Awaken the Highland Warrior

by Anita Clenney

  He stopped so fast, she plowed into him. “I thought you meant a horse,” he said, finally looking at something besides her knees. He approached the car like she would Noah’s Ark, running his hands over the hood, smudging her wax job, pressing his nose to the window like a kid who’d crash-landed in the North Pole.

  More proof he wasn’t a demon. All human males were as fascinated with cars as they were with breasts. Faelan appeared to be no exception.

  “It’s yours?”

  “It was my dad’s. He died when I was a kid.” One day the car would be hers, he’d promised. One day he’d teach her to drive. He hadn’t.

  “You loved him,” Faelan said.

  Bree heard sympathy in his voice. Did he miss his father as much as Bree missed hers? She and her dad had done everything together, Civil War re-enactments, metal detecting, exploring caves. The only time he’d let her out of his sight was to visit her grandmother. Bree had never understood why she wasn’t allowed to attend summer camps and have sleepovers like the other girls. She asked him about it once. He’d smiled a little sadly and said fair damsels had to be protected. That was before she found out about her dead twin.

  There was a rustling in the trees, followed by a shriek, and something white flew overhead. Faelan grabbed Bree’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  She opened the car door, and he shoved her inside. What was he so afraid of? “Was that an owl?” she asked after he moved around to the other side. “I’ve seen a huge one hanging around. That could be what we heard earlier.”

  “Maybe.”

  She showed him how to work the seat belt, then started the car. The engine roared to life, and Faelan’s eyebrows rose. At the end of her long driveway, she pulled onto the road and hit the gas. Faelan’s shoulders were thrown back as he gripped the seat. Bree played tour guide as they drove, but he wasn’t listening. His gaze was everywhere—on the car, the scenery, the traffic—but his hand never strayed from the bump where the necklace lay under his shirt. They passed a massive rock sticking out of the ground, and he twisted around. Bree saw the look on his face. Recognition.

  “Is that a talisman you’re wearing?”

  He clamped his hand over the necklace, as if she might leap across the seat and rip the thing from his neck. “How do you know about talismans?”

  “I have all sorts of useless knowledge floating up here,” she said, tapping her temple. “Who gave it to you?”

  “Mi… my family.”

  “The one you can’t remember?” Touché. She saw a muscle in his jaw twitch. “If you knew your last name, we could search for them on the computer.”

  “Computer?”

  She could tell by the way he formed the word that it was the first time he’d uttered it. “You can find anything you want on a computer, and some things you don’t, but I need a name first.”

  “Hopefully I’ll remember it soon. I have nothing. No home, no horse, no food.”

  She was pretty certain he’d remember when he wanted to. “I wanted to talk to you about that. Since you can’t remember anything, you’re welcome to stay here until we figure out who you are.”

  He looked at her as if she’d offered him cyanide. “You’d do all this for a stranger after…” He shook his head. “Why?”

  “You have an odd way of showing appreciation.”

  “You’re too trusting. I could be dangerous.”

  She knew he was dangerous, but he was also the key to a mystery. “I woke you. It seems the right thing to do, in here.” Bree patted her heart, and Faelan stared at her breasts. With Russell calling every day, it wouldn’t hurt to have a strong man around, even one she’d found in a crypt. Russell would think twice before coming after her with Faelan here.

  “I’m becoming more and more indebted to you,” he said, not sounding pleased about it. “I can take care of the farming and chores until your brother gets here, then I’ll leave.”

  Leave? She’d just found him. “I don’t have chickens or cows, but there’s work to be done, that’s for sure.” Isabel’s journal had distracted Bree from remodeling.

  “I’m surprised you don’t have someone to help you with the place.” His tone gave away what he didn’t say. That she was too old not to have a husband. Unmarried at twenty-six would have been a spinster in his time.

  “I don’t have much luck with men.” She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until he lifted one sexy eyebrow in disbelief.

  “You can’t be serious?”

  “I can’t find a good one.” With those ears of his, she’d have to be more careful what she said. She had a tendency to talk to herself, something Jared teased her about. Jared. “You know, the archeologists will be back in a few days. You’ll have to stay hidden.”

  “Aye. We can’t have your reputation sullied.”

  Her reputation sullied? “I was thinking of someone asking questions.” She glanced at his kilt. “You said no one could know about you. I could say you’re Cousin Reggie. He owes me.” She pictured the crypt rising from the weathered gravestones, the old tree hanging over the top like a shroud, and remembered the crippling fear. Screams. And blood. The memory stopped there, as it always did.

  “What in tarnation is that?” Faelan asked, looking out the window at a silver glint in the sky.

  “An airplane.”

  “Airplane?” The word sounded as strange on his tongue as computer had. He watched the white line cut through the clouds, and she could see a thousand questions in his eyes. His astonishment erased any lingering doubts. She took pity on him, knowing he must be dying of curiosity, too.

  “It’s remarkable how much travel has changed in the last century. We’ve gone from carriages and hot air balloons to airplanes that can carry hundreds of people anywhere in the world in less than a day.”

  “You jest?” he murmured, obviously forgetting his amnesia as he watched the plane disappear, his expression a mixture of fascination and alarm.

  If he wasn’t the demon, why didn’t he admit who he was?

  ***

  When the last of the policemen had gone, the tall man slipped from the woods, carrying the shovel he’d taken from the dig. He hurried through the graveyard, stopping at the back of the crypt. Counting off five paces from the corner, he approached the third grave. Just as the paper had said, a headstone with no name. He heard a cry and something white swooped overhead. A huge owl settled in the gnarled tree, tucked in its wings, and watched with steady, round eyes. Was this a bad omen? Swallowing, he raised the shovel and drove it deep into the earth.

  Chapter 6

  Druan stood in front of the antique mirror inspecting his human form. He leaned closer, peering at a tiny line in his forehead. The furrow surprised him. Was that a wrinkle? He’d been here too long. The humans were rubbing off on him. It wouldn’t be much longer. Soon all the pieces would be in place. He wouldn’t fail this time. He couldn’t, not with the Underworld watching to see if he would outdo his father’s plague and Tristol still gloating over his precious HIV.

  This new virus would make Tristol’s AIDS look like child’s play. Druan’s shell started to shift just thinking about Tristol. The demon was even more despicable than the humans. Demon? Druan sneered. He knew Tristol’s secret. Druan had caught him in the act. If only he were free to reveal it. But he had secrets of his own to protect. A knock sounded. “Enter.”

  “You called, Master?” This minion was new, not one he’d seen before.

  Come to think of it, there had been several new faces in the last few days. He’d killed so many, he supposed Grog had found it necessary to replace them. “Did they find it?”

  “No, Master, but we found a coffin.”

  “A coffin?” Druan let out a frustrated roar and then forced himself to inhale and exhale, slow and steady. In human form, he’d found deliberate intakes of oxygen to be calming. He’d found it necessary too much of late. Here he was, ready to wake the warrior, and both the vault and the key were missing. He should have killed the
warrior when he had the chance, but he’d needed to test the time vault. If it did what he suspected, he would have more power than he’d dreamed. “This wasn’t a coffin.”

  “Are you sure this is the place?”

  “I saw it buried myself.” He’d watched the lid close and the key turn in the lock.

  “Maybe it’s been moved,” the minion suggested.

  No one knew where it was except those who’d buried it, and most of them were dead. Tristol, Malek, and Voltar weren’t there. Druan had waited until they were gone before burying the time vault. Had one of them spied on him? Tristol? Had Tristol stolen the time vault? He’d probably dug it up and replaced it with a coffin for spite. He was near. Druan was sure of that. This morning he’d found another minion slaughtered on the front lawn. If this kept up, someone would notice the vultures.

  Druan turned to the minion. “If the time vault has been moved, it couldn’t have gone far. It was heavy as a ship.” He’d tortured a young warrior decades ago, attempting to discover how they transported the vaults, but the warrior had stayed loyal until death.

  Another knock sounded, and Malek walked into the room without waiting for permission. The minion dropped his head in deference as Malek passed.

  “The human is here,” Malek said, brushing the streak of silver adorning his thick, auburn hair.

  “Let him wait,” Druan said, wishing he could throw Malek out, or at least figure out why he was here. But he couldn’t refuse hospitality to one of the League. He turned to the minion. “Time’s running out. Find the vault or you’ll be replaced.”

  He would’ve checked on it sooner, but he’d been so busy with the war and trying to salvage his lost virus, while convincing the rest of the League that the warrior had lied. He’d never dreamed someone might move the damned thing.

  The minion kept his head lowered. “Yes, Master.” He followed Malek from the room, and Druan thought he saw a smirk.

  That one needed watching. With minions, you never knew when they’d turn on you. If this wasn’t over soon, he’d get rid of the lot of them and start fresh. He knew a demon in Haiti who could supply as many as needed.

  He moved back to the mirror, concentrating, but all he could see was himself. That oaf of a sorcerer. He frowned, growing angry when he realized how often he was slipping into human expressions, even when there was no one around to see his disguise, although he was glad it had remained intact after all this time. He admired the front and then turned away from the mirror, spinning his head around backwards.

  Yes. That side was holding up, as well.

  ***

  It was worse than trying to keep up with a child. Bree tucked the receipt in her wallet and searched the street for Faelan’s dark head. A warrior should be easy to spot. She hoped he was a warrior. A demon couldn’t look that good.

  Then again, Satan couldn’t have been too ugly, or Eve would’ve run screaming from the Garden of Eden instead of listening to his lies. And Lucifer, the morning star, the signet of perfection, full of wisdom and perfect in beauty—yikes—until his pride corrupted him and he tried to become greater than God. The dark angels, demons disguised as angels of light, all beautiful. Like Faelan, who was hiding everything but his name. He probably would’ve hidden that too, if he hadn’t been half unconscious when she asked.

  Bree spied a bakery, and a few stores down, a lingerie shop. Food and sex. She hurried toward Margaret’s Bakery, since it was closest. An assortment of delicious aromas teased her nose as she opened the door. A round, pink-cheeked woman smiled from behind the counter.

  “I’m looking for a man—” Bree started.

  “Aren’t we all, dear? All I got’s bread and doughnuts, but they’re the next best thing.”

  “I don’t know about that… well, maybe doughnuts. I’ve lost my… friend. He’s tall—six four—longish dark hair, wearing a kilt.”

  “Oh, him.” She smacked a hand over her heart. “I’d take him over doughnuts any day. He just left. Ate all the banana nut bread samples and headed for the lingerie—”

  Bree’s feet were already in motion as she shouted thanks over her shoulder. The door slammed on the woman’s reply. Bree speed-walked down the street, dodging the morning shoppers, her tote bag with Faelan’s new clothes bumping her thigh.

  Faelan in a lingerie shop? He’d have a heart attack. In his time prostitutes would’ve worn more clothing than the average woman today. Bree burst through the door, and there he was, in all his kilted glory, standing near the edible panty display, holding a tiny piece of material in his hands.

  “Go ask if he needs help,” one of the slack-jawed girls whispered to the other, both staring at him as if he were Attila the Hun.

  “You do it.”

  They were probably afraid he’d ravish them. Bree wasn’t sure he wouldn’t, but she wasn’t about to stand idly by and let him ravish someone else. She set her bag down and cautiously approached him like an animal in the wild. “Faelan?”

  He looked up, eyes so dark with passion that her heart moaned. Before she could blink, he pulled her into the dressing room behind him. The door slammed and his lips came down on hers, his body pinning her against the wall. Bree put her hands against his shoulders to push him away, but the feel of hard muscle and warm skin was too much. His mouth moved to her neck, biting and licking until her knees gave out, and all that held her up was his leg wedged between her thighs. He tasted every bit as delicious as she’d remembered, desperate with a touch of divine.

  “Do you need any… help?” a timid voice asked from outside the closed door.

  They both froze. Faelan dragged his mouth from hers. He looked at her body astride his leg. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice rough.

  “Everything’s fine,” Bree croaked, her back still pressed to the wall. Faelan steadied her and backed away, his expression grim. He rearranged his kilt and sporran as Bree pulled her skirt down and ran her hands over her hair, hoping it didn’t look like they’d been doing what they had.

  “Let’s get out of here.” She’d done some stupid things in her life, but since she’d found Faelan, she was off the chart.

  He took her hand, and they exited the dressing room. An elderly woman waited outside the door, holding two thick robes. Next to her, the salesgirl was trying to cover her shock.

  “Well, I never,” the woman said, glaring at Faelan from head to kilt over the top of her bifocals. “What kind of place is this?”

  “Ma’am.” Faelan tipped his head, the edible panties still in his hand.

  Bree snatched the panties and put them on the counter. “They didn’t fit.” She scooped up her bag and yanked Faelan outside. He took the tote bag from her, and they trudged in silence for a block until they came to a bench on a quiet street.

  Bree sat, and Faelan joined her, putting a large space between them. “I’ll leave as soon as we get back. I need my dirk.”

  “Where will you go? You’ll starve.”

  “I can hunt.”

  “You have to have a license to hunt. You probably need food. Let’s try that taco place. You can change clothes in the restroom. You’re drawing too much attention in that kilt. Then, we’re getting you a cell phone or a leash. I’m not losing you again.”

  ***

  “Do you need a doctor?”

  Faelan’s hand was pressed to his chest, his face pale.

  Bree took his arm. “I’m taking you to the hospital.” She could tell them she’d found him on the street.

  “No.” He pulled away, walking toward the brightly colored fruits and vegetables, floor-to-ceiling shelves of food, cereal boxes, pastries, and breads.

  “I thought you were having a heart attack,” she said, hurrying after him. He didn’t hear her. He was already halfway to the bananas. Shopping with him would be fun.

  Half an hour later, she’d changed her mind. “Stop eating the grapes, before they throw us out of the store,” she hissed. The produce manager watched them from the corner of his eye w
hile pretending to stack oranges.

  “I’m hungry.”

  He couldn’t be hungry. He’d just eaten ten tacos and half a pound of grapes. “Here, eat a granola bar. We can pay for it. I’m going to get another cart,” Bree said. They’d already filled one. “Don’t eat anything else.”

  Faelan stuffed his mouth with granola like a starving toddler and moved down the aisle with the loaded cart. Bree grabbed an empty one and squeaked back. She rounded the corner and stopped. Faelan wasn’t chewing. That was a good sign. The package he was reading wasn’t. He glanced up, mouth parted, eyes dark, and the hand holding the box of extra large condoms darted behind his back.

  “Ice cream. We need ice cream. Meet me in the freezer section.” Her cart thumped along, squeak, bump, squeak, bump, as she fanned her heated face. She yanked out a carton of Caramel Delight, and a reflection appeared in the glass, right there beside the Chunky Monkey. Her heart froze. Russell! She whirled, searching the aisle for his dark blond head. It couldn’t be Russell. He was in Florida.

  “Hello, Bree.”

  She yelped and spun again, and the carton of ice cream shot out of her arms like a torpedo. “Peter!” Peter Rourke was a homicide detective. One of her grandmother’s dearest friends.

  Peter chuckled, retrieved the ice cream from the floor, and placed it in her cart. “I swear, you remind me of Emily. Haven’t seen much of you since the funeral. You doing okay?”

  “Good as can be expected.” Bree glanced toward the aisle where she’d left Faelan and saw him park the cart near the restrooms. “I still miss her. I think I always will.”

  “Me too.” He sighed. “I’m glad I ran into you. I stopped by…”

  She tuned him out, her thoughts racing. She had to get rid of Peter before Faelan got back. She took a couple of steps backward so she could see Faelan coming before Peter spotted him. Thank God they’d put the tote bag with his old clothes and boots in the car. How would she explain that? How would she explain Faelan? She wasn’t even sure who he was, what he was.

  “…strangers in the area.”