Embrace the Highland Warrior

by Anita Clenney

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2011 by Anita Clenney

  Cover and internal design © 2011 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover illustration by Rae Monet

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  FAX: (630) 961-2168

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  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  This book is dedicated to my hero, my husband, Austin, for believing in me and running alongside as I chased my dream.

  Prologue

  It wasn’t that twenty-seven was too young to die; she just had too many loose ends in her life, things she needed to fix. Shay huddled in the darkness, heart thudding, as she listened to the floor’s ominous creak. Images flickered out of sequence in her head, Aunt Nina in the kitchen. Cody and his brothers playing hide-and-seek in the yard. Shadows lurking in the dark, statues, and empty graves. A hayloft and a dark-haired boy—almost a man—looking at her with passion and bewilderment on his face, the one face she’d never been able to forget.

  She shut her eyes and tried to quiet her breathing as the footsteps crept closer to her hiding place. She heard an evil chuckle, the sound thick with anticipation, as a broken table leg skidded across the floor next to her hiding place. Was that what Mr. Calhoun had heard just before his heart attack? The first of her clients to die. And Mrs. Lindsey, now with a gaping hole where her throat should have been. They’d been vandalized too.

  Shay forced her eyes open, terrified she would find his face inches away, but only his boot was there, the square toe so close she could have touched it. She clamped her lips together and listened to him breathe while her own lungs screamed, until nothing mattered but the next breath of air.

  Chapter 1

  She wasn’t in Scotland. That was the first thing Shay registered when she smashed her foot against the wall. She sat up, disoriented. This bedroom hadn’t been hers for nine years. Rubbing her toe, she tilted her head, trying to pinpoint the sound that had woken her. Was it the strange dream? This one was always the same, a place that glowed, a man she couldn’t see, speaking a language she couldn’t understand. It was better than the one where she was buried alive in a casket, listening as dirt fell on the lid. The only twist in her dreams these past weeks was that Cody haunted them. Shay hoped this impromptu trip would exorcise at least one ghost from her life.

  The scuttling noise came again. Probably just mice. Aunt Nina said they’d become a problem with the house empty. Another guilt trip to get Shay to move back. Seemed everyone she knew was trying to get her to Virginia. She turned on the dim lamp next to her bed and saw the silver candlestick, exactly where she had forgotten it. She hadn’t been brave enough to come back for it. She turned it over and stared at the picture taped underneath. Sighing, she put it back and climbed out of bed. It was already 9:00 p.m. She’d slept for hours. Sheer exhaustion and fear had a way of doing that.

  Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that the last thing she ate was a pack of tasteless crackers on the airplane. She needed food, if the mice had left anything. Naked, she walked to the bathroom and checked her clothes, but they were still wet from the deluge of rain that welcomed her the moment she arrived, which wouldn’t have been a problem if the airline hadn’t lost her luggage. She’d been so glad to see a bed, she hadn’t worried about putting her clothes in the dryer.

  She picked the driest thing, a damp T-shirt, and slipped it over her head, wrinkling her nose at the smell. Bourbon, courtesy of the drunk on the airplane. Oh well, the mice wouldn’t care if she went commando and smelled like a brewery.

  She cracked a window to air out the room and saw the two-story brick manor next door. The MacBain house. Her eyes sought out the dark window on the top floor. Her heart gave a little kick.

  Another soft noise from downstairs sent a chill up her as she remembered huddling in the darkness, afraid to breathe. Shay grabbed the silver candlestick and moved to the door. She felt safer with something heavy in her hand, even against mice. Her bare feet padded across the hall toward the stairs. She flipped the light switch, but nothing happened. That bulb was always burning out. It didn’t matter. She’d spent most of her life in this house. She could walk it blindfolded. Stepping lightly, she avoided the squeaky fourth step and heard the noise again, so soft she wasn’t sure if she imagined it. Her hand brushed the banister at the bottom as she stepped into the foyer. Another sound registered in her head. Not tiny claws, but the creak of a footstep. Something cold and hard pressed against the back of her head.

  “Don’t move,” a low voice growled.

  Blood rushed from her head to her feet. How could he be here if he was in jail? Don’t panic. If you lose your head, your attacker will win. She’d practiced this a thousand times, playing soldiers and spies. In the seconds that stretched like droplets of frozen time, Shay forced her body to move, spinning quickly to clear his weapon. She struck with the candlestick, and something clattered to the floor. The gun?

  A hard hand grabbed her wrist, and the candlestick fell. She lifted her knee and heard a grunt. Lunging, she tried to get past him. His foot shot out, and she crashed to the floor. What little breath she had left exploded from her lungs as a muscular body landed on top of her. A startled exclamation hissed next to her ear. She shoved against broad shoulders, but the weight didn’t budge. Lifting her head, she took a bite of T-shirt and flesh.

  He leaned back, swearing as he grabbed both wrists. He held them over her head with one hand, crushing her knuckles against the hardwood floor. His other hand clamped over her mouth. She twisted and jerked her wrists, freeing one, but he moved his hand from her mouth and recaptured the arm. She tried to use her teeth again, but he countered every attempt she made to free herself, as if he were inside her head. She went limp. If she didn’t struggle, maybe she could reason with him.

  His face was so close she could feel his breath, warm against her ear. They spoke at the same time.

  “What do you want?”

  “Who are you?” His voice was soft, deadly.

  Shay drew in a sharp breath that echoed close to her ear.

  “Shay?”

  “Cody?”

  She lay on the floor, pinned under him, as her mind spun back to a time of warmth and laughter, betrayal and pain, and above it all, the agony of love. She opened h
er mouth but couldn’t speak. In spite of the darkness she closed her eyes and tried to pull in his scent. She’d always loved how he smelled, like mountains and air, but all she could smell now was bourbon.

  “Shay?” His voice was strained with disbelief. He leaned back, and his weight shifted, pressing his lower body against hers. A finger touched her hair and then brushed her face, like a blind man searching for proof. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was going to ask you the same thing.” He was supposed to be out of the country, as usual, trying to save the world from deranged dictators and terrorists.

  “I thought someone had broken in. I didn’t know you were coming.”

  Stillness settled around them again. The only movement, breaths mingling, chests moving in unison, and was that a stirring of another sort, lower? The memories started a fresh assault. She shoved against his shoulders. “Get off me.”

  “Sorry.” The weight lifted, and he helped her to her feet. She yanked free, using the five steps it took to reach the light switch to compose her face. She’d always wondered what she would do if she saw him again, what she would say. What he would say. She’d never pictured it happening like this. Her hand hovered over the switch. Drawing in a steadying breath, she flipped on the light, squinting at the brightness, and turned. Her mouth dropped open.

  The essence of him was still there; the boy next door who’d kept her secrets, bandaged her scrapes, and comforted her against his scrawny chest, but there was nothing scrawny about him now. He was tall, with broad shoulders and lean muscles undisguised by his soft gray T-shirt and worn jeans. Dark hair brushed his collar, giving him a rugged, dangerous look. His face was still stunning. Strong jaw, straight nose, and those intense hazel eyes that even at nineteen had tempted married women to watch as he walked past. Her gaze caught on the scar above his eyebrow, a trophy from the motorcycle wreck when he was sixteen, and she remembered the terror of finding him sprawled on the rocky hill, so still she thought he was dead.

  He appeared dumbstruck as well, staring as if she were the ghost. He swallowed hard, eyes moving down her body and back up.

  Shay remembered what she wasn’t wearing. She grabbed the edge of her damp T-shirt and stretched it down as far as she could, which further outlined her breasts. “Could you hand me that sweater on the coatrack?” It was a long, belted cardigan, probably dusty, but she didn’t care.

  He blinked and nodded, reaching for the sweater. A tattoo covered the side of his neck. A series of swirls. Maybe it was something to do with Special Forces. She accepted the long sweater and slipped her arms inside, watching as he picked up his gun and holstered it.

  “Sorry about that. You don’t smell like you.” He sniffed, nostrils flaring inappreciatively. “Smells like a party.” His gaze locked on her left hand. “Are you alone?”

  “Yes. A guy on the airplane spilled bourbon on my shirt.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Her first reaction was to say it was her home, she could come whenever she wanted, but it hadn’t been her home for nine years, so some explanation was due. “I was supposed to meet Renee in Leesburg, but she wasn’t answering her phone. Since I had to drive this way, so I thought I’d stop here first.” And face old ghosts. “I was surprised the gate wasn’t locked.” It stayed locked when she was here.

  “Marcas has been working on it,” Cody said, darting another glance at her left hand.

  “How long are you staying here?” she asked, fiddling with the belt.

  He frowned, his hazel eyes so familiar, yet different, as if something fierce lurked in the depths. “I live here,” he said. “Next door, I mean. I’ve been here for months. Nina didn’t tell you?”

  “No.” Shay bent and picked up the candlestick to hide her shock. He lived here. Her reports on Cody were always the same, off fighting battles in some godforsaken place, putting himself in death’s way so other people could live free. And now, here he was standing in front of her, larger than life, and all the accusations she thought would come shooting off her tongue if she ever saw him again had dried up and blown away. All she could think about was twining her fingers in his hair and kissing him, finding out if his lips felt as familiar as his body had, pressed against hers. Get a grip, Shay. “Are you still Special Forces?”

  “No. I’m a PI now. I have an office in town. I’m surprised Nina didn’t tell you.”

  Why hadn’t she? If Shay had given in to Nina’s pleas and moved back here, it would have been one heck of a shock. She licked her lips. “I need a drink.”

  Cody nodded, watching her. “Nina has wine, but you don’t…” he cleared his throat. “Do you drink wine now?”

  She’d tried it once, when she was sixteen. They’d sneaked one of Nina’s bottles out to the lake. Half a bottle later, Shay threw up in the bushes while Cody held her hair. “No.” But it might be a good time to start. “I’ll see what’s in the fridge. I fell asleep as soon as I got here.” She hadn’t even brushed her teeth or washed her face. She probably had mascara smeared under her eyes.

  “Should be something here. We try to keep a few things on hand in case Nina pops in.”

  Shay set the candlestick by the stairs, and Cody followed her into the big kitchen where she’d eaten most of her childhood meals, more often than not, with a MacBain boy or two, sometimes all three, joining them at the table. The Four Musketeers, Nina had called them.

  Shay found two cans of soda in the fridge and turned to find Cody leaning against the counter studying her, something working hard behind his eyes.

  “Still like Pepsi?” she asked.

  He nodded. Shay glanced at him again, wondering if she could just light into him and demand answers after nine years, or if there was some kind of etiquette regarding the first face-to-face with a best friend who had betrayed you. “Sorry I bit you.”

  Cody rubbed his shoulder and a smile played at his lips, sending a tingle blasting through Shay’s chest. “You’ve still got wicked teeth. Knee’s not bad either.” He started to cup his groin, but caught himself. “You didn’t forget everything we taught you.” His smile faded. “You’re sure I didn’t hurt you?”

  “I’m fine.” Where was this concern years ago, when it mattered? She eyed the Glock holstered at his side. “Do you always carry a gun?”

  “When I’m working. Do you always carry a candlestick?”

  “I heard a noise. Aunt Nina said there were mice.”

  “You were going to throw the candlestick at a mouse? Well, you always did have good aim.”

  Thanks to the endless hours of practice they’d bullied her into.

  “She wants us to get a cat for the barn—” he met her eyes and looked quickly away. “I’ve been meaning to call an exterminator.” His gaze narrowed. “What’s wrong? You seem jumpy.”

  Of course she was jumpy. She’d intended to confront memories, not Casper in the flesh. “I had a break-in,” she blurted out, not wanting him to know it was his presence that had upset her. “I guess I’m still a little shaken.” She handed him the Pepsi, keeping her lashes at half mast in case he could still see through her lies.

  “Your house?”

  “My shop. The police arrested the guy after I left.”

  “Was anything taken?”

  “Not that I could tell.” She hadn’t stayed long enough to check. “The guy claimed it was all a mistake.”

  “Nina said you sell antiques.”

  “I do. I’m opening another shop in Leesburg with Renee.” Shay wished she had gone straight there. Renee was bound to show up sooner or later. Cody’s eyes flared at the mention of Renee. Shay knew why Renee didn’t like Cody, but what did Cody have against Renee? They’d always gotten along before Renee moved. “What made you decide to move back home?” Shay asked.

  The overhead light reflected in his eyes, highlighting flecks of gold. “It was just time.” He set the drink down and ran his finger over a gouge that had been in the pine table for as long as Shay could remembe
r. “Lots of memories here. Shame for the place to sit empty. Nina’s crazy to choose Matilda over this.”

  The place was beautiful, a quaint house smack in the middle of rolling hills, surrounded by woods. At one time this had been the carriage house. When the MacBains bought the estate, they sold Nina the smaller home.

  “You know Nina. She’s like some kind of fairy godmother, always trying to fix everyone’s life. Even a crazy cousin who dreams of traveling the world before she croaks.”

  “If Matilda croaks, it’ll be from one of the tour guides pushing her off a pyramid.” Cody popped the top on his Pepsi. “Nina’s threatening to call off the trip to Egypt in the spring and stick Matilda in a retirement home, if she doesn’t stop being such a pest.”

  It irritated Shay that he knew more about the woman who had raised her than she did, but it had been her choice to stay away. “Aunt Nina said Marcas and Lachlan would be back in a couple of days.”

  “Aye. Tomorrow, I expect.”

  The sound of his voice made her ache inside. She’d forgotten the hint of accent she’d found so enchanting. “You’ve spent nearly all your life in America, and still you have a touch of brogue.”

  He shrugged. “Guess you can take the boy out of Scotland, but you can’t take Scotland out of the boy.” Ewan and Laura MacBain had moved here when Cody and his brothers were little more than babies, but they were Scots through and through.

  “Remember when we were kids, you and Marcas tried to teach me some words in Gaelic to use as our secret code?” Shay smiled.

  Cody’s gaze dropped to her left hand again. “I’m surprised you’re not married by now, with a couple of kids of your own.” His voice was soft; his eyes weren’t. “You always loved kids. Are you waiting for a real knight in shining armor to show up?”

  Shay gripped the counter until the edge bit into her hands. “Knights aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Armor tends to get rusty after a while. What about you? Are you married?” Nina hadn’t mentioned it, but she also hadn’t said he’d moved back here.