough not to end up in prison on his previous visit, though he’d gotten close a couple of times.

There was a muffled sound and then Shona was back on the line, her voice groggy. “We’re at Saughton. Can ye tell Moira to come pick us up? Tell her to hurry. There are a lot of creepy people in here and well, we’re both sort of panicked at what’s happened.”

“Aye, of course. She had quite a shock. Passed out. I’ll try to wake her.”

“Thank ye, Rory. I’m glad to hear your voice. It’s been so long.”

“It’s hardly been more than a day,” Rory wiped a hand through his hair.

“Wow… Three years have passed.”

“Three years?” Rory’s head reeled. “I suppose that’s how ye found a husband.”

Shona laughed softly. “I wish they served whisky in this place.”

“We’ll bring some.”

“And… we need some street clothes.”

“All right.”

Dickie started to rouse on the floor, moaning like a little bairn.

“I’ll try to wake Moira.” And get her bastard
ex
-lover out of there.

“Thank ye, Rory. I missed ye. I’m so glad ye’re safe.”

“I missed ye, too. I’m so sorry to have up and left ye so quickly. If I’d known…”

“Dinna blame yourself. We don’t get a choice with Fate. Ye disappeared. But now we’ve found ye.”

Disappeared. She didn’t say left, or abandoned her, but disappeared. There was a whole subset of connotation with such carefully chosen words. “Ballocks…” he grumbled under his breath. “We’ll be there soon.”

“Thank ye so much.”

Rory set the phone down, and then grabbed hold of Dickie’s shirt at the nape of neck. “Time to take out the trash,” he said in a singsong voice, then dragged the groaning man toward the door. He wasn’t small, though nearly Rory’s height, his muscular bulk was impressive. When he wasn’t bossing women around, he must have concentrated on his build. “Nice to have made your acquaintance. Dinna come back. Ever.” And with that, Rory tossed the man out the front door, bolted it, and returned to the living room where Moira was starting to rouse.

At first, she looked startled, eyes darting about before settling on him.

“Where is Dickie?”

“He had to make an untimely departure.”

She frowned, and touched her forehead. “Ye threw him out didn’t ye?”

“Aye.” Rory grabbed her coffee mug from the kitchen table and brought it to her.

Moira took the cup and drank deeply before handing it back. “What happened? I dreamt that Shona…” She rubbed at her temples, closing her eyes in pain.

“She did. We have to go get them.”

“Get who?”

“She brought a friend back with her.”

“A friend.”

“An Ewan.”

Her eyes widened. “But I thought…”

“I told ye, Shona is not the Ayreshire lass for me, and she never was.”

Her cheeks colored slightly, and she sat up, her gaze turned away from him.

Rory settled in front of her, his hands grasping hers at her knees. “Moira, there is so much I need to tell ye, but it will be best with Shona here, so ye dinna think…”

“That ye’re lying?” she finished.

He nodded. “What I have to tell ye, our story, it is not believable to most people.”

She waved away his words. “Let’s go. I’ll go change real quick.” Moira let go of his hands and stood.

He nodded, rising to his feet. Patience was key. She wasn’t ready to hear what he had to say, and that was all right. He could wait as long as she needed. “They require clothes.”

“What?” She sounded so adorable when she was exasperated.

“Seems they traveled nude.”

Moira rolled her eyes. “Not funny. I just fainted. Ye showed up on my door with some fantastical story about amnesia, then my sister called, then ye tossed my boyfriend out onto the street. I’m not in the mood for anything else.”

“I jest not. And I think ’tis safe to say, Dickie is no longer your male friend.”

“Ugh,” she groaned, pushing to her feet. “Stop it.”

“I’m entirely serious, lass. They are in jail for being indecent, of all things.”

“Ohmygod. I can’t deal with this! She probably didn’t even call.” Moira shoved past him. “That was not a nice trick, Rory. I know I haven’t seen ye in a long time, but I expected better.”

She didn’t believe him, and he didn’t blame her. Rory dropped to his knees, and held his hand over his heart. Moira turned around slowly to stare at him as though he’d grown not one but two extra heads.

“I swear to God, the almighty, and whatever else ye believe in, Shona needs us and she and her companion need clothes.”

Moira pursed her lips. Hands on her hips. Several moments lapsed and he was certain she would demand he leave the same way Dickie had, when she finally spoke. “Fine. But if ye’re messing with my head, I’m going to kick your arse back to Grant country.”

Rory nodded. “A fine deal.”

“Get changed. As much as I adore your kilt, ye’ll stand out like a sore thumb at Saughton. I still have some of your old clothes.”

“Ye kept them?”

“Don’t get sentimental on me. My patience is worn so thin it’s bleeding.”

He chuckled. “Damn, I’ve missed ye, love.”

“And stop calling me
love
!”

That only made him laugh harder, and she groaned loudly as she stomped all the way upstairs. He waited at the bottom of the staircase, not trying to push his luck, even though he wanted nothing more than to charge up the steps into her bedroom and toss her onto the bed to show her just how much he’d missed her.

A second later, fabric was flying toward him, as she tossed his clothes down the flight.

“Get changed!” she ordered.

“Aye, Madam General.”

Her groan of irritation left him with a smile as wide as his face. Lord, he loved to tease the woman.

Rory made quick work of changing out of his clothes and then folded up his plaid and
leine
shirt together with his sporran. She’d not tossed down any undergarments, and the denim pants were snug against his half rigid cock. He was probably going to walk around with a hard-on for the rest of his time here.

“Ready?”

He turned around to see her standing there, a black bag in hand, thick, dark gray hose and a wool dress that came mid-thigh. Her feet were encased in leather boots much like his and her gaze was roving hungrily over him.

“Never more,” he said, his voice husky. “And always.” Without hesitating, he closed the distance between them, taking note of the hitch in her breath.

He couldn’t help it. Knew she’d asked him to stop earlier, but the craving in her eyes, the pulsing heat between the two of them, he was helpless to it. And she didn’t move. Didn’t back away. In fact, he could have sworn she leaned forward, inching closer. Before she could push him away, he had to show her how much he missed her, and know how much she missed him in return, prove that she was lying to herself. Prove that he mattered more than the arsehole he’d tossed on his ear.