Highland Knight

by Cindy Miles

  On Amelia.

  With a clap of her hands, Amelia jumped down from her spot upon the counter. ‘‘Okay. Remember that surprise I told you guys about? Well, tonight’s just as good a night as any. I need a break from the woo-woo, and this will be just the thing.’’

  Aiden, always one for surprises, grinned at her. ‘‘And what be woo-woo, lass? A musical troupe, mayhap? Tricks?’’

  ‘‘Are you going to read to us?’’ asked Rob.

  Amelia laughed, and she turned those eyes on Ethan. ‘‘You’ll see. Tonight. After the gloaming has passed.’’

  Ethan didna know what a woo-woo was, but it sounded amusing enough to him. As long as Amelia was involved, how could it no’ be?

  Chapter 19

  Driving back from the village after gathering everything she’d need to entertain six big medieval guys, she smiled and gave herself a mental pat on the back. Not only had she succeeded in not scraping half of Scotland’s sod with the front bumper of her rental car, but she’d even managed to keep her eyes open when she’d passed not one, but three lorry trucks. You know, the ones traveling toward her on the very narrow road that was flanked by a wall of rocky earth on one side, and an ancient wall on the other? Had it not been for some serious wanting to have a girl’s night in, she’d have never left the Munro Keep. Luckily, though, Hewitt and his wife gave her a helping hand with the things she needed, since she was out in the Scottish countryside where TV and appliance stores weren’t in huge demand at every corner.

  Hewitt the storekeeper, she decided, was a life-saver. An angel in plaid. Rather, tweed. When she’d gone into his store to ask where she could acquire a big-screen TV, DVD player, and movie rentals, at first he’d chuckled. Then he’d shown her to the back of the store, where he rented the latest and most classic of DVDs. Amelia had picked out the ones she wanted; then Hewitt had called his wife, closed the store, and accompanied Amelia to his home, where his lovely little wife, Mary, also in tweed, had the DVD player already packed in a box. Hewitt then loaded the TV—not a big-screen, but plenty big enough—into the boot of Amelia’s rental and sent her on her way, refusing to accept the first penny for the use of their electronics.

  Hewitt and Mary. Nicest folks on earth.

  Of course, ZuZu would croak if she knew Amelia had set up a mini movie theater at the castle. But ZuZu wasn’t going to find out.

  Amelia turned down the lane that led to the tower house. The book would be finished well before deadline. Finally, she had material that excited her, and the self-experiences she’d weave into it absolutely fascinated her. Even without knowing what really happened to Ethan and his guys, the story was fantastic. Never in a million years would she have thought the fourteenth century would pique her interest so much. Of course, having Ethan Munro in the center of it helped quite a lot. Maybe that was the reason behind her enthusiasm.

  No maybe about it, sista.

  Wouldn’t it be something, though, if she could actually solve Ethan’s mystery? The spirits of Munro Keep were trying to tell her something—the good one and the bad one. Maybe she’d eventually figure it all out.

  After spending weeks on research, taking notes, and hair-raising experiences, she couldn’t wait to get started.

  Of course, she’d have to make sure her writing was wrapped up by twilight each night.

  She had a date with a fourteenth-century warrior, you know.

  Multiple dates, at that.

  As she crested the hill on the one-lane track leading to the keep, she stopped and stared out over Munro land. As it did that very first day, it took her breath away. One would think that having weird experiences with specters and ghouls and whispering old trees would be enough to dim the beauty of the dark, imposing tower house, but somehow, it didn’t. Not for her, anyway. To Amelia, it was beautiful.

  For tonight, though, she was going to put all of the mystery and ghosties and murder behind. She was, after all, from the South. Charleston, South Carolina, was known far and wide for well-bred young ladies. The epitome of genteel upbringing, manners, and etiquette.

  She wasn’t one of them. Not exactly, anyway.

  She, Amelia thought with a snort, just knew how to have a damn fine time.

  If only she had a few Black Cats and M-80s . . .

  As it edged closer to the gloaming hour, Amelia rushed around the kitchen to make sure everything was ready.

  ‘‘Excuse me,’’ she said cheerfully.

  Ethan stepped back, then bent over and stared into the bowl. Again. ‘‘What did you say that was?’’

  ‘‘Salsa.’’

  Sorely rubbed his jaw and stared, too. ‘‘What’s it made of?’’

  Amelia grinned. ‘‘Stuff. Hot stuff. Tomatoes, onions, peppers—I promise, you’ll love it.’’ She picked up a corn chip. ‘‘You take one of these and scoop it up’’—she showed them how—‘‘and eat it.’’ She showed them how to do that, too.

  Rob and Gilchrist were both inspecting the contents of the oven. ‘‘What did you say this was again?’’ asked Rob.

  ‘‘Pizza.’’

  ‘‘It all looks good to me,’’ said Torloch.

  Aiden chuckled. ‘‘That coming from a lad who has eaten a score of hedgehogs.’’

  Torloch grinned.

  ‘‘Okay, lass,’’ Guthrie called from the great hall. ‘‘The tele is all set.’’

  Amelia gave the warriors a grin and wiped her mouth on a napkin. ‘‘Oh boy. You’re going to love this.’’

  As she hurried out of the kitchen, six heavy sets of footsteps followed her out.

  Guthrie stood by the hearth and the large wooden table in front of it. On top of that, Hewitt’s TV. On top of that, the DVD player. He handed her the remote.

  ‘‘All set, lass,’’ he repeated. ‘‘All you need to do is this’’—he showed her a few things, with, Amelia noticed, all six Highlanders looking over their shoulders—‘‘and you can watch all the movies you fancy.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘Canna get any local channels, though. No reception.’’

  Amelia grinned. ‘‘That’s okay. We won’t need any.’’ She leaned over and kissed his ruddy cheek. ‘‘Thanks, Guthrie. You’re the best.’’

  Guthrie turned red and waved her away. ‘‘Daft American. Get on with ye.’’

  ‘‘Where are you off to tonight, old man?’’ asked Ethan. ‘‘Another eve of gaming?‘ Guthrie grinned and scratched a place under his old cap. ‘‘Hardly. The widow’s made me supper.’’ The twinkle in his watery blue eyes nearly made Amelia laugh out loud. ‘‘Dunna wait up on me, aye?’’

  The guys all laughed.

  ‘‘Okay,’’ Amelia said, once Guthrie left. ‘‘Let’s all be ready tonight, okay? I’m going up now to shower and change.’’ She looked at Ethan, who’d been staring at her with that sexy stare all afternoon. ‘‘You boys be ready to jump in the lake—’’

  ‘‘Loch,’’ corrected Sorely.

  ‘‘Right, loch,’’ she said. ‘‘No stealing each other’s plaids, either, or dunking each other under water. No time for that tonight, okay? Now, chop-chop!’’ She clapped her hands. ‘‘Move it, lads!’’

  With rowdy laughter, the Munros did in fact chop-chop, right out the door. All but Ethan, who lingered behind.

  Amelia had just grabbed two of the bowls of chips and was about to take them into the great hall when she heard his voice.

  ‘‘Hold there, lass.’’

  She stopped. Ethan stood right behind her, and he leaned close to her ear. ‘‘I vow ’tis been more than twenty-three hours since I last kissed you,’’ he said.

  She turned and looked at him over her shoulder, not a few inches away.

  His eyes smoldered, the color of ash. ‘‘I canna do anything else this eve until I’ve done that.’’

  Amelia’s legs wobbled, but she grinned. ‘‘Then you’d better hurry up, huh, laird?’’

  Ethan didn’t say a word. His eyes said it all.

  He turned and left the larder.
>
  Amelia smiled.

  With the speed of a woman who had a date with a Scottish knight, Amelia finished setting the junk food up on the long table in the great hall. Guthrie had put out the drinks—soda to start out with, because the last thing she wanted was six big inebriated medieval guys whose swords were part of their daily wardrobe. Pizza was warming in the oven.

  And the Munros, the ones born in the thirteenth century, for crying out loud, were going to eat junk, drink sugar, and have their very first meeting with Count Dracula.

  Satisfied that everything was in order, Amelia, excited and eager, ran up the stairs to get ready.

  Just the look on Aiden’s face made Ethan laugh out loud.

  ‘‘Damn me, but ’tis scorchin’ me mouth,’’ Aiden said. He chewed, his eyes watered, and then he belched. ‘‘Bluidy hell, once you get past the burn, ’tis wondrous.’’ He dipped another chip into Amelia’s salsa. ‘‘What say you, Ethan?’’

  Ethan’s own eyes watered. ‘‘Aye. Methinks the pizza was passing fine, as well.’’ He glanced at Amelia. ‘‘You eat this all the time?’’

  She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of them, and she laughed. ‘‘You could say it’s my main staple of nutrition. Along with this.’’ She held up a small metal can of sorts and wiggled it. ‘‘I can eat this all day long.’’

  ‘‘What is it?’’ asked Rob, shoving another piece of pizza in his mouth.

  Amelia grinned. ‘‘Cheese.’’

  ‘‘Bluidy hell,’’ said Torloch. ‘‘How is it they shove hard cheese into such a small opening, yet when it comes out, ’tis like honey?’’

  Ethan watched his kin with mirth. So amazed by Amelia’s junk—at least, ’twas what she called it—that their bellies were nigh unto popping.

  He, on the other hand, had not been quite so gluttonous. He’d reserved that sin for Amelia.

  For now, he had little time remaining of the hour and he wanted to spend it with her. And by the look she’d just sent him, thank the saints, she thought the verra same.

  Standing, she gave her hands a clap. ‘‘Okay, fellas, finish up what you like, and in just a bit I’ll introduce you to the count.’’ She weaved between Aiden and Tor, and both let out a whistle.

  ‘‘Och, Ethan,’’ Aiden said. ‘‘We get pizza, and you get Amelia?’’

  Amelia smacked him on the back of the head as she walked by.

  The men roared.

  ‘‘If you have room in those cast-iron pots you call stomachs, in the freezer you’ll find ice cream,’’ she said. ‘‘Make sure you eat it really, really fast, though.’’

  Rob was already halfway to the larder.

  As Ethan and Amelia stepped out into the cool evening of twilight, he threaded his fingers through hers and they walked along to the edge of the loch. ‘‘Why did you tell them to eat it fast? ’Tis a custom of yours, aye?’’

  Amelia burst out laughing. ‘‘Sort of. I just gave them all a case of brain freeze.’’ She smiled up at him. ‘‘They deserved it for all the hassle they’ve given me and you.’’

  Damn if he’d ever heard of brain freeze, but he was fair certain he didna want it. ‘‘Doesna sound verra pleasant, the brain freeze.’’

  ‘‘It is, and it’s not,’’ she said, and handed him a small white disk of sorts. ‘‘Here, have this instead. You suck on it. I promise nothing will turn to ice except your breath.’’

  Ethan watched her put one in her own mouth, thought it safe enough, and did the same. Inhaling, his breath did indeed turn cool. ‘‘What is it?’’

  Amelia edged him over to a wide square of plaid stretched out on the grass beside the loch and pulled him down atop it. They sat facing each other.

  ‘‘It’s a mint,’’ she said. ‘‘It’s to make your breath fresh.’’

  Ethan sucked on his and quirked a brow.

  She laughed. ‘‘Trust me; you wouldn’t want to kiss someone who’s been eating chips and salsa.’’

  He grinned. ‘‘And pizza, and cheese from a can, no’ to mention—’’

  ‘‘Okay! I get it,’’ she said, and kicked off her white slippers. Sandals, she’d called them. He rather liked the way they showed her painted little bare toes.

  Then she looked up at him and scooted closer. ‘‘Wanna test out the mints?’’ she asked, and batted her lashes.

  Looking down into those odd yet beautiful eyes, Ethan felt a rush of exhilaration, and he traced with his forefinger first her jaw, then the bridge of her nose, and then across her bottom lip. Her sweet mouth opened, just a fraction, and her eyes turned glassy.

  And as Ethan slid his hand around the back of her neck and lowered his lips to hers, he realized the twilight hour would never satisfy him. ’Twas no’ nearly enough time to savor the treasure who had stormed into his life and seized it with as little as a laugh, a quirked brow, a quick wit, and a great amount of courage. No’ to mention her kisses made his heart sing. Nay, one hour a day wasna nearly enough.

  But when Amelia’s soft hand grabbed his and lifted it to her throat, he forgot about his despair over his enchantment and kissed her.

  And by the blood of Christ, she kissed him back.

  Chapter 20

  Sensations surrounded Amelia, and she reveled in them with a zest and enthusiasm she had never thought possible. All of them. The lap of the loch against the shoreline, the tweetings of night birds, the gentle breeze that swept through the glen and rustled the leaves, carrying with it that fresh, tangy scent of clover, the stiff heather and meadow grass— all of those things combined around her, made her feel a sense of home, a sense of rightness.

  Then there was Ethan.

  He left her with those same senses, along with the sense of never wanting to leave. Ever.

  Especially when he touched her the way he presently was doing.

  One thing Amelia noticed about Ethan Munro— subconsciously, mind you, because there was no way could she form intelligent thought while he touched her—was that the man could kiss. Not just kiss, you know, with tongue and teeth and the occasional nip of the lip. He kissed. No, scratch that.

  He made love with his mouth.

  She felt as if with every inhalation, every small gasp of air, she breathed a little bit of him in.

  Those big, calloused hands always touched some part of her while kissing. No sexual parts, or anything naughty, because that would definitely cross the line and lead her to break her rule of no sex before marriage. Not just cross the line, mind you, but leap across it with gusto. Throw herself over it, even. Already, she was toeing that line . . .

  Ethan held her hand while his mouth moved slowly over hers, and the two sensations at once made her see stars behind her eyelids. With his thumb, he traced the length of each finger, the soft, tender spot between them, her inner wrist, and she could feel the hard knobs of skin on his thumb, one at the first bend, then another in the cradle, where those big, fourteenth-century hands gripped a sword every day of his life. And while he was caressing her hand, his mouth was caressing hers, with a gentle sucking of each corner of her lips, a slow drag of his tongue across hers, and with each erotic movement, even when his mouth left hers to kiss the area below her ear and down her neck, came an invitation for more.

  Amelia sighed, and while Ethan settled his warm lips against the skin of her neck, she trailed his arm with her fingertips, over the ever-present band of metal encircling his bicep, and over his chest, until she found the opening in his plaid, where she marveled at his Adam’s apple, the strong cords in his throat, and then his stubbled jaw, where he seemed to have a perpetual five o’clock shadow.

  ‘‘Amelia,’’ he said on a sigh against her ear.

  It came out Ah-meh-lay-ah, and she thought she’d never heard her name pronounced so beautifully.

  With both hands, Amelia pushed through that long, thick mane of glorious hair and grasped the back of Ethan’s neck, pulling his mouth to hers, and with nothing but instinct of motion, lay back on the blanket sh
e’d spread out, and Ethan wrapped both arms around her, encircled her completely, and followed her down.

  For a brief moment, he stopped and stared down at her. With the faded light, his features were dark, but she could still make out the silver in his eyes, the crescent-shaped white scar beneath the one, the slash of another scar that all but separated one dark brow, as well as the intense, firm set to his jaw. He said nothing, just stared, and then he lowered his mouth again, where he tasted first her top lip, then her lower, where he lingered, suckled, and deepened the kiss, and when one of his large hands skimmed her side, then across her ribs, over her hip, Amelia wriggled beneath his weight, trying to get just a little closer . . .

  And then, with a quick suddenness that left a void so large she gasped, Ethan’s body turned to nothing-ness. He simply turned to air. Somehow, he’d moved, though, and now stood above her. She didn’t move for a second, just lay there, breathing.

  Ethan turned, walked to the edge of the loch, looked toward the faded sky, and cursed. In Gaelic. Loudly.

  Amelia sat up, pulled her knees to her chest, and wrapped her arms around them. ‘‘Ethan, come here.’’ When he didn’t move, she patted the spot next to her. ‘‘Please?’’

  At first, he just stared across the loch, his broad back to her, that impossibly large sword, the same one he’d rested in the grass, now secured in its place in the leather sheath. After a few more muttered curses, he turned and came back, throwing himself down in a totally casual guy way, beside her, one knee bent, one forearm resting atop it. He stared straight ahead.

  ‘‘Ethan—what’s your middle name? Or second name?’’

  At first he didn’t answer. Then, ‘‘Arimus.’’

  Wow. That R rolling made her swoon. Amelia smiled. ‘‘Ethan Arimus Munro. Now, that’s sexy. Dang sexy. Like, phew!’’ She feigned a swipe of a sweaty brow. ‘‘Hot sexy. Burn-me-where-I-sit sexy.’’ She leaned forward and ducked her head to see around the curtain of hair that had fallen over his shoulder. ‘‘Just . . . damn sexy.’’