Highland Guardian

by Melissa Mayhue

  His eyes narrowed in an assessing look, glancing away from the drive to her for only a moment. “I’m sure yer right. Well, here we are.”

  He stopped the car and got out, coming around to open her door and assist her. “Yer awfully quiet now.” He smiled.

  “Thinking about last night, I guess.” She shivered. Though the early summer evening brought a chill with it, she knew it wasn’t the temperature that caused her body’s reaction.

  “The evening’s been much too nice to let it end on a sour note because I made you think about yer fright. I know.” His face brightened. “Have you ever seen a night garden in bloom?”

  “A night garden? I don’t think so.”

  “It’s delightful anytime, but on a full moon night, it’s a true wonder. Wait here. I’ll be right back.” He took off on a trot toward the main house.

  He’d only been gone a moment when the tingles raced across her neck. The feeling of being watched. Not threatening, not like last night. Just watched.

  She wrapped her arms about her middle and hunched her shoulders. She felt vulnerable out here on the path, halfway between the main house and her little cottage, both of which represented safety to her right now. Then Ian was back, carrying a covered basket, long strides bringing him quickly to her side.

  He reached out and grasped her hand, and she let him without thinking. His touch felt like he’d brought the safety of the house to her. Surprise rooted her to the spot.

  “Come on, I have something wonderful to show you. It’s over this way.” He tugged on her hand, pulling her down the path after him.

  The fragrance reached her long before they actually turned down the garden path. They’d come this way earlier in the day, but had bypassed this plain area. It was filled with mostly white flowering plants, and, although lacking any real color during the day, it was a thing of beauty now. Moonlight reflected off the white blooms, creating a landscape unlike anything she’d seen before. And the fragrance. Unbelievable.

  “I didn’t notice it smelling like this today when we passed here. This is wonderful.” She looked up at him.

  “Henry’s mother created this area. She was quite the gardener. She said that during the day, the heat dinna allow the scent to spread. Only at night, after it cools a bit, does it smell like this.”

  He led her to the center of the Night Garden and, dropping her hand, pulled a blanket out of the basket he carried. He spread it on the ground with a flourish and motioned for her to have a seat.

  “This is lovely.” Peaceful. She closed her eyes and turned her face up to the moon, feeling as if she could soak up the light shining down on her.

  “Yes, quite lovely.”

  His voice sounded odd, and she opened her eyes to find him staring at her. He turned back to his basket and brought out a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

  “Here. Hold these.” He passed the glasses to her.

  “I really shouldn’t have any more, Ian. I don’t normally drink more than a single glass.”

  “Well, luv, it’s no like yer driving now, is it? Besides, it’ll relax you.” He expertly popped the cork and poured the sparkling liquid into the crystal.

  She stared at the moonlight reflected in her glass for a moment. It was like a scene out of a movie. A really good movie. Her not-really-a-date evening had been simply wonderful. Lifting the champagne to her lips, she took one small sip and then a second before she felt it again.

  Eyes. Watching.

  She froze.

  “What is it?” His body tensed. “What’s wrong?”

  A shiver ran through her. “I felt…it’s nothing, really. Just a little chill.” She wouldn’t ruin this by jabbering on about the feelings.

  He seemed to relax. After a moment, he shrugged out of his jacket and leaned close to wrap it around her shoulders. His face was so near she could see the moon reflected in his eyes, a great shining sphere floating in a sea of onyx.

  She was held captive there as she felt her own eyes widen, locked on his. She couldn’t turn away, couldn’t even blink.

  Then, as quickly as it began, it was over, whatever it was. It had lasted only a moment, but it left her drained, her muscles quivering, as if she’d exercised hard.

  He sat back, an inscrutable look on his face. “Finish yer drink, Sarah.”

  When she’d emptied her glass, he stood and smiled down at her, extending his hand.

  “How thoughtless of me. Look at you, trembling there. I should have known it’d be too cold for you out here dressed as you are. Come on. I’ll take you back to yer cottage now.”

  He helped her to her feet and walked her to her door, where he did a formal little bow that made her feel like royalty from a far-gone era. Then, taking her hand, he lightly kissed the back of it before turning and walking away.

  She watched him briefly before moving inside and closing the door behind her. Clutching the hand he’d kissed tightly to her breast, she closed her eyes and leaned back against the wooden frame. She tilted her head so her nose was close to her shoulder and the jacket she still wore. Ian’s jacket. A deep breath and his fragrance filled her senses.

  She’d waited for the rush of emotion from his touch, but, again, there was only warmth. She might have suspected at long last the unexplainable feelings had abandoned her if not for the other awareness. The one she could explore now if she only had the courage.

  This was as good a time as any to start. It was what she’d promised herself she’d do when she came to this place—to embrace all that she had attempted to ignore for so long. Taking another deep breath, she reached out with her being and opened herself to the sensations all around her, the vibrations in the air, allowing them to wash over her.

  Whatever it was, it was still out there. She hadn’t been the only one watching Ian walk away.

  * * *

  Ian was annoyed. More than annoyed. Angry.

  He had been irritated enough that Dallyn planned to spy on the woman. But this was too much. Spying on her while he was with her was insulting.

  For a moment there in the garden he’d thought she was aware of the presence. But that was impossible.

  He stretched his neck, side to side, trying to relieve some of the tension there and took another drink from the glass he’d refilled. Carrying it and the bottle to his chair, he sat and stared into the fire.

  When he’d first realized Dallyn watched, he’d thought to teach him a lesson. He’d kiss her, give the sneaky Fae the show he deserved. But then the curtains opened and he glimpsed her soul yet again. Not calling out for his attention any longer. Quietly watching him, serenely studying him. Waiting patiently.

  He took another long, slow drink, feeling the warm liquid glide easily down his throat.

  Waiting for what?

  One more intriguing question about the intriguing woman he didn’t have time for.

  It was a damn good thing he was leaving tomorrow. Before it was too late.

  Three

  “I don’t like it any better than you do, Minister, but I can’t think of any other way to accomplish what we need to.” Lord Daniel Stroud stood glaring across the desk at his superior. “And I’m open to any suggestions you might have.”

  Lord Humphrey McCutcheon lowered his considerable bulk into his well-used chair. “You know I’ve none, Daniel, or I’d never consider letting you take this kind of risk.” He picked up a worn pipe from his desk and tapped it against his hand.

  Daniel knew the Minister had long ago given up smoking, but retained the pipe because handling the thing still gave him a sense of calm.

  They both needed some calm at the moment.

  “You’re confident the information from your source is correct?” Daniel continued to stand, looking down at the older man, who nodded affirmatively.

  “You’ve questioned him since he returned?”

  The Minister blinked rapidly, a sure sign of his frustration to any who knew him well. “I would have, had he returned.” He placed the
pipe carefully in its holder. “We’ve lost contact with him completely at this point. Nothing after the first message.”

  “Damn. That makes it trickier.”

  “The organization has impeccable credentials, tremendous political and financial backing worldwide. I’d even heard rumors that the head of their board has been considered for the Nobel.” The Minister shook his head. “We can’t take any chances on this one, Daniel. We have to find proof—absolute, irrefutable proof—before we can make a move of any sort. And don’t forget the subtleties we discussed. It’s our goal to preserve the integrity of the charity, if possible. Bringing down EHN would be a tremendous blow to countries all around the world that depend on the organization.”

  “I understand the need for discretion, Minister. And we’ve no clue who in the inner circle is funneling the money? No idea who the terrorists’ contact is?”

  “No. Assuming the intelligence is accurate.”

  Daniel raised an eyebrow in question.

  “Yes, yes. I’ve no doubt it’s accurate. Kensington was good at what he did.”

  The Minister’s reference to the missing agent in the past tense didn’t escape Daniel.

  “If he says it’s one of their officers, that he found a link, then I’m confident it’s there. Now we need to find it.”

  “And break it.”

  “There’s not much we can do through this office to assist—officially, at least.” The Minister’s hand snaked out, stroking the pipe where it lay. “We need to move quickly. The cash flow must be stopped, of course, but this latest…this weapon. We cannot allow it to reach the terrorists. We have to identify the persons behind this network and neutralize them.”

  “I’ll put my office to work on it immediately. For a large enough donation, I’m sure the entire board of EHN International will be cooperative. It then will be simply a matter of picking out the one we seek.”

  Daniel left, taking the elevator up from the secure administrative offices of the little-known governmental agency for which he worked. Reaching ground level, he used his cell phone to call his driver. He had to reach his London offices right away, set things in motion and then get back to Glaston House. There was a tremendous amount of preparation he’d need to put into place before these people invaded his home.

  It was almost beyond comprehension. An officer at one of the most prestigious humanitarian organizations on the face of the planet channeling funds to one of the deadliest terrorist groups?

  So it would seem. And him thinking to expose his own family to these people. But he was in the best position to do it. With his reputation and social status, no one would question it as they would if a normal operative were used.

  Fortunately for him, he had resources and contacts the normal operatives didn’t. He was going to need them, because he also had the distinct advantage of knowing what enemy they were really up against.

  While the Minister had his operatives investigating all avenues of information for clues to the identity of the people involved, Daniel knew they were actually searching for someone whose power came from outside the Mortal world. Which meant that person could only be identified—and dealt with—by someone whose power also came from outside the Mortal world.

  As he stepped off the curb and into the waiting car, Daniel flipped open his cell phone again and hit the speed dial.

  If Ian left right away, he could be at Glaston House before Daniel had time to regret his decision to act as bait.

  Four

  Sarah held down the backspace button, watching the little black line gobble up the words she’d written. Boring, uninspired words. It was times like this when she wished she wrote with a pen and notepad. Crumpling the paper and tossing it across the room would have to be more satisfying than this pale imitation of Pac-Man she’d been engaging in all afternoon. The characters wouldn’t speak to her. The story was just beyond her reach, as it had been for months. The only difference now was that she couldn’t even concentrate on trying to pull the words out of the ether.

  She could only think about him.

  Perhaps she should go with that. Use him in her book.

  No. Bad idea. She would never fantasize about a real man. Especially not this one. It would be too uncomfortable if she ever met him again.

  Which she wouldn’t. After all, he told her he was leaving today.

  Still, she always ended up with a little crush on her heroes, fascinated by them as she’d never been by the real men she met. She suspected that was why she could write them so well.

  That was also why she wouldn’t write about Ian. She didn’t want to be attracted to him. She wouldn’t be fascinated by him. She refused to be captivated by a man who probably suffered from random thoughts about whether or not he’d remembered to call his mother when he looked at her. Well, she amended her thoughts, his older sister at the very least. He was much too young for her.

  Besides, Ian was the type of man who was way too tempting. She wouldn’t risk her heart, wouldn’t risk rejection at the hands of a man again. Once had been enough.

  Brad. She had thought herself in love, at least in the beginning. But it wasn’t meant to be.

  Brad had quickly grown tired of her. Tired of her strange feelings and odd behavior. Tired of waiting for her trust fund to kick in. She should be grateful to him, however. He didn’t hang around long enough to turn her into a bitter replica of her grandmother.

  Instead he’d only stayed long enough to allow her to learn some basic truths about herself and life. She was meant to be alone.

  She stood and walked to the kitchen, unconsciously wiping the tear that trailed down her cheek.

  What had she accomplished today? Well, so far the only thing she’d managed was to work herself up into a really good feel-sorry-for-Sarah mood.

  She entered the little kitchen Martha had stocked in preparation for her arrival, and opened the freezer door. Not a single container of chocolate ice cream to be found. Now that was a real shame. Self-pity always made her ravenous. Apparently there were several “necessities” she’d need to pick up on her next visit to town.

  Since she wasn’t getting anywhere with her writing anyway, she decided to cook. Comfort food would make her feel better. It always did. A big, thick hamburger with thinly sliced sautéed onions. Maybe she’d leave off the bread so she didn’t have to feel too guilty. Then again, maybe not. At least it wasn’t ice cream. She could always go walking later to work off some of the calories.

  She pulled out the largest onion she could find and set to work, peeling and slicing. Midway through the task, tears streamed down her face. These were onion tears, not pity tears. Much better than before.

  With the last of the outrageously strong onion stirred into a slow sauté pan and a wonderful home-cooked aroma already building, she decided to take a minute for fresh air. She hurried out through the tiny conservatory and across the back porch.

  Her eyes still stinging from the fumes and blurred with tears, she stood on the top step waiting for the breeze to perform its magic, making the pain go away.

  She didn’t notice him at first.

  He stood quietly with the sun at his back, right at the edge of the forest that bordered the neat little lawn. Watching her.

  “Hi,” she called, and put a hand up to shade her eyes so she could see him more clearly.

  Big mistake. Onion juice. The stinging tears flooded back. Closing her eyes at the fresh onslaught, she stepped forward, finding only air, and missed the top stair completely.

  She threw out her arms to brace herself, fully expecting a face-first landing. She gasped when, instead of dirt, she encountered a pair of strong arms. How he’d made it across the lawn so quickly she had no idea and, at the moment, didn’t really care.

  She tried to lean back to get a better look at her rescuer. Didn’t they grow any unappealing men in this part of Scotland? Apparently not.

  He was tall—as tall as Ian. Where Ian was dark, this man was blond, with long ha
ir pulled back in a low ponytail. Where Ian’s eyes were a piercing black, his were a deep green.

  Wait a minute.

  When had Ian become the measuring stick against which she gauged other men?

  Still, this man had rescued her. “Thank you.”

  “Not at all.” He tilted his head and appeared to inspect her face. “You’re not harmed?”

  “No.” She smiled at him. “Thanks to you I’m not.”

  “Then what pain causes you to weep so?”

  Before she realized his intention, he loosened his grip and slid his hands down her arms until their hands met, where he clasped her fingers tightly.

  No time to prepare, no time to steel herself for the assault of overwhelming feelings.

  Feelings that didn’t come.

  “Onions,” she murmured, unable to comprehend yet another contact that brought no pain of unfettered emotions.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I was peeling onions. The fumes…”

  How is this possible?

  “Onions?” He lifted his nose to the air, like a tracking dog on scent. “They are the source of that glorious aroma?”

  “Glorious now that they’re cooking, maybe, but earlier…oh my gosh. My onions.” She jerked her hands from his and ran back to the kitchen.

  So, she’d be having crispy rather than sautéed onions with her hamburger. At least they hadn’t burned.

  “They certainly don’t look as good as they smell.”

  Sarah jumped at the sound of his voice, not having heard him follow her into the kitchen. He peered over her shoulder at the stove, his nose wrinkled in distaste.

  “I didn’t realize there were other guests here.” She turned and extended her hand, no longer concerned about what would happen if she touched this man. “I’m Sarah Douglas.”

  He paused for a moment and then took the hand she offered, but instead of the expected shake, he lifted it to his lips in an old-world gesture, brushing it with a touch as light as a butterfly wing.

  “I’m not a guest. I’m a neighbor, a friend of Ian’s. My name is Dallyn.” He dropped her hand to bend near the stove, sniffing deeply and licking his lips. “Ummm. This smell is wonderful.”