Highland Knight

by Cindy Miles

  With a nod, he led them out of the glen. Amelia tried more than once to entwine her fingers with his, and each time he pulled away. She noticed because the tension in the air all but stood his hair up. But she kept silent. ’Twas the first time since meeting her that he wished mightily for the gloaming hour to end.

  Then suddenly, it did.

  The connection between them, Ethan decided, reached a depth far greater than even he could imagine. Without a single word, Amelia knew something bad had happened. She might no’ realize the whole of it, and by the bluidy saints in heaven, he’d no’ tell her. He couldna.

  Her verra life depended on it.

  They walked in silence back to the keep. Once there, Amelia declined the offer by his kin to watch another movie, and went to bed without a single glance or word to him.

  He stood there and watched her climb the stairs.

  Inside, deep within his chest, Ethan died.

  Amelia figured that she knew a little bit about a lot of things. She’d done tons of research over the years for her books, ranging from archaeology, to forensics, to physics, to biology.

  The one thing she knew a lot about without any research whatsoever was rejection. And it’d just happened.

  Again.

  Aiming for a certain knot in the wood rafter above her bed, she threw her thinking ball and hit it dead center. It dropped back down and she caught it.

  That’d been at least the gazillionth repetition since leaving Ethan at the foot of the stairs.

  She tossed up the ball and caught it.

  Gazillion and one.

  Ethan’s rejection hadn’t been like Dillon’s, though. That much she knew. Dillon had simply been a putz. A schmuck. A big fat pecker head to the nth degree.

  A dipshit, her granny had proudly added over tea one afternoon. A fond memory, that one. Sort of a discombobulated scene from Steel Magnolias, ZuZu, Amelia, her younger twin sisters, Maggie and Erin, her mom, and her granny had all gathered on the shady front porch of her grandparents’ old Charleston plantation house, sipping iced tea and eating wide wedges of key lime pie while under a hurricane watch, sharing naughty names for the man—er, one-eyed asshole (that had come from her mom)—who’d broken Amelia’s heart. Quite a scene they’d made, she thought, all cute and proper Southern ladies on the outside—her granny had always worn sweet gingham dresses in a variety of colors—pottymouthed little name callers on the inside. That day she’d done a lot of crying, but thanks to her wacky womenfolk, whom she fondly termed the Sisterhood, she’d ended up laughing.

  Amelia seriously doubted the situation with Ethan would end up in laughter.

  Something more frightening drove Ethan’s rejection, and while Amelia knew it, the pain of it still came—in waves. What hurt worse was that Ethan wouldn’t share it with her. Apparently, modern man and medieval man were pretty much alike in some areas, and after being raised by her father and living with a set of older twin brothers, she knew when a man shut down mentally, that was it. Finite. And Ethan Munro had indeed shut down.

  And dammit, it hurt.

  Once more she tossed her thinking ball to the bull’s-eye on the rafter, nailed it, and caught it. Staring at the old, worn tennis ball and tracing the letters she’d penned with a permanent marker, Amelia did exactly what the ball was made for.

  She thought.

  It dawned on her, not so suddenly, that she had a certain flaw in her character. Well, probably more than one, but this one stood out in her mind more than, say, drinking milk straight from the gallon jug, or using the three-second rule when dropping something edible onto the floor.

  Amelia had a tenacious bone in her body. She could admit it, true enough. And that bone grew when it came to helping those she loved. More than once it’d gotten her into trouble. More than once, the person on the receiving end of her tenacity-fueled help didn’t want it to begin with.

  More than once, she’d not given a horse’s patootey.

  And by God, she didn’t give one now.

  ‘‘Lass?’’

  Amelia jumped, thinking it first to be Ethan. In a flash, she recognized Aiden. Rolling off the bed, she headed for the door, thought better of it, grabbed a pillow, and held it to her chest before opening the door.

  Aiden stood on the other side, a somber look upon his handsome face. He gave a weak smile and inclined his head to the pillow.

  ‘‘Och, you’re a wily one,’’ he said.

  She smiled. ‘‘So I’ve been told.’’

  He looked her in the eye. ‘‘Are you well this eve?’’

  Quirking a brow, she rubbed her chin. ‘‘Has he told you anything?’’

  With a hefty sigh, Aiden shook his dark head. ‘‘Nay. He told us to guard your door and no’ to follow him.’’

  Amelia nodded. ‘‘Where’d he go?’’

  ‘‘He didna say.’’

  ‘‘Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.’’ She looked at him then, Ethan’s cousin who’d conned him into doing so many naughty things as boys. ‘‘Something happened tonight, Aiden. I don’t know what, but I can’t just let him shut me out.’’

  He smiled. ‘‘If anyone can reach him, ’twill be you.’’

  Amelia prayed he was right.

  Chapter 24

  Two weeks passed, and Amelia realized rather quickly that only one other time in her life rivaled the intense misery she was experiencing at present: the Landry family’s RVing vacation to the Grand Canyon. Her twin brothers, Seth and Sean, had been eighteen, she’d been sixteen, her twin sisters, Maggie and Erin, fourteen, and ZuZu, who’d accompanied the Landrys on nearly every vacation, also sixteen. Her granny had gone, too. And don’t forget Firecracker, the half beagle, half something.

  All within a day of leaving, she, ZuZu, Maggie, and Erin had started. That’s right. That time of the month. For all of them. Oh, and her mom and granny were both on hormone supplements.

  It had been like some warped version of National Lampoon’s Vacation. The only thing missing was a recently deceased Aunt Edna bagged and bungee corded to her rocker on top of the Griswold family station wagon.

  Horrible trip. Girls against girls. Girls against guys. It was a sheer wonder any of them survived it.

  Yet it seemed like a Cleaver family picnic outing compared to the tenseness of the Munro Keep ever since Ethan had withdrawn. At first he’d stayed around his kin, but every time Amelia would try and engage in conversation, he’d give short, terse answers and then poof! he’d be gone. She persisted, though, and would nonchalantly try and edge closer to him during a movie, and he’d not so nonchalantly find another place to sit. His mood had grown dark, and he’d started snapping at everyone. Finally, he’d all but disappeared.

  Another hurt. And Amelia was getting frustrated.

  And at first she’d given him plenty of space. She needed time to try and figure out just what the heck had happened anyway. He’d not even opened up to the guys, and they’d all sported black eyes at one time or another.

  Probably the worst was during the twilight hour, when the guys would solidify. Ethan would disappear into the wood and not return until long after Amelia had gone to bed. Finally, she’d stopped pushing.

  So every day Amelia did her daily routine. She went through tae kwon do forms with the guys. All were present, of course, except Ethan. Sorely, Aiden, Rob, Tor, Gil—they were all very quick learners, mindful students and, as big as they were, quite nimble. Although once Amelia started teaching them their kicks, she had to turn her head more than once.

  Not easy, though, to turn your head from a line of sexy medieval Scottish warriors wearing kilts, kicking their legs up high with limber ferocity. No sirree.

  So they’d complete their morning forms; then Amelia would work on her story table and time line, scratch notes and scenes on note cards, and the guys would stay with her all day in case she needed some small bit of information, or description, or display of how to properly grip a broadsword.

  Which is what brought ab
out the tenseness.

  Sort of.

  In all the two weeks without Ethan, not once had an entity of any sort contacted her. Not even so much as a flick on the ear. And she’d tried, she truly had, to get some sort of response from either ghost—the bad one or the not-so-bad one. Nothing had happened, though. Everything remained quiet.

  And then, an epiphany. A slap to the back of the head, a V8 moment. The oldest darn trick in the book. She’d watched ZuZu perfect it in high school. It was a wonder Amelia recalled it now, since she’d never even used the method. How to make a guy jealous.

  Perfect.

  The only difference was that she was dealing with seven-hundred-year-old guys in their prime. Virile, young—minus the seven-hundred-year-old thing, which really didn’t count anyways, because they’d been enchanted all those years—and each with an ego the size of Texas.

  Still, if they couldn’t draw Ethan Arimus Munro (she loved saying that sexy name) out of hiding by way of temptation, i.e.: coaxing, asking nicely, begging, or in the fellas’ cases, threatening, they’d flush him out with Amelia’s last weapon: Amelia.

  And Aiden Munro would prove to be the most perfect bait.

  At the next twilight hour, Amelia and Aiden walked out to the meadow, in plain view of just about anywhere from the keep. Ethan had once again disappeared.

  She narrowed her eyes at Ethan’s cousin. ‘‘All right, Munro. Let’s get one thing straight here. I want you to repeat back to me the words This is all for show and for Ethan’s benefit, and I’ll not cop a feel or get fresh in any way, shape, or form.’’ She deepened her frown. ‘‘Say it.’’

  The big Highlander threw back his head and laughed.

  ‘‘Aiden, say it.’’

  With his thumb and forefinger, Aiden pinched the tear ducts of his eyes and shook his head. ‘‘I cannot.’’

  Amelia bit back a smile. ‘‘Come on. You’re wasting twilight.’’ She poked him in the chest. ‘‘Just remember that I am far more advanced than you in martial arts. I’ve had to actually register these’’—she held up a foot—‘‘as lethal weapons.’’ She scowled. ‘‘Don’t make me use them.’’

  Aiden held up a hand. ‘‘Aye, okay, lass.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘You’re killin’ me. You know that, right?’’

  Amelia smiled and patted him on the shoulder. ‘‘No, I’m not. Now, come on. And as a final warning, my reflexes are lightning fast. No accidental boob brushes allowed, or you may end up flat on your back.’’

  One dark brow lifted over an eye with a wicked gleam. ‘‘I may take ye up on that.’’

  ‘‘Aiden.’’

  He smiled, and it looked so much like Ethan’s it almost hurt to look at it. He held up a hand in surrender. ‘‘Verra well, no accidental brushes of any sort if I can help it.’’ He glanced at her clothes. ‘‘No gown this eve?’’

  Amelia rolled her eyes. ‘‘How on earth do you expect me to try and swing that sword around in a sundress?’’

  Aiden wiggled his brows.

  ‘‘Let’s get to work. Do you have any idea where Ethan goes?’’

  ‘‘Aye,’’ Aiden said, unsheathing his broadsword from a leather scabbard on his back. ‘‘Not only did we spend our childhood here together, but our enchanted life here, as well. There’s probably no place on Munro land that I couldna find him.’’

  Amelia looked at him. ‘‘So if he’s watching, he could be anywhere, right?’’

  ‘‘Aye.’’

  She shook her head. ‘‘I can’t believe I’m about to do this. Okay,’’ she said, looking him dead in the eye. ‘‘Don’t you dare act weird on me after this, do you hear?’’

  ‘‘Yes ma’am.’’

  ‘‘Fine. Let’s use lots of laughing, and when you get behind me to help me heft the blade, pretend to nuzzle my neck. And when you do the other . . . just don’t enjoy it so much.’’

  Aiden quirked a brow. ‘‘How on bluidy earth do I pretend to do that? You either do it or you dunna.’’

  ‘‘Ugh,’’ Amelia grunted. ‘‘Let’s just do this.’’ She looked at him. ‘‘I hope it works. It’s kind of childish, though, and I feel like an idiot.’’

  Aiden only grinned.

  ‘‘By the way,’’ she said, and by God, she meant it, ‘‘thank you. You’re a good cousin and a brave warrior for doing this.’’

  ‘‘For you only, Amelia,’’ he said with a solemn smile.

  So they began. Amelia knew the other warriors were probably all glued to a peephole somewhere in the keep, or they’d each tagged their own arrow slit for their surveillance, or all piled up at the back kitchen doorway like the gang from Scooby-Doo, watching the show. She didn’t mind really.

  She had a feeling Aiden just might need their help.

  So with Aiden crowding very close from behind, with his big arms overtop hers as he helped her lift the sword, and an occasional nuzzling of the neck, which was really Aiden whispering in her ear ‘‘methinks this is fine sport, indeed,’’ the gloaming hour passed with no signs of Ethan. Aiden, being the prankster that he was, made the entire hour a lot of fun. They laughed—true laughs, because Aiden was a total clown. He in fact, did show her several true-to -life sword-wielding moves.

  The Munro laird remained a recluse.

  By the fourth day of their dopey little charade, still void of the raging mad and jealous Ethan they’d hoped to flush out, storming across the meadow and grabbing Aiden by the scruff, Amelia had all but lost hope. And patience.

  Aiden was enjoying himself a bit too much.

  And Amelia was getting desperate. She’d even gone into the wood to look for Ethan, to tell him enough was enough. But she’d found no sign of him. Even the Munros had searched, and after they’d returned looking worse for the wear, sporting new split lips and shiners, Amelia changed course.

  Drastic measures were in order.

  When she met Aiden on the fifth twilight, Amelia linked her arm through his, stifled a laugh after seeing the stunned look of surprise on his face, and whispered, ‘‘No swordplay this time. Let’s just go sit by the loch, and follow my lead.’’

  ‘‘I’m already likin’ the sound of that, lass,’’ he said with a grin.

  Together they walked over the meadow and to the loch’s edge, sat down, and started up idle chitchat. She told Aiden about the trouble she and her brother got into with the Black Cats at school, and she laughed when he thought she meant real live black cats. Then she told him about the Dillon voodoo doll ZuZu had made for her, and how they’d poked it repeatedly with sharp pins. He clapped his hands together and laughed, and actually, it was really nice company.

  Then Amelia leaned her head against Aiden’s shoulder and whispered, ‘‘Take down my hair.’’

  ‘‘What?’’ he asked.

  Amelia decided she should have discussed this with him beforehand. Too late now. ‘‘Pinch the clip together by the handles and take down my hair.’’

  ‘‘Ah,’’ Aiden said. Then he did it.

  ‘‘Good,’’ Amelia continued, and leaned up and looked at him.

  Aiden’s comical look nearly made her burst out laughing. She held it in, though, because she hoped and prayed their little scheme would work. Even though Aiden looked a lot like Ethan, and was in his own right a very handsome and sexy man, the chemistry between them was familial.

  In other words, she felt like Audrey Griswold about to kiss her brother, Russ. Bleah.

  Then, before she lost her nerve, or snorted out loud, or burst into a giggle fit over the look on Aiden’s face, Amelia grabbed him by the hair, yanked his head down, and pressed her closed mouth against his. Hard.

  At first, he froze. Shocked, no doubt, that Amelia had been so bold. And then she felt him relax, which should have sent off warning bells in her head, but he, being the fiend he was, acted just too fast.

  A cunning warrior, Aiden Munro.

  Amelia felt Aiden smile against her mouth, and then the devil threaded his fingers through her hair, and
laid a big, wet kiss on her.

  Just before he was snatched to his feet.

  All at once, Amelia was alone on the loch shore, and a stampede of booted feet sounded behind her. Before she even turned around, the sound of fist to face met her ears. She looked.

  Ethan stood over Aiden, who was laid out, unconscious, flat on the ground. Slowly, Ethan looked up, turned his gaze on her, and it left her so cold, she almost shivered. Never would she have thought he could look so infuriated. And hurt. A muscle jumped in his jaw, and his brows were dark slashes over his eyes.

  ‘‘Ethan—’’

  ‘‘Dunna,’’ he said, and started to walk past her.

  By now the rest of the Munros had reached them. Aiden had come to, shaking his head, and was leaning on Sorely, rubbing his jaw.

  ‘‘No, you dunna,’’ said Amelia. ‘‘This was all a setup, Ethan. To get you to come out of hiding. To work things out.’’

  He kept on walking. ‘‘There is nothing to work out.’’

  Amelia grabbed his arm. ‘‘Stop it, Ethan, and look at me! You can’t just keep ignoring me, or all of us, and stay holed up in the forest, or wherever it is you go!’’

  He jerked his arm free and headed back toward the wood.

  ‘‘Dammit, Ethan, stop!’’ she hollered.

  He didn’t even slow down.

  Quickly, she thought of something and prayed it would work, prayed she’d remember how to pronounce the words, and with a big, deep breath, she hollered, ‘‘Grú mo chroí!’’ It echoed through the glen.

  That stopped him.

  The other warriors all gasped. A manly sort of gasp, but a gasp still. Then silence.

  Slowly, Ethan turned.

  Amelia held her breath. She had no idea what the Gaelic phrase meant, but by the look on Ethan’s face, it must’ve been pretty darn important.

  He’d said it to her while kissing the boots off her, that day in the rain.

  As he made his way back to her, face drawn, brow furrowed, she prayed she’d done the right thing.

  Chapter 25

  Ethan’s insides stormed the closer he got to Amelia. Anger boiled inside of him, a fury he’d not felt in over seven centuries. The sod ripped beneath his boots as he stormed toward her, and she stood still, unyielding, until he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her close. Her eyes widened, and it sickened him inside to see the look of dread upon her face. It couldna be helped, though.