Highland Knight

by Cindy Miles

  But somehow, having Amelia Landry know his terrible secret and possibly think poorly of him, didna sit well with him at all. Even though he’d known her for such a short time, to see dread in those wide green eyes made his insides ache.

  Then Amelia was at his side. He hadn’t even known she’d moved from the sink.

  She lifted her hand, as though to touch him, but lowered it and clenched a fist instead. ‘‘My grandmother, Granny Dona, always told me, Last I checked, I wasn’t Jesus, so I’m not your judge, either.’’

  Ethan met her bold stare, with those exotic green eyes tipped slightly upward at the outer corners. He didna say a word.

  ‘‘What that means, is,’’ she continued, ‘‘you can tell me anything and it’s not going to change my opinion of you, Ethan Munro.’’

  Thank the saints, his kin had the grace to remain quiet. Even old Guthrie had busied himself in the cabinet doing some odd bit of work. He’d known exactly what Granny’s saying had meant. She willna judge you, his inner voice assured. But you already knew that, did you no’?

  With a confident nod, Ethan met Amelia’s expectant stare. He prayed her fervor remained after the confession. ‘‘The verra same thing occurred before, Amelia,’’ he said. Dragging a hand across his chin, he swallowed and hoped he could get through the telling of the tale once more. ‘‘I was naught but a score and eight at the time, and I’d befriended an older woman.’’ He looked at her. ‘‘A widow.’’

  Amelia nodded, and kept silent.

  ‘‘A friend of my mother’s, she’d come here for a short visit that turned into more than a sennight. A beautiful woman, even at more than two score.’’ He cleared his throat. ‘‘She came to me one night, and a score of nights afterward.’’ A need to move about came over him, and Ethan paced before the larder hearth. Finally, he stopped and braced his weight with both hands across the mantel. ‘‘Her dead body was found one misty morn, and just like with Devina, my effects found with her.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘I dunna remember anything, save the last night we were together.’’

  ‘‘ ’Twas rumored Ethan was cursed,’’ Rob said. ‘‘Nearly every maid he courted came up dead.’’

  Ethan heard footsteps, and Rob came to stand beside him. His younger brother clapped him on the back. ‘‘ ’Tisna true, though. He didna kill those lasses.’’

  ‘‘Aye, and the only ones who came up dead were the ones he cared for,’’ Sorely added. ‘‘The ones he simply took his ease with lived.’’

  Ethan cringed.

  ‘‘Aye,’’ Aiden said, and then apparently felt the urge to supply the lass with any sort of medieval language. ‘‘That means any maid he bedded—’’

  ‘‘Yeah, big fella,’’ Amelia said, holding up a hand. ‘‘Gotcha. No need to explain to me, sister of two brothers who were hornpots from the age of six, what taking ease with means.’’

  While Aiden grinned, Ethan was more than surprised to see his big oaf of a cousin turn red-cheeked. He’d thank Amelia for that later.

  The girl had a sharp wit, by the by. He found he liked that in a woman. In her, particularly. No’ to mention he hadn’t laughed as much in seven centuries as he had since meeting Amelia Landry.

  ‘‘You know,’’ she said, moving closer to where he stood by the larder hearth, ‘‘they’ve written many a story with a plot similar to yours.’’ She shrugged. ‘‘A cursed man whose every lover dies, or a man who can’t love a woman or else she’ll die, or women who just end up dead after being with the cursed guy.’’ She smiled. ‘‘See? Not all that uncommon after all. Only difference is, yours appears to have really happened.’’

  Ethan blinked in disbelief. ‘‘You’re no’ the least bit fearful, lass? You’re no’ scared of what might happen to you?’’

  The grin that slowly spread from corner to corner on Amelia’s lovely mouth reeked of pure, sheer, wickedness. She tapped her chin with one long, slender finger. ‘‘Hmm. Let’s see. According to your story, I’m pretty safe, right? I mean, we could even have sex and I’d stay safe, as long as we were, what was it? Taking our ease? A quickie?’’ She batted her long eyelashes several times. ‘‘Right?’’

  One could have heard a kirk mouse belch, so still went the larder. Ethan moved only his eyes as he inspected each of his kinsmen, who’d all gone a bit pasty in the cheek and silent of tongue.

  A miracle, to his way of thinking.

  While he couldn’t exactly say what a quickie was, he got the gist of it.

  His kin, though, were a bit slower.

  Could be why he was laird.

  And it was then, he realized, as Amelia Landry and her naughty self burst out laughing, that she was in more trouble than either one of them could possibly imagine.

  Ethan stood back and watched his kin as recognition sparked in their eyes, and they all shared a rowdy round of laughter with the quirky storyteller. Even old Guthrie chuckled, and he usually chuckled only at his own poor jests.

  One thing stood certain, especially in Ethan’s mind: Amelia would need a constant guard, day and night, for since he was in truth enchanted, ’twould certainly make sense that he could be cursed, as well. And if the lasses whom he’d cared for in the past ended up dead, then by the blood of Christ, so verra well could Amelia.

  Against his will, he’d become rather fond of the fetching American.

  Damn.

  ‘‘Okay, okay,’’ Amelia said, holding up her hands. ‘‘Enough. Sheesh, I feel like I’m in a room with my brothers.’’ She turned and slid Ethan a mischievous glance. ‘‘All except you, of course.’’

  Ethan rubbed his temples as his kin made bawdy noises at Amelia’s comment, which of course, made her laugh even harder.

  Aye. They were in a vast amount of trouble.

  Indeed.

  Chapter 10

  By midmorning, Amelia stood in the field between the keep and the loch, before a line of six big chiseled-from-stone medieval Highland warriors. She cleared her throat, braced herself, and then spoke. ‘‘With the accomplishment of tae kwon do comes the practiced attitude of modesty.’’

  ‘‘Aiden, you’re out.’’

  This, to Amelia’s ears, sounded like Eden, yure oot. With a roll to the R.

  The men burst into laughter. Especially after she heard a noise that sounded a lot like the very noise she and her brothers and sisters had perfected—the one that involved a hand and one’s rapidly flapping sweaty armpit. She seriously had to fight a smile herself.

  They all laughed, Amelia noticed, but one.

  Ethan glared at his kin, held up a hand to Amelia, who returned a short nod, and then she stood in dumbfounded silence as the Munro laird addressed his warriors as he would any serious matter of the day.

  And in what Amelia could only assume to be medieval-to-the-hilt Scots Gaelic.

  She found it to be absolutely beautiful.

  Having no clue whatsoever as to just what Ethan said, Amelia figured it must have been good because not one Munro face—not even Aiden’s—carried the first trace of a smirk. Not that she minded smirks. Loved them, actually. Was the Queen of Smirks herself, truth be told. Just ask ZuZu.

  But when it came to the arts, Amelia took things seriously. She believed in the respect and discipline the sport taught, and while she liked to cut up and joke as much as the next person, she wanted to make sure, more than anything, that if she taught a group of medieval guys the basics of tae kwon do, she’d teach them properly. And they’d learn it properly. From the basic stance to every ounce of respect owed.

  Even if they were, in a sense, at the moment, untouchable.

  Being enchanted did have its perks, she suspected.

  ‘‘Sorry, Amelia,’’ said Rob. ‘‘I willna interrupt again.’’

  Amelia made a mental note to thank Ethan later. ‘‘I accept your apology, Rob. Now let’s try the basic attention stance. Okay, watch me and follow along.’’ As she called out each instruction, she initiated the stance. ‘‘Chest facing forwar
d. Arms hanging straight down with open hands facing the body. Feet together and toes pointed forward. Back straight, shoulders back, head up, and eyes looking straight ahead.’’

  Amelia studied every warrior, and to her surprise, each had not only followed perfect direction, but each stood in perfect formation, a smooth, flawless motion as though they’d been taking the attention stance of tae kwon do their entire medieval lives. And not a smirk in sight.

  She gave them a bow, they bowed in return, exactly as she’d taught them, and then she clapped. ‘‘Nice, guys! I’m impressed!’’ Sure, they’d just performed the most basic of stances, but still. These guys were over seven hundred years old. She seriously was impressed.

  They all beamed as though they’d just hacked off a hundred English heads. A piece.

  ‘‘Is that it for today?’’ asked Torloch. ‘‘We could easily practice a few more hours, aye?’’

  Which they did. The guys were fast learners, and Amelia went through several stances, even throwing together a small routine. They all performed it perfectly.

  Medieval Scots warriors performing a tae kwon do routine. Who would have ever thought it?

  Hours later, Amelia shaded her eyes with her hand and stared out across the loch. The sun had started slipping toward the hilltops. It’d be twilight soon.

  And she needed a shower.

  She turned and faced her new students. ‘‘Okay, guys. We’ll meet out here, in the meadow, right after my morning walk each day. As quickly as you picked up the beginner’s stances, plus the routine, the rest will no doubt come just as easy. Then you can practice yourself.’’

  ‘‘Will you show us another of your routines, then?’’ asked Aiden. He gave a grin that reminded Amelia of a wolf.

  ‘‘Aye, lass,’’ added Gilchrist. ‘‘ ’Twould inspire us greatly, methinks.’’

  Amelia glanced at Ethan, who simply shrugged.

  If anything, she knew a con when she heard one. ‘‘Yeah, all right.’’ She shooed them with her hand. ‘‘Back up, little lads, and let me show you what hard work and practice will get you.’’

  Ethan stepped forward before he backed up, a glint in his silvery eye. ‘‘Not a shy bone in your body, aye?’’

  Amelia grinned, although she had to struggle to breathe with him being so close. She hoped he couldn’t tell. ‘‘Not a single solitary one, I’m afraid.’’

  He flashed a cocky grin, and then fell back with his kin.

  Drawing a few good long pulls of fresh Highland air, that sweet clovery scent fresh in her nostrils, Amelia bowed to her group of onlookers, slowly rose, then took the attack stance. As she eased into her routine—the one she used to gain her first black belt—everything fell away except her breathing and the practiced movements. With an occasional ‘‘hiyah!,’’ she carried out a series of punches, chops, high kicks, and roundhouse kicks. Landing in an attack stance once more, Amelia slowly rose, and then bowed.

  When she looked up, the warriors were silent, drop-jawed, and she was proud to say she found their eyes full of admiration. A woman didn’t gain that look from a man easily. Not that kind of look, anyway. A wolfish look, sure. But one of admiration? Hardly ever.

  Six medieval fighting machines presently stared at her, with that look.

  Amelia would remember it until the day she died.

  ‘‘Cease ogling the lass, and move along,’’ Ethan said. ‘‘You can ask questions over supper. Now, begone.’’

  A few bawdy things were called over shoulders, but Amelia was surprised to find the men did exactly what Ethan instructed them to do. Without question.

  With that swaggering walk, he came toward her, gaze fixed to hers. ‘‘It appears that I’m your guard for the eve, lass,’’ he said, and inclined his head toward the keep. ‘‘What say you?’’

  Amelia wiped her damp brow, tightened her ponytail, and grinned. ‘‘Seems to me you awarded yourself that duty, says I.’’ She started for the keep.

  ‘‘Guilty, by the by.’’ He fell into step beside her. ‘‘ ’Tis powerfully amazing, to watch you fight, although ’tis not the usual character of a bard in my day. They were more of the . . . timid sort. You’re vastly exceptional.’’

  She gave him a sideways glance. ‘‘Thanks. I worked really hard at it.’’ Sidestepping a thorny bush, she gave a half laugh. ‘‘Know something funny? The art requires a lot of severe dedication and structure.’’ She smiled at him. ‘‘That’s slightly out of character for me.’’

  ‘‘Yet you’ve become a fine fighting warrior, in truth.’’ He stared straight ahead. ‘‘Learning the blades will be equally as challenging. Be you up to it?’’

  ‘‘Absolutely.’’ As they neared the front of the tower, Amelia stopped and stared up at him. ‘‘I feel like I’m at camp.’’ She grinned. ‘‘Warrior camp, and my brother will be so jealous when he finds I’ve learned to sword fight.’’ She regarded him. ‘‘How is it that you think I’ll be able to help you? Do you hope to break whatever spell has you bound here?’’

  Ethan glanced out across the meadow, back toward the knoll, and then down at her. ‘‘I vow, lass, I canna know. But you are, in truth, the only mortal who has been brave enough and sensitive to our presence to interact the way you have.’’

  ‘‘What about Guthrie?’’ Amelia asked, and started walking the remainder of the way to the keep. ‘‘He sees and interacts with you all the time.’’

  Ethan shook his head. ‘‘He’s sensitive to our presence and in fact interacts with us, but he’s ne’er had a dream, or encounter, to match the one you had last night. Let alone the vision of the gibbet.’’ He hooked his thumbs in his belt. ‘‘You’re so highly receptive, another soul is contacting you, and that’s not happened before. You can see things, Amelia. ’Tis an important gift to be sure.’’

  They reached the keep and Amelia leaned against the stone wall, cool and rough through the thin cotton material of her tank top. She raised her gaze. ‘‘You have no idea who may have wanted to enchant you? An enemy?’’

  Drawing somewhat closer, Ethan leaned to face her, his shoulder to the wall. ‘‘I had many enemies, lass, and some rather unsavory ones at that. Although I canna believe any of them had the wit to enchant me and my kin for centuries.’’

  Amelia cocked her head and grinned. ‘‘You know, I’ve always loved to hear a good British accent, but I suppose I’ve never stopped long enough to listen to a Scots accent before. Other than Sean Connery’s. Or the guy who played Scotty on Star Trek. Or the entire cast of Braveheart.’’ She knew she sounded dopey, just by the confused expression on Ethan’s face. She didn’t care. ‘‘But honestly, you have the best accent I’ve ever heard.’’

  That he understood, if the light in those silver eyes meant anything.

  ‘‘So you find my speech pleasin’, aye?’’ he said. A grin pulled at his mouth.

  ‘‘Yes, I do. I especially liked to hear you speak your native tongue, like you did earlier with your men. I had no clue what you were saying, of course, but the language is beautiful.’’ She smiled. ‘‘Just what did you say to them, anyway? They sure clammed up and paid attention really quick, which I thank you for.’’

  Ethan gave a short nod. ‘‘Let’s just say that the lads badly want to learn to fight as you do, and I reminded them that you had to start out the same way they were.’’ A spark of mischief gleamed in his eye. ‘‘A threat or two ne’er hurt, either.’’

  Amelia laughed. ‘‘Ah, a man after my own heart.’’

  Ethan’s smile eased from his mouth, and in its place came a much more serious expression, where a muscle flinched in his jaw, and his eyes grew a shade darker. He stared, first at her eyes, then dropped a bit lower, to her mouth.

  Seconds passed, long, drawn-out seconds where Amelia found herself lacking air in her lungs. Her pulse sped up, so much that she knew Ethan could see her heart pounding beneath her shirt, had he bothered to glance in that direction. Then he blinked, a slow-motion type of blink that o
ne might see in a movie, and then he looked away.

  Just that fast, the moment disappeared.

  ‘‘Well,’’ she said, grateful that she didn’t squeak. ‘‘I guess I’ll run upstairs and get cleaned up.’’ She pasted on a cheerful grin. ‘‘I can’t be meeting my very first handful of live and substantial medieval warriors all stinky and sweaty. I’ll see you in a bit?’’

  Ethan gave a simple, single nod. ‘‘Until.’’

  He turned and disappeared through the wall.

  Amelia stared at the empty place the big man had just occupied. Well, sort of occupied, anyway.

  A smile pulled at her mouth, and by God, she let it happen. As she went through the front door, she threw a wave in Guthrie’s direction, who stared, shrugged, and muttered something under his breath, and then she scooted up the stairs, the smile nearly breaking into a laugh.

  At least, she thought, Ethan had experienced the same thing she had. Not that she could identify that experience, but it was a shared moment, she guessed. Sort of.

  Hurrying down the passageway, Amelia came to a stop in front of her door, where Jack sat just outside of it. With wide green eyes, he stared up at her.

  Amelia reached down and scrubbed him between the ears. ‘‘What’s wrong, boy? Do you want to go in?’’ Opening the door, Amelia waited for Jack to scurry past her and into the room. He simply sat and meowed.

  Walking in, Amelia moved to the chest, lifted the lid, and dug through her clothes. Picking out a plain white cotton sundress, she laid it across the foot of the bed, grabbed her bottle of wrinkle release, and gave it a few squirts. Quickly, she smoothed the few persistent crinkles left in the material, and then turned back to the half-open doorway.

  Jack sat staring in.

  Amelia bent over at the waist and patted one hand against her leg. ‘‘Come on, boy. Get in here so I can close the door. What’s wrong?’’