Highland Guardian

by Melissa Mayhue

  “Well, Ramos seemed nice enough to me. Maybe you should actually take the time to meet these men before you start warning other people away from them.”

  He captured her hand and smiled. Taking her drink from her, he placed it on the tray of another passing waiter and then began to pull her toward the music.

  “Oh, have no fear, Sarah, I’ve every intention of meeting them both.”

  They worked their way through the guests to the opposite end of the room, where several couples were already moving together to the alluring beat of the slow melody the orchestra played. He stepped into the flow of bodies, pulling her with him.

  She stopped and shook her head. “I’m really not much of a dancer, Ian. I don’t think I can do this.” She couldn’t possibly. Not here. Not in front of all these strangers.

  “Och, Sarah. Come to me, darlin’. Close yer eyes and relax,” he murmured as he drew her close, en-folding her in his arms. “Yer a Sensor, luv. Let yerself go. Feel the music.”

  Her arms slipped around him as if they’d a mind of their own. Muscles in his back flexed and released under her fingers as his body began to move in rhythm with the music and, pressed so close against him, her own responded. Before she even had time to think of anything other than how good he felt next to her, she was dancing.

  She closed her eyes and melted into Ian, losing all track of time. The music flowed, one melody into the next, without a break. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. The sensual combination of soft music and Ian’s hard body moving against hers was like warm honey slowly pouring over her senses. She simply wanted it to go on without end.

  Ian’s body abruptly stiffened and moved slightly away from her as he turned. She opened her eyes to find Ramos Servans standing next to them.

  “I’ve come to claim the dance you promised me, Miss Douglas.” He held out his hand.

  Ian’s eyes glittered dangerously, his fingers tightening at her waist.

  Sarah blinked rapidly, trying to clear her mind of its sensory overload. “I don’t believe you two have met. Ian, this is Ramos Servans. Ramos? Ian McCullough.” She looked between the two, not missing the fact that neither offered to shake hands with the other.

  In fact, as unlikely as it seemed, she had the distinct impression of two warriors sizing one another up, squaring off on the field of battle.

  * * *

  “Whisky. Straight. And keep it coming.”

  Ian emptied the glass and slammed it to the bar, motioning to the bartender for a refill.

  “Lucky thing your bloodline gives you immunity to the effects of alcohol.”

  “I dinna know about that, Danny. I’m no so sure I’d no rather prefer the effects right now.”

  His friend stood at his side, both of them watching the dance floor.

  “If it’s any consolation, my friend, she doesn’t look like she’s enjoying herself as much as when she danced with you.”

  Ian snorted. “Verra little consolation, with the way he’s holding her. I doubt you could pass a piece of paper between them.”

  “Pass a piece of…?” Daniel slapped him on the back. “Hell, Ian. When you were out there, if we’d put that piece of paper anywhere near the two of you it would have burst into flames.”

  When Ian only glared at him but didn’t reply, he continued, “Yes sir, flames. Hot enough to incinerate. Almost as heated as the looks you’re sending their direction right now.”

  “I’m that obvious, am I?” Ian dipped his head and smiled sheepishly.

  Daniel studied him for a moment before answering. “In all our years together, I don’t remember ever seeing you like this.”

  Ian shrugged. If Danny only knew what an under-statement that was. Ian himself didn’t understand all the feelings he was having. But he certainly recognized anger when he felt it. And watching the couple swaying together on the floor across from him, he felt anger flow through his body like the blood through his veins, pumping and surging with each breath he took. With each movement of Ramos’s hand on Sarah’s back.

  Sarah herself was a vision in gold, from her hair to her toes. Only her eyes sparkled in contrast. Gold set with emeralds, he amended his thought. Priceless.

  He’d known the gown was meant for her the minute he’d seen it in the shop. The same color as her hair. When he’d insisted on buying it for her, all he could think of was how she would look dressed in it. Now that she wore it, he couldn’t seem to think of anything but how she’d look as it came sliding off, the silky material gliding down her legs, pooling around her feet.

  “There he is. He’s arrived.”

  Daniel’s elbow to Ian’s ribs took him by surprise, pulling his focus from the woman on the dance floor.

  “What? Who’s arrived?”

  “Servans.”

  “I’ve been watching Servans.” With his hands on my Sarah. Where had that thought come from?

  “No. That’s only the brother, Ramos. He has nothing to do with EHN. I told you that earlier. He couldn’t possibly be the connection.” Daniel cast a withering look his direction. “Snap out of it, old man, get your mind back to business. Over there, by the door. Look at him.”

  A tall blond man in an impeccable white Armani tux stood at the entry to the ballroom, one hand carefully arranged in his front pocket. Ian recognized the designer’s work. He wore it himself. He, however, had better taste than to wear white to a function like this or to pose like a model on the runway.

  Danny was right.

  Ian might be only half Fae, but he could spot a full-blood anywhere. And he would bet any one of his estates that the man in the doorway was a full-blood Fae. He’d know for sure when he got closer.

  As he watched, the man surveyed the crowd with the haughty arrogance of a king looking over his peasants, his eye at last lighting on whatever or, more likely, whoever he sought.

  Following the direction of his gaze, Ian spotted the couple on the dance floor. Ramos had seen his brother’s entrance and was moving toward him, his hand at Sarah’s back, propelling her forward. It was them Reynard had looked for and he headed in their direction, satisfaction showing on his face.

  Ian angled his way through the crowd, intent upon intercepting them, Daniel at his back.

  “What are you going to do?” Daniel elbowed past an older couple, smiling to excuse himself.

  “I dinna know yet. But I do know what I’m no going to do. I’m no going to allow that Fae any time alone with Sarah. There’s no telling what he might say or do to her. Or worse, how his presence might affect her.”

  He silently thanked the eager salesgirl who’d been so focused on making an additional sale when she’d brought out those gloves.

  “At least with the gloves she’ll no touch him,” he muttered, pushing past a young woman who seemed quite fixed on gaining his attention.

  “Perhaps she should.”

  Daniel’s comment brought him to a halt. “What are you saying?”

  “You’re so certain they want to use Sarah against us. It’s possible she could be our key to learning about them. To confirming what Servans is, what he plans to do.”

  Ian started forward again, speaking over his shoulder as he went. “I’ll no do that to Sarah. She deserves better than to be used by any of us. She’s a woman, no a weapon.”

  “Think about it. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “No. And that’s all I’m saying.” He hurried forward, leaving Daniel behind.

  “Ian.” She murmured his name and smiled up at him as he reached out to touch her shoulder, reclaiming her from Ramos.

  Unexpected relief filled him as she snaked her arm around his back. He pulled her close and, tucking her tightly to his side, he touched his lips to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her. He looked up to find two sets of green eyes fixed on his every move.

  Reynard spoke first. “Ramos, you must introduce me to your lovely lady friend and her companion.” He closed the distance to Sarah, capturing her hand and bringing
it to his lips.

  “Sarah Douglas, this is my…brother. Reynard Servans.”

  How interesting. Ian’s eyes narrowed in thought. The pause had been slight, but he’d caught it. Very like the one he always suffered when he tried to introduce Henry as his uncle.

  “Enchanté, mademoiselle.” Reynard pressed another kiss to Sarah’s hand.

  “Are you…” She paused, her head tilted to the side as she spoke, her eyes narrowing as she glanced back and forth between the brothers. “Are you French?”

  “No, my lovely lady. My home is currently in Switzerland. I simply find French to be the most civilized language man has invented. Certainly the only one suitable for greeting a beautiful woman such as yourself.”

  “Well, thank you.” She turned to the brother, who had made the introductions. “I can see it runs in your family.”

  He acknowledged her comment with a smile and the barest dip of his head.

  “But you sound completely British.”

  “Though our family estate is in Switzerland, Ramos has lived in London since he left for school many years ago.” Reynard dropped her hand and turned to Ian. “And this would be…?”

  “Ian McCullough.” He introduced himself, choosing not to offer his hand or his title. Neither were necessary.

  Reynard didn’t offer to shake either, instead clasping his hands behind his back.

  “I’ve heard of you,” he murmured.

  “Good.”

  So, the game playing would be only thinly veiled. That was as it should be. He remembered now why the name struck a chord. Hearing the man lived in Switzerland had connected it for him. He’d come across it in his reading. He didn’t need Sarah to confirm what this man was. Their search was over.

  “Reynard Servans. Welcome to our home.” Daniel picked that moment to join the group, accompanied by Nessa. A new round of introductions ensued, followed by Daniel calling over a waiter and offering glasses of champagne all around.

  “A toast.” Daniel held up his glass. “To a prosperous year of fund-raising and success in feeding those in need.”

  Each of them lifted their glass, clinking them together in the middle of their little circle. As they did so, Daniel’s glass tilted, the bubbly liquid pouring down Sarah’s arm.

  “Oh my word, Sarah. I feel like such an ass. I’m so sorry.” Daniel looked around, motioning for a waiter.

  Ramos pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it down Sarah’s arm, soaking up the better part of the champagne.

  “No, no, it’s okay. Here.” She pushed the wet handkerchief away with a smile. “Well, I guess you won’t actually want to put that back in your pocket. But thank you for trying to help.”

  Ramos shrugged, tossing the wet square of linen onto the waiter’s tray.

  “I feel so bad about this.” Daniel reached toward Sarah. “Here, let me help you get that wet glove off.”

  Ian glanced sharply at his friend. Had Danny’s face not turned an unaccustomed shade of pink, Ian might have suspected, in light of their last conversation, that he’d done it on purpose.

  “I’ll have one of the maids rinse it out for you,” Nessa added.

  “Oh, don’t go to any bother, please. It’s fine, really,” Sarah responded, peeling the clinging, wet material away from her skin. Once it was off, she stretched out her arms and looked down at them, laughing. “Perhaps I’ll set a new fashion trend wearing only one.”

  Before she could lower her arms, Reynard withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the beads of liquid left behind. Her head snapped up and she started to pull back, but he captured her hand, continuing to wipe the moisture from her skin.

  At the contact, Sarah gasped, and Ian turned to see her eyes huge with shock and her mouth open, as if frozen in a silent scream. Then she crumpled.

  He caught her just before she hit the floor.

  * * *

  Blackness. Swirling tendrils of evil rising from a slimy pitch blanketing everything. Cold curling around her fingers, sliding up her arms, reaching for her face. Suffocating her.

  “No.” A piercing scream in her mind, it was barely a sigh as it left her lips, but it was enough to wake her. Enough to save her from the evil terror threatening to consume her.

  Sarah opened her eyes, unable to comprehend where she might be. The pain hit immediately. She blinked several times in an effort to get the little fragments of images to stop hopping around, to stop banging on the back side of her eyeballs with their sharp little hammers. Her head throbbed until she gave up and closed her eyes. Lying there breathing was the best she could hope for at the moment.

  But she found no peace in the dark behind her eyelids. The malevolence waited for her there. It had receded, but even now it writhed in the distance and she knew, without a doubt, it would come for her again.

  Gradually hushed angry whispers penetrated her consciousness. She worked to slow her panicked breathing, to listen, hoping one of the speakers could save her.

  “Dinna I tell you I’d no risk her touching that vile creature? What were you thinking to do such a thing, especially when you knew how I felt?”

  Was that Ian? It was so hard to tell with all the pounding in her head.

  “We needed to see what would happen. Now we have all the confirmation we sought.” A long pause, then the voice sounded calmer. “I suspect you’re simply not thinking clearly on this. If the positions were reversed, you would have done the same thing. You know it.”

  Daniel? What had Daniel done to make Ian so angry? If only she could concentrate. But the black continued to grow and slither there in the corner of her mind, seeping ever closer, distracting her.

  “No. Here’s what I know. Tomorrow morning, I’m putting Sarah in my car and I’m leaving here. You deal with them. I’m done. I’m driving straight back to Thistle Down, and I’m no stopping until I’ve crossed the waters where I know she’s safe from them.”

  “Ian, be reasonable. You can’t…”

  “For the first time since we started this I am being reasonable. I should never have brought her near them. My mind’s made up.”

  “Dallyn won’t be pleased.”

  “Dallyn can bloody well go bugger himself, for all I care. I’m done with it. All of it.”

  A door slammed and the noise jarred her head, inciting the hideous roiling mass that threatened her, encouraging it to move forward.

  She tried to sit up. Almost at once, hands were on her shoulders, gently pushing her back. Hands sliding down her arms, fingers feathering over her face.

  Comfort, concern, fear, protectiveness. All swirling together, wrapping around her in a defensive cocoon, sheltering her in warmth, driving back the evil.

  Ian.

  She reached for his hand and captured it with her own, pressing it to her cheek.

  “Rest for now, luv.” His free hand stroked her hair. “Yer safe here. I’ll see to that.”

  “What happened?” His touch strengthened her and her voice returned. She opened her eyes.

  “I suppose that’s a question I’ll be asking you.” His soft smile warmed her.

  This time when she pulled herself up to sit, he assisted her.

  “I’m not sure. I remember pulling off my glove and then Reynard started to wipe at my arm…” She stopped speaking as the full memory washed over her.

  Pure evil. Worse than anything she’d ever known. Worse than anything she’d ever even imagined. All coming from Reynard.

  Ian saw it in her face, or sensed it—she didn’t know which. She didn’t care. His strong arms en-folded her, pulling her close.

  “I’ve never felt anyone that evil in my whole life.” She pulled back from him, just enough to look up at his face. “It was awful, Ian. His touch…” How could she make him understand what she’d felt? “I still feel it on my skin. I see the evil, actually see it, every time I close my eyes. Horrible black writhing pools of it.”

  He said nothing, but tucked her head against his should
er and lightly stroked her back, holding her close, driving the horror away.

  Until she looked up and saw the glass doors and the impenetrable shadows that lay beyond them. A tremor ran through her whole body. Those same doors that had framed the awful grinning face last night.

  “Lie back and try no to think anymore. We’ll talk later, when you’ve rested and you feel stronger.”

  “I can’t relax here, Ian. Not with those doors. Not when I keep thinking that at any moment that man could be there again. Watching.”

  He seemed to understand her fears and, although he’d assured her this afternoon her stalker was gone, that she had nothing to worry about from that quarter, he didn’t argue with her now.

  Instead he stood and lifted her into his arms, carrying her up the stairs as if she weighed nothing at all. Kissing her on the forehead, he gently deposited her on the bed.

  “Sleep well, luv. I’ll be down the stairs if you need me.”

  Alone? He was going to leave her alone? She couldn’t fend off the blackness by herself. It only went away when he was there.

  “Don’t.”

  He stopped, his hand on the doorknob, and turned, looking at her questioningly.

  “Please don’t leave me alone.”

  He took a deep breath and walked back to her, sitting down beside her on the bed.

  “Verra well. Get yerself ready for sleep and then call down to me. I’m going to double-check all the doors so you’ve nothing to worry about. All right?”

  She nodded and quickly climbed off the bed as he stood and left the room.

  She might value her independence, but, just this once, she was willing to do anything, even meekly follow instructions, to ensure she didn’t have to spend the night alone.

  Flipping on the bathroom light, she noted with disgust that she was even paler than usual, emphasizing dark smudges under her eyes. Fear certainly hadn’t done anything to improve her looks.

  She shook her head as she slipped out of her beautiful new dress. Turning the hot water on full blast, she lathered her arm, and scrubbed until it turned pink.

  Maybe she should give up and go home early. Her writer’s block showed no signs of abating in spite of what she’d expected when she came on this trip. She couldn’t find the words to put on paper any better here than she had at home. She wasn’t accomplishing anything, except scaring herself silly. At least there wasn’t anything like what she’d experienced tonight back home in Denver.