by Cindy Miles
‘‘Ethan, stop pouting. Honestly, no matter where I go here, whoever’s trying to reach us will do it through me.’’ She inclined her head to the far wall, indicating the direction of the loch. ‘‘The knoll, my bathroom, the bedroom—I could change rooms a dozen times and it won’t matter. They’ll just follow.’’ She crossed her arms and ducked her head to look into his very irritated downcast eyes. ‘‘That’s a good thing. Don’t you see?’’
He looked up. ‘‘I dunna see, nay.’’ He crossed his own arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall. ‘‘And I’m no’ pouting. I just dunna like it when—’’
‘‘You’re not in control?’’ she finished.
‘‘Aye. That.’’
‘‘Well, Mr. Enchantment,’’ she said, and was rewarded a darker frown for it. ‘‘You’ve no substance for twenty-three of the twenty-four hours that are in a day, and you’ve been that way for centuries.’’ She smiled. ‘‘It might be high time you turned a little of that control loose and trust me.’’
Ethan glanced back down. ‘‘ ’Tisna that I dunna trust you, lass.’’ When he lifted his head, his eyes locked on to hers. ‘‘I couldna live with myself if something happened to you. You ken?’’
Amelia found she liked hearing the phrase you ken? quite a lot. ‘‘I really do understand. Ken-ing as we speak, actually.’’
He smiled, and to her, that was something.
‘‘Ethan, the presence that pushed me into you wasn’t a threatening one.’’ She considered. ‘‘It might have been the same entity that I saw in the mirror.’’
‘‘Amelia, if one ghost can gather enough force to push your body into mine, then so can another.’’ He shook his dark head, both braids dragging across his shoulders. ‘‘I dunna like it.’’ He heaved a hearty sigh. ‘‘But your head is thicker than a mule’s, by the by.’’ He looked at her. ‘‘I’ll be just here, and if you need me for anything, just call out me name.’’ He lowered himself to the floor and sat, legs bent, forearms on knees, head back, plaid hanging just so. Gargantuan sword now lying on the floor beside him.
Amelia leaned against the door frame and stared at him for a moment. She was getting more and more used to him and the others, and pretty soon she wouldn’t think it too big of a deal at all to be speaking to an enchanted medieval man.
But for now, it still totally fascinated her.
‘‘Thanks for a great evening,’’ she said, resting her head against the old wood. ‘‘You were nearly the perfect gentleman.’’
Ethan narrowed his eyes. ‘‘ ’Twas no’ easy, I can assure you.’’
She laughed. ‘‘No doubt. But you know something? ’’
‘‘Aye?’’
Pushing off the door frame, she smoothed her dress and stepped just inside her room. ‘‘Tomorrow will be our second date.’’
A grin started at one corner of his very sexy mouth, and spread into a full-blown, teeth-showing smile. ‘‘I know that.’’
She waved. ‘‘Good night.’’
‘‘Aye, and to you, Amelia.’’
She quickly shut the door before she crossed the passageway and made an attempt to make out with an enchanted guy.
Tomorrow’s twilight wouldn’t happen soon enough.
Clear their names . . .
Sitting straight up in bed, Amelia realized it wasn’t a dream. She’d just been whispered to. Again. Fumbling for the lamp switch, she turned it on and grabbed her watch from the bedside table. 1:22 a.m. She’d been asleep for three and a half hours.
She jumped out of bed, nearly knocking Jack from the foot, ran over to the door, and threw it open.
‘‘Ethan! Wake up!’’
Ethan sat exactly where she’d left him earlier. He jumped straight up, looking as alert as he had before. ‘‘What in bluidy hell, Amelia?’’ he said. ‘‘Is something amiss?’’
‘‘No, no, nothing amiss. Just listen. I’ve got an idea.’’
Just then, all five Munros came up the corridor.
‘‘What is it, girl?’’ Torloch said.
‘‘Aye,’’ said Sorely. ‘‘Did the ghost wake you up?’’
She waved her hand. ‘‘No. Well, yes, sort of. Just listen. I’ve got a great idea, I think, and I really want you guys to agree to it. So listen with ears wide-open. Okay?’’
Rob poked a forefinger into each ear and scrubbed. ‘‘Aye.’’
Moving her gaze to Ethan’s, she started. ‘‘There’s a couple of parts to this idea, so just pay attention closely—that means my eyes are up here, Aiden,’’ she said, snapping her fingers and directing the big warrior’s stare from her chest, which—oops, had very little covering on it—to her face.
‘‘Sorry, lass, I canna help it.’’ Aiden had the good grace to blush. ‘‘Truly.’’
With a groan, Amelia ducked back into her room, dug through the chest, and pulled on her big sweatshirt with the silhouette of Alfred Hitchcock’s profile on the front. Served her right, she supposed, for jumping up and running out with just her ideas and a tank top and drawstring bottoms on. But dangit, she was used to living alone, not with six big medieval oglers.
‘‘Now,’’ she continued, stepping out of the room. She noticed Ethan was glaring at Aiden, who didn’t seem to be bothered by it one little bit. She’d worry about that later. For now, on with her plan. Crowded into the narrow passageway, the Munros listened.
‘‘I propose two things here,’’ she said, making eye contact with each man. ‘‘First, I’ll try to make contact with the specter that’s been whispering in my ear and appearing in my bathroom mirror. Oh. And shoving me.’’
Ethan’s face grew tense. ‘‘What did you hear, lass?’’ He moved closer. So close, they were nearly touching.
If only they could.
‘‘ ‘Clear their name,’ ’’ she said.
‘‘That is it?’’ asked Gilchrist, who thoughtfully rubbed his chin. ‘‘No’ thing else?’’
‘‘That was it.’’ She met Ethan’s gaze. ‘‘But if I tried to purposefully talk to this ghost, maybe I could get a few answers.’’ She smiled. ‘‘About you.’’
The men glanced at one another.
‘‘You know? Clear their name? It seems obvious the spirit means the Munro name.’’ She smiled. ‘‘Whoever’s presence is speaking to me knows you’re innocent of murder, Ethan, and is trying to get me to help.’’
Ethan’s penetrating pewter gaze didn’t falter from Amelia’s—not once. ‘‘What’s the second part of the proposal, Amelia?’’
With a deep breath, she told them. ‘‘I want to write your story, Ethan. The whole story. All of this.’’ She waved her hand between all of them, herself included. ‘‘The murder, enchantment, you, me, the ghosts—all of it.’’
Ethan scrubbed a hand over his jaw. ‘‘What of our names?’’
‘‘Fictional.’’ She saw the confused look in his eyes. ‘‘I’ll use a different clan name. We’ll make it up together, if you like.’’ She walked over to him and tilted her head back to look him in the eyes. The very sexy, unsure eyes. She could feel it in her soul, how much Ethan hated feeling that way, out of control, uncertain—especially being laird of the men who’d been cast into the enchantment just for being a Munro knight. Just for following their leader.
He felt a responsibility to them even after seven hundred years.
Amelia ducked her head to the side to gain Ethan’s attention. When he looked at her, she smiled. ‘‘I really, really want to write this story, Ethan. But not if you don’t want me to.’’ She glanced at the others. ‘‘Not if any of you prefer me not to.’’ She turned back to the Munro laird. ‘‘But I promise to do a phenomenal job.’’
‘‘Methinks to say her aye,’’ said Rob.
A murmur of ayes sounded through all the men. All but one.
Ethan’s watchful gaze continued directly, and Amelia knew he was running a hundred things over in his mind. True, she wouldn’t write the story if he didn’t want her to
. But man, she sincerely hoped he wanted her to.
‘‘You seem eager about this,’’ he finally said.
She smiled. ‘‘I haven’t been excited about a project in more than a year.’’
‘‘Will you read it to us as you go?’’ Torloch asked. ‘‘Methinks that’d be a fine idea, wouldna you agree, Ethan?’’
‘‘Our verra own bard,’’ Sorely said.
‘‘And such fine subjects,’’ Aiden said with a grin.
Ethan met her gaze and he gave a nod. ‘‘If anyone could do our tale fairness, ’twould no doubt be you, Amelia Landry.’’ He grinned. ‘‘I say aye.’’
‘‘Woo-hoo!’’ Amelia yelled. ‘‘Yes!’’
The guys cheered with her.
Without thinking, she threw her arms around Ethan’s neck. Of course, they went right through him.
‘‘Oops,’’ she said, and the men roared. She gave Ethan a deep, long look. ‘‘Guess I’ll save that for the second date.’’
Someone whistled.
It wasn’t Ethan.
His stare was so smoldering, Amelia thought her Hitchcock sweatshirt would burst into flames.
Boy, she was in big trouble.
‘‘Enough, by the Bruce’s sword, enough! What’s wrong with ye young folk?’’ Guthrie hollered up the stairs. ‘‘Go to bed, and stop all that carrying on!’’
With much bustling and grumbles, the Munros all trudged off to their chambers. All except Ethan, of course. He stood beneath the low-light torch lamp in the passageway, a feral look in his silver eyes.
Amelia backed into her room. ‘‘ ’Night.’’
He cocked his head. ‘‘I vow I see something in you that wasna there before.’’
She grinned. ‘‘And what is that? Excitement? Mischief?’’
He studied her for several seconds, and the energy between the two of them all but snapped in the air.
Rubbing his chin, he smiled. ‘‘Contentment.’’
When Amelia climbed into bed, she did so with a big smile on her face. Ethan was right. She was content, especially with her work. For the first time in months, she felt exuberantly anxious to start on a project. The fact that the subject matter within had everything to do with Ethan Munro was certainly no secret—not to her, anyway. The man simply wowed her. Of course, his looks went beyond those of fantasy. But Dillon-the-ex-fiancé-turned-jackass had been a fantastic-looking guy, too. Not an Ethan Munro, by any means, but still quite sexy. One major, simple difference stood out, though: real versus not real. Eventually Dillon’s real self came out, thank God, and in Amelia’s eyes, no matter how fantastic the eye candy, the real greatness came from within. That, to her, defined the wow factor.
She snuggled down into her covers and grinned. She rather liked the great stuff she saw inside Ethan. Confident. Strong. Loyal. Funny. Very determined. Trustworthy. And whether he would admit it or not, a kind, soft heart. Sure, he’d hacked off more than one enemy’s head—that was the way of his day. But she could tell, just by the way he handled his men, that he took great care of his loved ones, and whoever was a loved one could count on his steady, devoted presence. In her mind, they were probably the luckiest people in the world.
A fleeting thought caused her to pause, and it filled her mind as she drifted off to sleep. It wasn’t of ghosts, or malevolent entities, or best-selling novels, or drastic deadlines, or publishers who might drop her due to lack of quality work. Or, in her case, lack of work, period.
Instead, it was of enchantment. Of six men trapped, existing yet not living life. Of trying to cram some sort of normalcy into a single hour every day. Of having a rare few souls even be able to see them, much less interact with them.
Amelia closed her eyes, listened to the creaks and groans of the fourteenth-century tower house, and as sleep overcame her, she thought of one more thing.
How on earth she’d handle falling in love with a seven-hundred-year-old warrior, trapped in an enchanted window in time . . .
Chapter 14
The morning came, and Amelia sprang out of bed at just a few minutes past six a.m. She stretched, grabbed the pen and pad of paper from the desk, then fluffed her pillows and settled her back against them. Jotting a few notes, a few names, and then a rough outline of the story, she read it over, squealed, and jumped back out of bed.
Raising her arms in the air she did a little Dirty Dancing kind of boogie.
Woo-hoo! She was back!
‘‘Ahem.’’
Amelia squeaked and nearly tripped over her own victory dance. Turning, she found Ethan, propped against her closed bedroom door, booted ankles crossed, and a glint in his eye.
A very merry glint in his eye.
She put a hand to her fluttering heart. ‘‘Ethan! What are you doing in here?’’
A slow grin crossed his face. ‘‘I heard you moving about in here and thought to see why you were squealing so early in the morn.’’ The grin widened, his eyes moving over her. ‘‘I’m verra glad that I did, too. But I want a solemn vow from your lips, woman, that you will never venture to do such frolicking in front of the men.’’ His eyes smoldered. ‘‘Particularly garbed in that.’’
Crossing her arms over her chest, because, good grief, she was still in her pj’s, she gave a casual shrug. ‘‘And to think I was going to throw that little routine into the daily pre tae kwon do exercises as a warm-up.’’
Ethan said something in Gaelic under his breath.
Amelia laughed. ‘‘Okay, shoo! I’ve got to get dressed, take my morning walk, and git bizzy.’’ She walked over to where she’d left her watch, checked the time, and grinned at Ethan over her shoulder. ‘‘I have to do this walk alone this morning so I can talk to myself about the book. You know? Oh, and don’t forget about our second date tonight.’’ She batted her eyes. ‘‘Just as soon as your pumpkin turns into a coach, I’ll be ready.’’
Even though she was pretty sure he had no idea what she meant by the pumpkin/coach thing, he pinned her with a deep, dark stare. The kind that lasts so long it makes you squirm. The muscles in his jaws flexed and even being an enchanted, nonsubstantial ghostlike entity, M-80-type energy radiated off of him in waves.
‘‘I willna forget.’’ Then he slipped through the wall.
Just the feral look in those silvery eyes, and the deep, rich brogue that tinged his words made breathing a little difficult. Made it a lot difficult, actually.
Boy, she could really use a can of Cheez Whiz.
She’d think about that later—the craving of the Whiz and the way Ethan Munro made her knees wobble. She had a busy day of planning ahead, notes to take, research to begin, along with a beginner’s tae kwon do class to teach.
Not to mention date number two with a seven-hundred -year-old fighting machine.
Maybe thinking of the second date as a research venture would keep those darn butterflies from beating the crap out of the inside of her stomach. She doubted it. Besides, the anticipation of the second date was supposed to be fun, right? She’d think fun, fun, fun for the rest of the day.
Grabbing her shorts and hoodie, she dropped her pj’s, got dressed, and brushed her teeth. After a quickie glance at the mirror, which proved empty of any sort of ghost or spirit, Amelia pulled her hair into a ponytail and set off. No iPod today, she thought. No outside interruptions. She was in high-octane writer’s mode for the first time in over a year. Only the sounds of Highland nature and the feel of the mist against her skin to start her day, yessiree.
Tonight she’d try to make contact with the friendly ghost who had graciously pushed her into the hard chest of Ethan Munro. And thank her. Or him. Profusely.
Drawing in a big lungful of air, she smiled. She could hardly wait.
Slipping into the passageway, Amelia tiptoed downstairs, across the great hall, which was empty anyway, out the front door, and into the splendor of the Scottish Highland midsummer morning.
Ethan watched from the ramparts at the top of the tower as Amelia happily trot
ted across the meadow and toward the wood. ’Twas a fine Highland morn, with the sun just creeping over the top of the crags, and a light mist hovering over the ground.
Finally, she slowed to a walk, and every few steps or so she’d bend over and inspect, touch, pluck, or bring to her nose and sniff whatever clump of some bit of plant or bush or tree she’d come across. At the old yew tree, she stopped, squatted near its thick, gnarled trunk, rubbed the bark with her fingers, and then turned upward and peered through the limbs.
‘‘You should tell her that we used to climb to the verra top o’ that same yew and throw sticks by the handfuls at unsuspecting victims,’’ said Aiden. ‘‘Remember that winter when the vicar came to visit? We were no’ quite a score, aye?’’
Ethan chuckled. ‘‘Aye, fool, and me arse still aches with the memory of the blisterin’ Da gave us, no thanks to you.’’ He looked at his cousin. ‘‘You were a verra bad influence.’’
Aiden shrugged. ‘‘I did me best.’’
‘‘What is she doin’?’’ asked Rob, pointing.
Torloch edged up to stand on the other side of Ethan. He peered out. ‘‘Looks like she’s sniffin’ the bark.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘Modern maids are baffling.’’
‘‘Why are you no’ with her, Ethan?’’ asked Gilchrist.
Ethan shrugged. ‘‘She’s busy with her bard’s work.’’ He glanced sideways at Torloch, then Gil. ‘‘Inspecting and sniffing and such. Research.’’
‘‘She told you to stay here, aye?’’ asked Sorely, who leaned on the hilt of his sword.
Ethan frowned. ‘‘Aye.’’
Being the idiots they were, his kin roared with laughter.
Ethan’s frown deepened. Aiden slapped him on the back. ‘‘ ’Tis all right, cousin. Give the girl a bit of solitary sniffin’ time, and then go into the wood after her.’’
‘‘Aye, Ethan,’’ said Rob. ‘‘She’s already mentioned not knowing anything about the plant life.’’ He grinned. ‘‘You can name them all for her.’’
Ethan considered. Aye, ’twould be a fine afternoon to amble through the forest, and mayhap they’d see a bit of animal life along the way.