Highland Shifter

by Catherine Bybee

  “Even the widows have the protection of Laird Ian. No one is abandoned when in need of our assistance.”

  “Is that why you helped me out? Because you’ll help anyone on your grandfather’s land?”

  “I’d like to think I’m an honorable man. Leaving a lone maiden scared and out of place would have damned me to a thousand years in hell. I’d have not been able to live with myself had I turned my back on you.”

  Did she really believe he’d have left her alone if given the choice? Simon couldn’t help but wonder why she had such a low opinion of her worth. Or maybe she carried a low opinion of others.

  “Maiden?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, cutting her off. “The men trespassing on our land wouldn’t have offered their protection.”

  “They looked like they wanted to kill me.”

  “Killing you would have been merciful.”

  She shivered. “That’s a pleasant thought.”

  “Consider it a warning. If you managed to travel back to my time without me, you must stay in hiding until you can get word to my family. They will offer you protection.”

  Helen’s hands were restless in her lap. The conversation might be uncomfortable, but it could save her life. “I’d have to trust someone to get a message to your family.”

  “A wise person listens and studies who they approach before doing so.”

  “Like you did with me?”

  “You left me little choice. But had I stumbled upon you, I would have watched long before introducing myself.”

  Helen hid a yawn behind her hand. “I don’t plan on returning to the sixteenth century, so your warnings really aren’t needed.”

  “You chose to travel there before?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Then heed my words, Helen. I can’t be with you every moment of your day. Unless you want me by your side day and night.”

  Helen’s head shot up, her eyes grew wide. “Ahh.”

  “Calm yourself, lass. I’m only kidding.”

  She wiggled a finger in his direction. “Men.”

  Simon laughed, knowing he’d given her a chance to regain some of her earlier composure.

  “I’m going to bed,” she announced. “Alone.”

  “Sleep well.”

  Simon watched her turn to leave the room. When she reached the door, he called out. “Helen?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It might be wise to leave your door open in the night. In case something were to happen.”

  With a nod, Helen left the room.

  Simon waited until he heard her footsteps travel up the stairway and into the room Mrs. Dawson encouraged her to use. His was one, not far down the hall, but he didn’t intend to use it.

  He glanced at the books one last time before turning off the lights. By the time he passed Helen’s room, her light was off but her door was open a few inches.

  After pulling back the covers on his bed, Simon stepped to the bathroom adjoining his guest room and removed his clothes.

  Helen might not want Simon McAllister in her bed, but he wasn’t about to leave her alone. They were no closer to finding out how she traveled in time, and there was no guarantee it wouldn’t happen again.

  No, Simon, in one form or another, would be by her side to protect her.

  Standing in front of the mirror, Simon closed his eyes and allowed the shift. He pictured himself shrinking, the hair on his back sprouting. Everything in his body turned to flexible, expanding in some places, contracting in others. He reached for the floor and held in the haunting cry of pain.

  * * * *

  Helen punched her pillow with a fist and attempted to find a comfortable position. After her day, she was having a hard time falling asleep.

  Talk about a confusing night.

  Talk about a confusing man.

  Simon McAllister or MacCoinnich, whichever name he wanted to use for the day, riddled her mind with questions and unease. Every hour he seemed to deliver one more compelling puzzle for her brain to decipher.

  First was the undeniable fact that he’d traveled through time. Was a veteran of the sport in fact. The first time he’d ripped away time and space and traveled to the sixteenth century Scotland was because his mother wanted to prove his aunt was healthy and happily married to a Highland warrior. The second time was to return home so he could finish his first year in junior high school.

  Things were sketchy from there. Simon told Helen he and his mother were forced back to the sixteenth century because of an evil woman who threatened all of Scotland. He didn’t elaborate about how or why. He simply said it took some time for the family to figure out how to destroy her.

  Destroy had been his word. So Simon had killed, or at the very least been a party to another human’s death. Then again, how could she think he was anything but a medieval killer? The way he’d gone after the men in the forest suggested bloodshed wasn’t new to him.

  Now that she reconsidered the events she’d witnessed, how had Simon escaped the men in the forest? There had been six of them. Only two caught up with her.

  What was up with the Druid thing? The man literally shot flames from his fingers. A part of her, an adolescent part, was in awe of his ability. He’d made a flippant comment about how all Druids were capable of the task, even her, with practice.

  Yeah, right!

  She’d had a hard time mastering the fine art of snapping her fingers. Flinging fire across the room was not on her list of talents.

  The thought of warm flames brought heat to her cheeks and reminded her of their near kiss. The fullness of his lips close to hers.

  Electricity to the tune of a zillion volts simply didn’t compare. She hadn’t really expected it. Really didn’t expect to have shoved him on his ass. Call it a twitch, instinct even. She’d been well practiced at keeping men away. Thanks to the foster homes and would-be father figures early in her life, Helen’s trust in men didn’t come quickly. She’d learned that men eager to catch her attention usually disappointed her. There had been very few she wanted close.

  Simon sorely tempted her.

  Helen wanted to believe he was honorable. But he was a man. A masculine, sexy chunk of the opposite sex who didn’t compare to any man she’d had the privilege of knowing.

  I’m never going to get to sleep with all this chatter in my head!

  Helen battered her pillow again and attempted to clear her mind of all things Simon.

  She’d just closed her eyes when a soft mewing noise forced them open. Small furry paws pounced up on the foot of her bed and reflective eyes regarded her with caution.

  “I didn’t know Mrs. Dawson had a cat.” Helen said to her feline companion. The large midnight black cat tilted its head to the side, taking cautious steps her way as if waiting for an invitation to curl up.

  “Who are you?” Helen asked the cat while reaching over to pet the beautiful coat.

  The cat rubbed its face into her palm and purred. “You’re certainly friendly.”

  Helen scratched the cat behind the ears. “Are you a Tom or a Tammy?” She looked and smiled. “Hi, Tom. I’m sure that’s not your name, but it will have to do. I don’t usually sleep with strangers….” Her words drifted while the cat took up residence at her side. He circled a couple of times before making himself comfortable.

  “Well, okay then.”

  The cat licked his paws and settled his head against her hip. He watched her intently, stared actually.

  At least the cat had forced Helen’s thoughts to something other than the man sleeping in the next room. Helen stroked the cat’s back until he purred and his eyes drifted close.

  For what it was worth, the cat offered some comfort and within minutes, Helen was in a world of dreams. Dreams of Highland kilt-wearing men who seduced women like they’d gone to school to learn the art.

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning the cat was gone. By the time Helen showered and left her room, thoughts of her furry bedf
ellow disappeared, and Simon refilled every corner of her brain.

  It was damn unnerving. Men weren’t to be trusted, even a Druid man with a hero complex. A serious sword swinging, damsel in distress saving, follow me I know what I’m doing, hero complex. His disturbing words about being uncertain if she’d vanish out of her comfortable world and find herself thrust into his at any moment, gave her nightmares. Life-size nightmares where Simon didn’t reach her in time, and the two smelly medieval men latched on to her in the overbearing way men did to weak women.

  But she wasn’t a weak woman. Not anymore.

  Knowledge gave her control and control gave her power.

  They were missing a piece of vital information about how she’d managed to get to the sixteenth century, and Helen was hell-bent on finding out what it was.

  In the kitchen, Simon sat with a steaming cup of coffee, his eyes half open. “You look like how I feel,” Helen said as she crossed over to the pot and poured herself some much-needed caffeine.

  “Sleep here is difficult.”

  “It has to be more comfortable than what you’re used to.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  Helen sat across the table from him and sipped her coffee.

  “I’d think without electricity it would be either too hot or too cold. I doubt you have duel-pained windows and insulation.”

  He nodded. “You have a point there. Yet each room has its own fireplace for warmth. In the hotter months, we keep the windows open to catch the breeze. It isn’t as bad as you may think.”

  “That’s what people say who live back east. Cold is cold and hot is hot. No way around it.”

  “Aye. You’re right on that count. But the noise here is suffocating. ’Tis difficult to clear my head.”

  Helen narrowed her eyes and noticed the strain setting into his temples, stress she hadn’t seen the day before. “Mrs. Dawson’s house is quieter than my apartment.”

  “It’s deafening.”

  “How can you say that?”

  Simon reached over and carefully covered one of her hands with his. “Close your eyes.”

  His warm thumb stroked her index finger and sent a swift current up her arm. “Please,” he said.

  Helen lowered her eyes lids. “What are we doing?”

  “Shh, just listen.”

  She didn’t hear anything. Not even a television in another room, or an ambulance screaming outside. As she started to shake her head, Simon held onto her hand tighter.

  “Do you hear the refrigerator?”

  “Of course, but it isn’t loud.”

  “Not loud, but there. The hum and click of it going on and off. I hear the furnace running, the clock in the hall ticking, the coffeemaker percolating, and there is some kind of machine running outside.”

  “It’s a lawnmower,” she told him, hearing it now for the first time.

  “A dog is barking and an airplane is flying overhead.” His hand squeezed hers again as he added, “Even the mice in the attic are scratching inside the walls.”

  “You hear the mice?” Her eyes sprung open.

  A strange look of guilt passed over his face. “My point is it’s noisy. Electricity and technology are noisy.”

  Helen removed her hand from under his. “Small price to pay for conveniences if you ask me.”

  “Spoken by someone who’s never awakened to quiet mornings where only the sun interrupts their sleep, where alarm clocks are unheard of, and the smoke drifting away from a cook’s fire generates the only pollution in the air. I’ve lived in both worlds, Helen, and this one is loud and suffocating.” His voice sounded full of longing, and his gaze drifted beyond her out the kitchen window.

  “We’ll find a way to get you home,” she assured him.

  “We will.”

  An hour later, they’d packed the books into boxes and loaded them into the trunk of her car. Mrs. Dawson tried to encourage them to stay longer, but Helen didn’t want to impose. Besides, she needed the use of her computer back at her apartment. Mrs. Dawson’s ancient computer was a dinosaur, and she didn’t have access to the Internet, rendering it useless for their purpose.

  After she parked her car in the secured garage, Simon removed two of the boxes to carry, insisting she leave the other one for him to retrieve.

  “I can carry the box.”

  “But you don’t have to. I’m here.”

  She moved to grab the box anyway. “I’m used to taking care of myself.”

  “You’ve provided for me ever since I arrived, I need to do something useful.”

  Helen knew it was a trick to get his way, but what the hell. She didn’t feel like lugging the box anyway. “Fine.”

  Simon smiled and followed her into the building. She held the door open for him and led him up the stairs. The complex had an elevator, but Helen seldom used it.

  “I need to call the hotel in Scotland and tell them to send my stuff back. How am I going to explain my sudden departure?”

  “Tell them you had a family emergency.”

  Not that she had a family, but the hotel didn’t know that. “And the car I left in the field?”

  “You can tell them it broke down.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  If carrying thirty pounds of books up three flights of stairs was tiring, Simon didn’t say. His muscular arms hardly strained under the weight. His sword was probably heavier, she guessed.

  Drawing her eyes away from Simon’s beefy arms, she opened the door to the third level of the complex, took two steps into the hall, and froze. Philip, her boss, was exiting her apartment.

  Simon collided into her back, and Helen quickly turned and pushed him back into the stairwell.

  “What is it?”

  “Shh!” What the hell is he doing coming out of my apartment? How had he gotten in? Her mind raced and her heartbeat skipped. She needed to poke her head through the door to see more but was afraid he’d see her. He knew she was supposed to be out of town, so he wasn’t there for a social call. Not that he’d ever been to her home.

  Helen grabbed the boxes from Simon and dropped them to the ground. “Quick, look down the hall.”

  Simon stiffened beside her, but did as she asked without question.

  “What do you see?”

  Simon retreated from the hall. “A man with short brown hair walking the other way.”

  Helen pushed past Simon and peeked for herself. Philip slipped around the corner and the chime from the elevator rang.

  “What is amiss, lass?”

  “That man came from my apartment.”

  Simon’s spine straightened, his eyes narrowed.

  Helen leaped over the boxes and grasped the handle on the door.

  A large hand covered hers and stopped her. “Not this time.” Simon shoved in front of her. “Stay here.”

  Fine, he could go in front, but she wasn’t cowering in a stairwell. Helen walked behind him.

  Simon scowled but didn’t argue when she glared at him with renewed resolve.

  At the door to her apartment, he twisted the handle.

  Finding it locked, he opened his palm for the key. Luckily, Helen kept a spare at Mrs. Dawson’s home, or she’d be breaking into her own place, covering up whatever damage Philip might have done.

  She kept glancing around to make sure Philip didn’t double back.

  The hall was clear.

  Simon unlocked the door and stepped inside. She followed, stuck to his back. Her apartment looked like it did before they’d left the previous day. She wasn’t sure what she expected. The thought of Philip ransacking her place for a few bucks would have made her laugh if not for the fact that he had been in her home without her permission. The question was still, why?

  For a big man, Simon moved with slow grace as he ducked into every corner of her apartment, making sure they were alone.

  “Empty,” he finally said.

  She released a breath. “What was he doing here?”

  “W
ho was he?”

  “My boss, Philip.”

  “The man you work for?”

  Helen turned a full circle, searching for anything out of place. “That’s usually what the title of boss means.”

  Simon stepped to the window and peaked through the curtain. “Do you see him?”

  “No.”

  “He could have parked out back.”

  Simon darted around her and out the door. “Where are you going?”

  “Your car.”

  The books!

  Helen followed Simon as far as the stairwell. “He’ll recognize me.”

  “Go back to your apartment and lock the door.”

  Nodding, Helen grabbed the heavy boxes and hustled to disappear into the quiet of her home. She dropped the boxes and double keyed the lock.

  * * * *

  Simon reached the door to the parking garage and swung it open. The hinges squeaked in protest with the force of his arm and the sound echoed in the cavernous parking lot. Glancing side to side, he walked in the direction of Helen’s car.

  The man who’d left her apartment stepped into the garage and scanned the cars.

  Simon watched from behind a concrete pole until he noticed the other man walk toward Helen’s car. Without pause, Simon made his way in the same direction, determined to divert the intruder.

  Like anyone trying to escape notice, the man saw Simon and twisted his face away.

  Simon kept walking toward the car. The intruder made a show of patting his pockets as if searching for keys, and then turned and walked away.

  To make certain he left, Simon followed him.

  Outside the parking lot, Simon leaned against the building and waited. Helen’s boss glanced over his shoulder once before jogging across the street to a dark car. He jumped in and drove off.

  Satisfied he wasn’t returning, Simon retrieved the books and returned to Helen’s apartment.

  ****

  “Oh my God, what took you so long? Did you see him? Did he see you?” She spat out questions faster than he could answer them. Helen grabbed for the box and tossed it on the couch as if it were in her way of getting his attention.

  “Calm yourself, lass.”

  “Calm myself? Calm myself! Are you kidding me? My boss, who knows I’m out of town by the way, just committed a crime by breaking and entering into my home, and you’re asking me to calm myself?”