Highland Knight

by Cindy Miles

  Jack simply sat on the other side of the threshold, not budging.

  With a grunt, Amelia rose and walked to the door. ‘‘Okay. Have it your way.’’ After a good frown, which she was pretty positive the cat didn’t notice in the first place, or if he had, wouldn’t care, she closed the door.

  Glancing at her watch, she then grabbed her undies and strapless bra from the chest, stopped long enough to take that watch off and toss it on the bed, and then hurried to the bathroom. A nice shower, a nickless shave, and some lotion to smooth it all out sounded like a fine idea to her. Even though ZuZu tried to force her to be a bit more froufrou than she normally was, Amelia did want to look nice for a change.

  Flipping on the shower, Amelia heaved a big sigh. Who was she kidding? Impress? Hail yes, she wanted to impress. Why?

  Because she was completely attracted to the leader of the bunch, that’s why.

  Darn it, how could she help it? Ethan Munro was an enigmatic sort of fellow, if you asked her. Enigmatic, as well as several other fascinating and potentially charming characteristics. Other than incredibly sexy, of course. Good grief, that was a given. The man hummed with primordial raw male power, confidence, and pure outright strength, incomparable to modern man. Sure, there were those few guys who were big and strong—especially the ones on ESPN’s Strong Man Competition. Those guys could pull a tractor with their teeth! Their necks were as big around as her waist!

  But ZuZu had been a trauma nurse before becoming her assistant/PR person/all-around greatest-doer-of -everything, and she’d given Amelia the skinny on modern guys. Two words, Amelia: big weenies—and I’m not referring to any part of their anatomy!

  Apparently, Amelia guessed, most injured guys did quite a lot of whining.

  She couldn’t imagine any one of the Munro knights being weenies. All except Aiden, and it would totally be put-on, just to get the nurse’s attention . . .

  Stripping off her workout clothes, Amelia kicked them into a pile and stepped into the shower, where a sudden thought grabbed her. It was the very same thought that grabbed her each and every time—no lie—she stepped into a shower.

  In almost every great horror or mystery, the shower was the very place where someone, mostly the poor innocent female, bit it. She certainly didn’t want to end up like poor ole Janet in Psycho.

  As Amelia hurried through her shower, keeping her eyes glued to the shower curtain, she wondered briefly how her thoughts could meander from sexy Ethan Munro to poor doomed Janet in such a short time. ZuZu would have called her a Weir-Doe, as her best friend had a habit of doing. Amelia preferred the word quirky.

  Accomplishing the fastest leg-shaving in the history of womankind, she rinsed, dried off, applied her lotion, then pulled on her undies and bra. Wrapping the towel turban-style around her hair, Amelia wiped the moisture from the mirror, bent down to grab her makeup bag from its place in the corner, and then rose.

  A woman’s translucent face stared at her from the reflection.

  Amelia gasped and turned around. Nothing—no one—was there. When she turned back, the reflection had disappeared. Her heart thumped wildly, and she had to take a few deep breaths to calm herself. A few words to self couldn’t hurt, either.

  ‘‘Okay, get a grip, girl. You like haunted, remember? Ghosties and stuff? Aren’t you the one who begged the staff of Spirit Hunters to let you accompany them on an investigation? Isn’t Halloween your favorite holiday? You asked for it, you got it. Now buck up and take it.’’ She nodded to herself for reassurance. After several moments of deep breathing and staring at her own reflection, she nodded once more.

  Dangit, she’d seen a ghost-face in the mirror.

  Although hesitant at first, she smiled.

  Cool.

  One thing, though, that Amelia was certainly not was an impostor. Nor was she a liar. She’d be the first to admit that she’d been scared. Who wouldn’t be freaked out by that? She was one of the world’s biggest scaredy-cats. The only difference was, she liked it. A lot. Oh, boy, she could hardly wait to tell Ethan and the guys.

  Who she’d be meeting—in the flesh—as soon as twilight, rather, the gloaming came upon them. And though she had no window to speak of, to give her a view of the outside, she knew she had a relatively short amount of time to finish getting ready. She wasn’t a primper by any means, but she didn’t want her hair all poking up and the hem of her dress stuck in her panties, either. So after drying her hair and brushing her teeth, she as-fast-as-she-dared applied her scant makeup and lip gloss, deodorized and perfumed her body, then slipped on the sundress ZuZu had picked out, which, in all honesty, was quite lovely, with an empire waist and a slim ribbon tie to the back. Thankfully, the scooped neckline wasn’t overly scooped—not that her Victorian-era boobs, kindly termed such by ZuZu, needed any encouragement at all to show themselves. She found her white strappy sandals, pushed her feet into them, grabbed her iPod, tucked her hair behind her ears, and stepped out into the passageway.

  Jack was still sitting, just over the threshold.

  Amelia scowled at him. ‘‘You naughty cat. You knew about the ghost lady, didn’t you? That’s why you won’t come in the room.’’

  Jack flicked his tail and closed his eyes.

  ‘‘Hmm. See ya later, chicken boy,’’ Amelia said, and started off down the corridor.

  In just a few minutes, she’d be shaking hands with six medieval men. Warriors.

  They’d all hacked off at least one head in their day.

  Excitement hummed through her veins as Amelia hurried along, the grain of a story about six enchanted sword-wielding Scotsmen and an American girl haunted by their castle’s resident ghost growing by the minute.

  It wasn’t until she’d nearly made it to the staircase that another thought crossed her mind.

  She’d felt absolutely no threat whatsoever from the ghost-face in the mirror.

  Which, to her calculations, meant she’d been visited by a different spirit altogether.

  Chapter 11

  By the blood of Christ, never, in all the centuries passed, had the gloaming hour seemed so scarce.

  Puny. It was bluidy puny, that’s what it was.

  Ethan, eager to get back to the keep and spend as much of what little time remained in Amelia’s presence, instead had to listen to the squabbling fools who made up his kinsmen. All wanted to sit beside Amelia at supper. All wanted to be the first to aid her in lifting a blade for the first time. All wanted to have a listen at her music box—iPod, she’d called it.

  All, including his own pitiful self.

  He, though, was not a squabbler. He was laird, and by the saints, he wouldn’t act as idiotic as his men. He’d fairly choose who would be first today, then tomorrow, and the next, and so on. Eventually, he’d take a turn.

  Although he damn well wanted that turn this day.

  Worse still, he wanted all that time with Amelia alone. Something he not only couldna have, but had insisted his kin not to allow him to have.

  By Christ, he wanted to kiss her. Fiercely. He wasn’t exactly sure when that particular want had overcome him, but damn his soul, it had. Not only that, it’d interrupted his sleep, his entire wakefulness.

  A bigger fool than Ethan Munro couldna be found, and he damn well knew it to be true. He no more could be alone with her, and by the devil he couldna kiss her, than he could live a normal mortal life. He knew not who enchanted him and his men, but whoever it was had done so out of hatred for not only himself, but for any woman he showed the least bit of favor to. ’Twas seemingly the curse of it before he’d become trapped in the bluidy enchantment, and could damn well be the way of it now.

  And he’d not risk anything happening to Amelia Landry.

  All at once, Ethan noticed his kin had stopped arguing, and were downright quiet. He paused in his walk toward the keep and turned to look over his shoulder. ‘‘Aiden, you willna—’’

  Ethan closed his mouth. The men had stopped several paces back, dead in thei
r tracks, and were staring straight ahead, past Ethan. Gilchrist had his mouth open. Aiden, well, to see him with such a stunned look upon his face was frightening, by the by.

  Slowly, Ethan turned to see just what had halted the five warriors.

  No more than a handful of steps away stood Amelia, just outside the keep’s front doorway.

  The air left his lungs, leaving him feeling just like he had when Rob had knocked him from the scaffold whilst building the tower. His knees felt gummy and frail, as though he had no bones within, and he could do nothing but pray to God that none of the weaknesses showed, and that his stupid self wouldna fall over his big feet once he started moving again.

  Damnation, the lass was beautiful. He could do little more than stare. Aye, she’d jest him good once he was finished, but for now, he’d do it.

  Modern maids, he concluded, did not mind showing their bare person. Which, he also concluded, was fine indeed with him. Amelia’s skin, a golden color flecked with sun speckles, stood stark against the white gown she wore, which, he might add, came to her knees. It pulled snug beneath her breasts, which, he might add once again, with that low neck left plenty to the imagination. A simple plain white gown, and she looked like a goddess. Amazing.

  No jewels. No baubles. No high-coiffed hair.

  Amelia Landry didna need any of it.

  It was then Ethan realized he’d taken a wee bit too long with his ogling.

  Not near enough for him, for he’d enjoy nothing more than another hour or two of naught but ogling. Well, mayhap he could think of something more, but not at the present. But for Amelia, aye. She’d started to squirm, right where she stood in her white little slippers, or whatever those modern things on her feet were called.

  ‘‘Stop standing there ogling me, you big perv, and come here’’—she held up her music box and wagged it—‘‘that is, if you want to have a listen before the guys beat you to it.’’

  Ethan moved then, and just as well. The pounding behind him came not from a herd of horses, but from his big-footed kinsmen. Blessedly, he reached Amelia first, before the herd stampeded them down. He didna think he’d rushed too fast, for he’d no’ wanted to look like a green little lad, but damnation, he had only a scant hour. And he’d spent ten minutes of that bathing.

  Amelia’s eyes locked with Ethan’s just as he reached her. They softened, widened, and then moved shamelessly over his entire body, from the toe of his boots to the top of his head. When they settled on his gaze once more, she licked her lips, a smile lifted one corner, and she stuck out her hand. The one not holding the iPod.

  ‘‘Hello, Laird Munro.’’

  Ethan left his gaze in place, looking square into those lovely eyes of hers. He reached blindly for her hand, wishing he was pulling her against him instead. ‘‘Aye, Amelia Landry, hallo,’’ he said, just before he lifted her hand to brush a kiss across her verra soft knuckles. Soft hands, yet strong, well formed—

  ‘‘Move out the way, lad. You’re takin’ too long,’’ said Aiden with a mighty shove.

  Thus ending his almost-encounter with Amelia’s hand.

  Indeed, he’d moved too slow. Had he no’ taken so much ogling time . . .

  Aiden pushed his big stupid self in front of Ethan, gave him one more shove for good measure, and then proceded to grab Amelia by both shoulders, pull her close, and plant his mouth right against hers, and then kissed her with a big, loud smacking sound.

  Damn him.

  Worse, each of his own kin—the verra ones who’d be dead before the gloaming ended if Ethan had anything to do about it—pushed their stupid selves in the same place, and each gave Amelia a kiss on the mouth. On the damned bluidy mouth.

  He’d gotten a handshake.

  She had the nerve to giggle. Mayhap even squeal a time or two, in that way lasses do whenst showered with male attention. He’d know. He’d showered plenty of maids in his day.

  Most had turned up dead, dunna forget.

  Ethan took a step back. Aye, most had turned up dead, including his own wife, and he wasna about to provoke any misgivings about his fondness for Amelia.

  Besides, ’twas only fondness, by the by.

  Naught more.

  Should’ve worn a bib, she told herself. At least then the slobber wouldn’t have run down the front of my new sundress.

  The slobber, Amelia noted, came not from the five—count ’em, five—medieval guys who’d just pulled her into bear hugs and planted big sloppy kisses right on her lips. Nooo, not from that.

  The slobber came from her own saliva glands, the ones that had suddenly activated into hypermode the second she’d laid eyes on a very live-in-the-flesh Ethan Munro.

  She’d hidden the slobber well, she thought.

  After flying down the stairs, Amelia had found the great hall empty. So what did she do? Tore out of the hall like some rabid bat, and as soon as she’d flung open the door and stepped out into the waning Highland twilight, she’d seen them.

  Rather, seen him.

  Ethan Munro, the enchanted one, standing right next to you is a pretty powerful experience.

  Ethan Munro, in the flesh, climbing out of an inland loch, wrapping a fresh length of plaid around himself with deft hands, water dripping from his soaked hair . . .

  Wow.

  Then, for that soaking wet warrior to clap eyes on you, and for you to actually see the desire and determination burn there? Double wow. No words could come close to defining what Amelia had felt in that split second, when Ethan had first seen her, knowing he could walk right up to her and touch her. And that there was only a limited amount of time to do it.

  She was mentally adding it to her list of things never to forget. Ever.

  Peeking through the wide shoulders of the Munros, she spied Ethan, now standing back and letting his kinsmen have their time with her. He seemed patient. In control.

  A mental image of her scooting through their kilted legs, grabbing Ethan by the hand, and dragging him off, came to mind. It made her smile.

  She almost did it.

  Instead, she pulled herself together and gave the nearest bulk of muscle, which happened to be Torloch, a gentle shove. ‘‘Okay, okay, you guys have had quite enough hovering.’’ She returned the wicked grin Torloch gave her. ‘‘Sheesh. You fellas act like you haven’t been around a girl in—’’

  ‘‘Centuries, lass,’’ Aiden finished, the glint in his eyes as wicked as Torloch’s grin. ‘‘Bleedin’, bloomin’ centuries.’’

  ‘‘Well, be that as it may, buster, I’m not your next chicken nugget. Now shoo.’’ She gave them each a push in the direction of the door. ‘‘We’ve got things to accomplish, supper to eat, and music to listen to. So move it!’’

  Rob, Ethan’s younger brother by nearly nine years and almost the spitting image of him, stopped beside her and gave her a winsome smile. ‘‘You remind me quite a lot of my sister, you do. No’ in looks, mind you. Just your boldness.’’ He gave her another quick peck on the cheek, then stepped inside.

  Sorely, tall, a bit lankier than the rest, with dark hair and blue eyes, came next. ‘‘You dunna remind me o’ my sister at all.’’ He kissed her again on the mouth, but ducked her swat and scrambled into the hall with a chuckle.

  Amelia was beginning to wonder if she should have done a little research on Scottish customs. Even though the kisses she’d received from the Munros had been more of the family type, they’d still been kisses by guys other than her own family. A kiss was a kiss, darn it. ZuZu would absolutely die if she knew.

  And would kill to trade places with her.

  Finally, the Hadrian’s Wall of Muscles dissipated, and only one big, giant stone remained. Ethan. She almost laughed at the solemn look on his face. Standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, he waited patiently for her.

  There was a lot to be said about a guy who had patience.

  So she’d heard.

  Amelia closed the few steps between them, crossed her own arms over her che
st, and grinned. ‘‘Stop your pouting, Mr. Munro, and let’s go eat.’’

  ‘‘My kinsmen are naught but geintleach.’’ He glanced at her. ‘‘Heathens.’’

  ‘‘They’re okay. Besides, I gave them the iPod." She inclined her head. ‘‘Come on.’’

  Together they walked, side by side, Ethan with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. His presence was almost overwhelming. He smelled like fresh air and . . . Zest? She leaned in and took a whiff. Yep, Zest.

  ‘‘Guthrie buys it for us in bulk. ’Tis a pleasing scent, aye?’’ He lifted his forearm and sniffed it.

  Amelia chuckled. ‘‘Yeah. It really is.’’

  They walked a bit more, and all at once, Ethan grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to a stop. ‘‘Amelia?’’

  With her heart in her throat, she swallowed and met his gaze. ‘‘Yes?’’

  Ethan’s eyes searched her face, lingered on her lips, and then lifted again to stare at her. ‘‘You look . . . fetching in that gown.’’

  Amelia gulped. ‘‘Thanks.’’

  Still staring, his voice deep, he said, ‘‘I’ll walk you to the table now.’’

  With a nod, and feeling like the village idiot, Amelia agreed. ‘‘Okay.’’

  Being from South Carolina, where fireworks are still very much legal and to prove it, you can drive a few miles on any given day and find a fireworks warehouse, Amelia had plenty of experience with all sorts of explosives. Black Cats and M-80s had always been her poison of choice as a kid. Not a weekend went by that she and her brothers and sisters didn’t set off a sack full in the backyard.

  That’s what Ethan reminded her of. A lit M-80, full of tightly wound power, ready to explode as soon as the fuse ignited, then kaboom! She had to wonder, as he placed her hand in the crook of his arm, just how long his fuse was—no pun intended.

  And when, if at all, he’d explode.

  ‘‘Why do you have such a naughty look upon your lovely face?’’ Ethan asked as they neared the table.

  As Amelia sat at the long wooden table, surrounded by six hungry medieval warriors, she really could do little but laugh. ‘‘I’ll tell you later. I promise.’’