Highland Knight

by Cindy Miles

  They claimed to be from the fourteenth century.

  She had the inclination to fully believe them, too.

  Even in their flimsy state of enchantedness, the primitive male power that poured from each warrior left her with little doubt that they were who, and from when, they claimed. No man she’d ever met had come within an inch of putting out the sort of male vibes these guys were putting out. Sort of like being in the midst of a pack of alpha wolves, she supposed, yet not in a threatening way. She found it quite hard to explain, really—even if to just herself.

  Finally, Ethan spoke. ‘‘Amelia, my kinsmen.’’ He nodded in the direction of each one, starting from her right ‘‘Sorely. Aiden. Rob. Torloch. Gilchrist.’’ He glanced at her. ‘‘Rob and Gil are my brothers. Sorely and Aiden are cousins, from my father’s brother.’’

  Amelia met each one’s stare. Fierce, all of them, and the resemblance between Ethan and his brothers— even his cousins—was uncanny. All with various shades of dark hair, all worn long, all with a thin braid to each temple. Ethan was the only one, though, with those pewter gray eyes.

  Her eyes clapped on Torloch, and he stared right back. He looked different from the rest, with hanks of dark blond hair, high cheekbones, and a pair of eyes she’d not soon forget: one brown, the other nearly white-blue. Before she could say anything, Rob answered her silent question.

  ‘‘Tor there was a wild bairn. Our da found him in the wood whilst on a hunt. Half starved, he was, and barely walkin’.’’

  ‘‘Aye,’’ said Gilchrist. ‘‘An’ givin’ Da’s leg a good once-over, as if he thought ’twas mutton for supper.’’

  Tor gave Amelia a gentle smile and a curt nod. ‘‘Lass, I’m no’ nearly as wild as all that anymore, I promise.’’

  ‘‘Mayhap no’, but I’ve seen him tear a man’s arm clean—’’

  ‘‘ ’Tis enough for tonight, lads,’’ Ethan interrupted Rob. ‘‘The girl needs her rest.’’

  Tor continued to look at her, but with a glint of mischief in his mismatched eyes.

  Aiden nodded. ‘‘So right, Ethan. I’ll make sure she gets to her chambers safely. Come along, lass.’’

  He winked at Amelia.

  Ethan gave Aiden a big, mean scowl. ‘‘You’ll stay down here with the others, fool.’’ He glanced at Amelia. ‘‘Come, girl. Whilst you still can.’’

  Amelia gave the five warriors a smile. ‘‘Good night. Even if I’m making you all up in my head, it was very nice meeting you all. If I wake up and you’re still here, I’ll talk to you some more.’’

  The men chuckled.

  Just as she and Ethan reached the stairs, the front door swung open and Guthrie walked in. He stopped, Amelia and Ethan stopped, and everyone stared at one another.

  ‘‘ ’Bout time,’’ Guthrie muttered, yanking off his soft cap. ‘‘ ’Twas getting’ damn near suffocatin’, hidin’ you big louts from the lass.’’ He shuffled off across the hall. ‘‘Breakfast’s at eight sharp, girl. Dunna be late.’’

  Well, if she was crazy, at least she had company. She fought a giggle. ‘‘I won’t. Good night.’’

  Guthrie muttered as he disappeared into the kitchen.

  With a final wave to the warriors, Amelia started up the stairs, Ethan close behind.

  Once in the passageway, Amelia looked at Ethan, who now walked beside her. ‘‘Why at sundown?’’

  The big man stared straight ahead, his brows pulled together. Finally, he shrugged, but didn’t look at her. ‘‘I canna tell you most of what’s happened. Especially about our existence.’’

  Amelia noticed how his yards of plaid swished around his muscular legs as he walked. ‘‘How come?’’

  With one heavily chiseled arm, he adjusted the sword poking out of its sheath over one shoulder. Again, she observed the wide band of silver encircling his bicep, as well as the intricate carvings engraved in the metal.

  He stopped, and it was then Amelia noticed that they’d already made it to her room. Ethan looked down at her, his ghostly form very real and taking up quite a lot of space in the tight corridor. ‘‘Because one minute, lass, we were fightin’ for our lives. The next minute’’—he waved his hand, the muscles flinching with the movement—‘‘we were surrounded by a thick cloud of mist. And then, darkness.’’

  Amelia liked to hear his strange accent, so heavy and thick she could barely understand him at times. She suspected it was the combination of medieval and Scottish that was so intriguing. His O’s sounded like oo’s; so instead of down, it was doon. And instead of don’t, he said dunna. And canna instead of can’t. More times than not, she found herself wishing he’d carry on a long conversation, just like she’d done in high school with the foreign exchange student from Norway who’d sat behind her in World History. She’d thought his accent was pretty darn cool.

  Ethan’s was downright charming. Sexy-charming, at that. As in melt-in-your-shoes sexy-charming . . .

  ‘‘Amelia?’’

  She blinked. ‘‘Yes?’’

  A grin, one Ethan apparently fought, pulled at the corners of his mouth. ‘‘You were rollin’ in heather.’’

  Did she forget to mention how incredibly sexy it was when he rolled his R’s? ‘‘What’s rollin’ in heather mean?’’

  Those silvery eyes bore into hers. ‘‘It means your inner thoughts overcame you.’’

  Amelia smiled. So he knew—suspected, at least— that she was ogling him in some way. So what? She was a grown woman with plenty of ogling rights, she thought. ‘‘That’s what writers do, Mr. Munro. Lots and lots of heather rollin’.’’

  This time, he grinned. ‘‘Verra well, lass.’’ He leaned a bit closer. ‘‘The name’s Ethan.’’

  She gulped. And she was pretty sure he saw that, too. ‘‘Okay, Ethan.’’ She pushed open her door. ‘‘I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?’’

  Just then, Jack scooted out of her room. As he neared Ethan, the black cat skidded to a halt, arched his back, and hissed.

  Amelia scolded him. ‘‘Jack, it’s just Ethan, so you might as well stop getting all wacky crazy and be nice.’’

  Jack meowed and scooted down the dark passageway, disappearing into the shadows.

  Amelia frowned. ‘‘Scaredy-cat.’’ She glanced at Ethan before stepping through the door. He leaned against the passageway wall now, arms crossed, just . . . staring. ‘‘Are you going to make me dream again?’’

  He studied her for some time. ‘‘Do you want me to?’’

  She considered. ‘‘Yeah. I do.’’

  Ethan gave a slight nod. ‘‘Verra well, then.’’

  ‘‘And one more thing,’’ she said. ‘‘During that space of time that you gain substance? Do you guys run around eating everything Guthrie can fix, take showers, take naps? What do you do?’’

  Ethan pushed off the wall and came closer, and Amelia had to tip her head back to keep eye contact. ‘‘Until now, aye, we did all of those things. Now go to bed, girl. I promise, you’ll need your rest for the morn.’’

  She nodded. ‘‘Okay. Good night.’’

  ‘‘And to you.’’

  With that, Amelia shut the door. Right away, she noticed her breath came faster, and her heart thumped heavy. Now, how on earth can a seven-hundred -year-old enchanted guy make her have that sort of reaction? She shook her head.

  You’re rollin’ in heather again, lass . . .

  Amelia jumped. ‘‘Stop that!’’

  Ethan’s laugh echoed, whether in her head only, or from just outside the door, she couldn’t quite tell.

  She didn’t quite care. It was a deep, hypnotic sound that rolled smooth and heavy from his tongue and was extremely male, and she decided she could certainly make do with hearing it as often as possible. But for some reason, even though she’d forced the sound out of him a few times already, she felt like it wasn’t all that easy to make Ethan Munro laugh.

  How she loved a good challenge.

  She might have a serious case of writer’
s block, but she hardly ever lacked the wit to make someone laugh.

  Kicking off her shoes, she changed back into her yoga pants and tank top, brushed her teeth, wrapped her hair into a ball with a scrunchie, and climbed into bed. Lying there, she stared at the ceiling and thought about everything that had happened since she’d slid behind the wheel of her rental car at the airport in Edinburgh. Mostly, since she’d set foot on Munro land.

  She’d come to the Highlands in search of inspiration, peace, tranquillity—anything to jump-start her brain, which had turned to a mushy, useless, Cream of Wheat sort of thing lately. Well, over the past year, anyway. Perhaps her major brain cramp had a little something to do with finding out the one guy she’d trusted with her heart—Dillon—had not only found himself another girlfriend, but had decided to relocate. To Italy. With the new girlfriend. And their new baby.

  Amelia kicked off the covers and blew out a gusty sigh. She wasn’t a bitter person, not by any means. Really, she’d only wished that Dillon’s wein—er, ahem—his masculinity would shrivel up and fall off like some aged old prune the first three months after the breakup. She’d cried, she’d gotten mad, and she’d poked the Dillon doll ZuZu had made her at least three times each day with very sharp pins. It had made her feel better. After that, she’d decided to think of the entire ugly situation as a big fat learning curve in her life.

  For some reason, though, her brain had decided to stop functioning as a writer. Ideas would come to her, and they’d fizzle out. The thought had struck her, more than once, that just maybe she’d exhausted all of her murderous, who-done-it ideas. Maybe she needed to take her writing in a different direction. Try something new.

  Nothing came to mind.

  At least, not until she’d found a group of enchanted fourteenth-century warriors semiliving in a dark castle in the Highlands, not to mention the leader of the clan, who was referred to in lore and legend as the Bluidy Munro. She could barely wait to hear the full tale in the morning.

  She flipped off the bedside lamp, fluffed her pillow, and clasped her hands behind her head. She no longer worried about Jack—he’d learned where the escape route was through the kitchen door, so if he needed to go out, he would. Otherwise, he’d explore the castle at his leisure. Too many castle rats to chase, she thought with a shudder.

  Meanwhile, Amelia wanted to hurry up and go to sleep, just so she could experience another of Ethan’s bizarre implanted dreams. She stared at the ceiling some more, turned over, glanced at her Indiglo watch, which read 1:20 a.m., turned back over, and then closed her eyes. After a while, drowsiness washed over her and Amelia felt herself drifting off to sleep . . .

  ’Twill be you next, lass . . .

  With a gasp, Amelia woke up. Sitting straight up in bed, she found herself breathless, her forehead beaded with sweat, her heart slamming against her ribs. Only the light she’d left on in the bathroom cast a slit of dim glow across the chamber floor. Everything looked murky still.

  She shook her head. That dream, she thought. She tried to remember everything at once, but instead of full scenes, it’d been flashes of . . . something. Something frightening. A man, hooded—no, cloaked— chasing her through the dark walls of a castle. He stopped and stared right at her, but the shadows swallowed him up, and Amelia couldn’t make out his features. She wasn’t sure exactly why he’d frightened her, but he had. In a big way. In a big panicky way . . .

  Just then, the temperature in the room dropped. Amelia’s breath puffed out icy white with each exhale. ‘‘What the heck?’’ She jumped out of bed, rubbing her bare arms, her teeth chattering. Turning in a circle, she took a quick inventory of the room. The light in the bathroom went out, and she cursed. Edging over to the bedside lamp, she flipped it on. Then off. Then on again.

  Nothing.

  The hairs on her neck stiffened, and the room, already cold, grew more frigid. Even the flooring felt like ice beneath her bare feet. An unusual feeling of dread crawled across her spine, made her quicken her steps, and she hurried through the dark to the door.

  It wouldn’t open.

  Shaking the handle, she cursed again under her breath. ‘‘What is going on? Ethan?’’ she hollered. ‘‘If you’re doing this, it’s not funny!’’

  Amelia’s throat closed, she clawed at the door, and then through the wall, Ethan sifted to stand beside her.

  ‘‘What is it, lass?’’ he bellowed.

  Just that fast, the icy frost dissipated, the bathroom light flickered on, as well as the bedside lamp.

  Ethan stood over her, his face pulled into a frown. ‘‘What are you yelling about?’’ He inspected her, foot to head. ‘‘Why are you shivering? It canna be so cold in here.’’

  Amelia blinked. ‘‘What kind of dream was that?’’ She gave her arms a vigorous rubbing, just to ward off the remaining goose bumps. ‘‘Are you trying to test me or something?’’

  Ethan’s brows pulled close. ‘‘What are you about, girl? What dream?’’

  Amelia could do nothing except stare. ‘‘You know, the dream you just showed me.’’ Suddenly aware of her braless condition, especially when Ethan’s gaze kept dropping from hers to several inches below, she crossed her arms over her chest. ‘‘Remember, you said you were going to put another dream in my head?’’

  ‘‘Aye, but ’tis the usual fashion to fall into a slumber first, dunna you think?’’ he said.

  Amelia glanced around the room. The room that looked completely normal. Unlike how it’d felt moments before. She returned her gaze to Ethan’s. ‘‘Yes, and I’ve been asleep and dreaming now for, well, I don’t know how long. But long enough to know you planted one scary dream in my head. I mean, you really could have just saved it to tell me with the others in the morning—’’

  ‘‘Amelia, I didna make you dream.’’ He cocked his head. ‘‘You’ve been abed for only a score of minutes. ’’

  With a laugh, Amelia met his puzzled expression. ‘‘Don’t be ridiculous,’’ she said, then glanced at her Indiglo watch.

  The hairs on the back of her neck went rigid once more.

  The time read one 1:25 a.m.

  She shuddered.

  Only five minutes had lapsed.

  And Ethan hadn’t been the one to lapse them.

  Chapter 7

  "You lads settle down!" Guthrie hollered from the kitchen archway. "What, by the Bruce’s blade, are ye shouting about?’’

  ‘‘Somethin’ strange happened to Amelia in her sleeping chamber,’’ Rob answered. ‘‘She’s a bit out o’ her head, by the by, methinks.’’

  ‘‘Aye,’’ said Aiden, rubbing his chin. ‘‘And she’s refusin’ to sleep anywhere else save that cursed chamber.’’ He grinned. ‘‘I told her I’d be more than happy to guard her whilst she slumbered.’’

  ‘‘That’d be like havin’ the wolf guard the sheep, aye?’’ said Torloch.

  Aiden kept that idiotic grin affixed.

  Ethan studied Amelia. She sat upon one of the long sitting benches before the hearth. She wore some sort of strange headgear, with a slender piece that stretched to her mouth. She’d called it a microrecorder. In truth, he’d never seen the like.

  At the moment, she seemed verra deep in thought.

  Earlier, she’d been talking into that microrecorder, although he couldna warrant what she’d been saying.

  At the present, he had other pressing matters, the foremost being what in the king’s bluidy hell had happened in her chamber. And with all his kin talking at once, he couldn’t make sense of anything. Even old Guthrie was stomping about, muttering and cursing and throwing his hands in the air.

  Ethan stepped forward. ‘‘Enough, lads. Aiden, for Christ’s sake, move away from the girl and give her some bluidy breathing room. And, Guthrie, blast your arse, stop waving your arms about and be silent for a handful of moments.’’ He eyed the others, and they quieted. Scrubbing a hand across his jaw, Ethan studied Amelia. She had her long hair pulled back into some sort of floppy ball
, high on her head, and wore the most intriguing tunic and trews—both black, formfitting, with a white stripe down each side. The tunic zipped up the front, so Amelia claimed, and she’d shown him a time or two how the contraption worked. Ethan thought to investigate that interesting bit of modern garb later. ‘‘Can you remember the whole of the dream, lass?’’ he asked. The fact that he’d not placed the dream in her mind more than bothered him.

  With a quick glance at his kin, Amelia settled her gaze solely on Ethan. ‘‘It wasn’t a long dream, and had no beginning, no ending.’’ She blew out a hearty breath. ‘‘I was being chased by a man in a dark cloak’’—she pointed at Ethan—‘‘dressed like all of you, in that long cloth wrap and boots. I’m not sure, but I think he was chasing me through this castle.’’

  ‘‘Was the man’s plaid the same colors as ours?’’ asked Gilchrist. ‘‘Same pattern?’’

  Amelia studied Gil’s plaid for a moment, then shook her head. ‘‘He was in shadows, so I really couldn’t tell.’’ She stood, stuck her hands on her hips, and paced. ‘‘What’s bizarre is what woke me up.’’

  Ethan moved closer. ‘‘What was that?’’

  ‘‘The voice,’’ she answered, and then she stopped pacing and lifted her gaze to meet his. ‘‘It said, ’Twill be you next, lass, and when I jerked awake, the temperature dropped so low and so fast, I could see my breath frosting out in front of me.’’ She started to pace again, that ball of hair atop her head slipping sideways a bit. ‘‘The lights went out, the door wouldn’t open, and it just kept getting colder and colder.’’ She stopped again and looked at him. ‘‘Until you came in. Then everything went back to normal.’’ She shook her head. ‘‘Hands down, the most unusual thing I’ve ever experienced.’’ She gave a lopsided grin. ‘‘Except meeting you guys, of course.’’

  ‘‘No doubt ’twas the grandest of experiences, to be sure,’’ Aiden said.