Awaken the Highland Warrior

by Anita Clenney

  He wasn’t worried about feeling at home. He was worried about keeping his hands off her. If necessary, he could sleep in the car.

  “We’ll take two rooms,” she said into the phone, and Faelan gave a sigh of relief. Bree put the phone away and rummaged in her big bag, took out a tissue, and dabbed at his chin.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, pulling away.

  “You’ve got dirt on your face. They’ll think you’re an escaped convict.”

  “Do you want to know how many cobwebs are in your hair?”

  Bracing her knees against the steering wheel, she brushed at her hair with both hands.

  Faelan stared at the cars approaching them. “I’d feel more comfortable if you weren’t driving with your knees.” He leaned over, running his hand through her hair, helping her clean up the worst of the mess. She grew unusually quiet. Had she finally realized how much danger she’d been in? It was a wonder she wasn’t swooning. Women were sensitive creatures, with delicate natures.

  “I should’ve taken that sword and chopped him into little bitty bloody pieces.”

  Damnation, but the woman was obsessed with swords. “You can’t fight him. He’s spent centuries preying on humans, figuring out their weaknesses, using deception, lies, any tricks he can to destroy them.”

  “You’re right. Even as Russell, he got scary. How could I have not known he was a demon?”

  “Deceiving is what they do best, especially the ancient demons. They give off an aura that draws people to them. Even warriors get fooled sometimes.”

  “But I let him get close… oh, God.” Her face went white as alabaster. “Our children.”

  Chapter 17

  “Children?” Faelan’s lungs burned. He realized he’d stopped breathing.

  Bree let the car roll to a stop on the side of the road and turned off the engine, looking as sick as he felt. She covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders started shaking, slight trembles growing into deep, silent sobs.

  Faelan pulled her into his arms, mindful of her scratches, refusing to think how Druan had likely held her the same. The position was awkward, making his arm throb, but he held her close and let her cry. He rubbed her back, whispering soft words he hoped were of some comfort as he fought his own dread. Bree’s flesh and blood mixed with a demon’s?

  “I’m sorry,” she said, when the tears were finished. “I guess the shock wore off.” She leaned back and wiped her face with the bottom of her shirt. “About five months ago, I thought I was pregnant. Russell went berserk. That’s when he hit me, and I knew I had to get out.”

  “The bairn—”

  “It was a false alarm. But if there had been a child, it would’ve been half… I can’t even say it.”

  Half demon. A halfling. One of the things he was honor-bound to destroy, no matter who the mother was. And she could’ve gone years without discovering its true nature. Some didn’t reveal their evil side until puberty. He had no qualms about suspending and destroying demons. It was what he was born to do. They were tormentors, created for evil. But aiming a talisman at a nine-year-old trying to rip your throat out wasn’t an easy thing to do, and impossible to forget.

  Thinking that Bree could be mother to one…

  She sniffed. “I’m scared. If Druan doesn’t already know you’re awake, he will soon, and he’s going to come after us.”

  Faelan reached for her again. “I won’t let him hurt you. I’ll destroy him if I have to.” Even if it meant his own death. His lips brushed her temple, then the side of her mouth. She made a soft sound that thickened his blood, and she moved her lips to meet his.

  “What you do to me,” he whispered against her lips and then eased his tongue inside. Her hand, already resting on his thigh, brushed his groin, and he remembered slipping inside her, the desperate ache, the warmth, the belonging. He put his hand over hers, pressing it harder against him, then moved to her breast. His body cried mine, though his head knew she wasn’t. He moved to her thighs, then slid his hand under her skirt, encountering a frilly piece of cloth. His fingers tugged at the lace. “What’s this?”

  “Panties,” she gasped, when he touched what lay beneath.

  That hadn’t changed, but he didn’t remember it having this effect on him. The flicker of lights from an approaching car hit the windshield, breaking the spell. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice thick as he slid the lace back in place and smoothed down her skirt. Bree pulled her hand from his lap and settled back in the seat, her face flushed. He couldn’t do this to her again. Not without his ring on her finger.

  And bound by clan rules as he was, that could never be.

  ***

  “Fix your sleeve,” Bree whispered. “I can see blood—” She broke off as a gray-haired woman opened the door of the white Victorian bed and breakfast. “Mrs. Edwards? I called earlier. You’re holding two rooms for us.”

  “You’re lucky,” Mrs. Edwards said. “This conference has every hotel filled. Some new-world-order thing. I had a few of them staying here, but they went to a friend’s house. Can’t say I’m sorry. They were strange. I have two guests besides the two of you, but they keep to themselves. Haven’t seen hide nor hair of them since they arrived. Haven’t seen the one at all. Where’s your luggage?”

  “We didn’t bring any.”

  Mrs. Edwards peered over the rim of her glasses with a look that made both Bree and Faelan blush.

  “We were on the way home and got too tired to drive. I have trouble seeing at night, and he gets migraines.”

  “Poor thing,” she said to Faelan. “I do too. I have medicine, if you need it.” After checking them in, she led them up a wide staircase to a landing and pointed out a large room to the left, with walls painted green and a canopied bed. “The other one is right next to it. Fresh toothbrushes are in the bathrooms. If you need anything, I’ll be downstairs for another hour. Breakfast is at eight.”

  “Any preference on rooms?” Bree asked, feeling awkward after making out in the car.

  Faelan wasn’t listening. He’d walked inside the green room and was staring at an old painting hanging over an antique dresser. Bree followed and stood beside him. The dark-haired girl in the painting was feeding her horse an apple.

  “She looks like Alana,” he said, his eyes so haunted Bree wanted to kill Russell with her bare hands.

  “She must have been lovely.”

  “Aye. She was full of life. Loved people, animals, especially horses. And painting. She painted anything that would sit still. Tormented me and my brothers.” A smile touched his lips. “She hid a portrait of me in my trunk before I left Scotland. Her note said it was so I wouldn’t forget her. I could never forget.”

  Bree touched his arm, wishing she could erase his pain. He pulled her close and buried his mouth in her hair.

  “I’m so sorry.” She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose everything she loved, everything she knew, in one instant. “You may get to meet Alana’s descendants. Won’t that be amazing?”

  “Aye, that will be amazing,” he said, his words muffled. When he stepped back, there was sadness on his face. “I apologize for what happened in the car, and before. You shouldn’t have to put up with me.” Before she could speak, he touched her cheek and walked away.

  ***

  “Eek! ” Mrs. Edwards’s plump hand flew to her equally ample bosom as she stared at the tall, raven-haired man who’d entered. “Oh my word, I didn’t even hear you come in.”

  “My apologies. I know it’s late, but the sign out front did say welcome.” His eyes flashed, then he smiled, and something she couldn’t name wound its way up her body. “I’d hoped you might have a room for the night.”

  “Well, you’re in luck,” she said, fanning her face. “Most of my guests checked out already. Thank God. They were part of that strange conference in town.”

  He smiled again, and she glimpsed strong, white teeth. She was no spring chicken, but looking at him made her insides all gushy,
like she hadn’t felt for thirty years or more. Or was it thirty minutes, she thought, remembering the other man who’d just arrived. This one looked almost too pretty with his long, glossy hair, like one of those male models, but bigger. Odd that she’d get two such handsome men in one night. Three, if you counted the other one. Made her wonder what the guest she hadn’t seen looked like. She glanced out the window. “Where’s your car?”

  “I didn’t drive.”

  “You’re lucky you found a taxi. This darned conference has taken over everything.” Then again, he probably didn’t have trouble getting taxis or anything else. With that smile, he could sell Bibles to atheists. “No luggage for you either, I suppose,” she said, looking at the floor. “Nobody has luggage tonight.”

  “I think my brother’s friends might be staying here. Young couple, both dark-haired, attractive.”

  “What are their names?” Mrs. Edwards asked, handing him his invoice.

  “I don’t recall. I only met them once.”

  “I can’t give out guests’ names. Policy, you know. I’m sure you’ll see them at breakfast.”

  “I doubt it. I’m not much of a morning person.”

  ***

  Bree scrubbed herself raw with the vanilla soap Mrs. Edwards provided, but the horror of the castle, and Russell, still coated her skin. There was a knock on the door. Bree turned off the shower, wrapped herself in a towel, and went to the door. “Yes?”

  “It’s Mrs. Edwards, dear. I brought some toiletries you might need, and I think you dropped something downstairs.”

  Bree opened the door, and Mrs. Edwards handed her a notebook. “It’s not mine.”

  “I found it on the stairs. I thought… well I suppose I should look inside for a name—oh, Mr. Smith. Did you drop this?” Mrs. Edwards took off toward a tall, light-haired man who’d started up the steps. He stood with one foot on the landing, staring at Bree as the color drained from his face.

  She grabbed hold of the door, her head spinning. The man took the notebook and thanked Mrs. Edwards, his eyes never leaving Bree. Instead of going to his room, he turned and started downstairs. With one quick glance at Bree over his shoulder, he hurried out the door. Unless Bree was mistaken, his hand had been trembling.

  “Did he just check in?” she asked Mrs. Edwards, when she gave Bree the toiletries.

  “No. He arrived several hours ago. That’s the first I’ve seen of him since he got here. Haven’t seen his friend at all. They didn’t want to be disturbed,” Mrs. Edwards said, wiggling her eyebrows. She left, but Bree couldn’t shake her queasiness. Was the man in danger? Usually her premonitions were about family or friends, not strangers. Exhausted, she lay on the bed, her finger tracing circles on the chintz spread. She was too wound up to sleep. Sighing, she threw back the covers, wishing she had the nerve to go to Faelan’s room for company, but neither of them could afford the temptation. She couldn’t let her guard down again, for either of their sakes. After Russell was out of the way, then she and Faelan could see what this thing was between them. She dressed in her old clothes and stood in front of the portrait that looked like Alana, wondering what else Faelan had left behind. A woman? Friends? Sighing, she moved to the window and pulled back the lace curtains.

  Across the street, an engine revved. A car pulled out of a driveway, headlights sweeping the small courtyard under Bree’s window to the edge of the woods. Two men stood near the trees, bodies locked in an embrace. The taller one turned, shielding the shorter man as the lights swept past. Bree searched the tree line again, but the men were gone. A quick movement below the window caught her attention, a flash of black hair and a face looking up at her from the courtyard. She jumped behind the curtain. When she looked again, he wasn’t there. She bolted out of her room and ran into a wall. Male. “Faelan, I think someone followed us—”

  “Pardon me.” The unfamiliar voice rolled over her like thick caramel. Bree looked up into the darkest eyes she’d ever seen, even darker than Faelan’s. Long, raven hair framed a pale face so compelling, so beautiful, so incredible… she stared at him, mesmerized, like a bug caught in a spider web, waiting to be sucked dry.

  “Sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

  “My loss,” he said, a seductive smile on his lips. Something danced in his eyes—knowledge, wisdom, sex—and she felt like she’d been thoroughly seduced. “I’ll try not to disturb you. I don’t sleep well at night.”

  She blinked, and he was across the hall, opening his door.

  Too late. She was already disturbed.

  Chapter 18

  Bree stood, feet rooted to the floor, until his door closed. He couldn’t be the man from the courtyard. That had been seconds ago. Had he followed them? He didn’t look like a demon, but neither did Russell. Bree ran to Faelan’s door and burst inside without knocking. There was a bump and a muttered curse.

  She shut the door, speechless, the strange neighbor forgotten. Faelan wore jeans and nothing else. His chest was bare, except for his talisman and tattoos, damp hair held back with the leather strap she’d seen in his sporran, exposing a jaw line that made her knees tremble. Behind his ear, she could see the small tattoo she’d glimpsed in the Jacuzzi. A fresh white bandage added a vulnerable touch, making the combination deadly.

  “I heard voices,” he said, holding his nose.

  “I ran into one of the other guests. Did the door hit your nose?”

  He nodded.

  “Sorry. It’s not bleeding.”

  He rubbed his finger under it and frowned. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine. I ran into the guy across the hall. I’d just seen someone outside my window, and it startled me.”

  Faelan picked up his dagger from the bed. “Wait here,” he said, and eased into the hall, his steps as soft as a panther’s. He paused outside the stranger’s door, sniffing the air. Moving to the next door, he ran his hands over it and lingered there, a faraway look on his face. Frowning, he entered Bree’s room, emerging minutes later. “I didn’t see anyone,” he said, after shutting his door. “Or smell anything, though I’m not sure I could after hitting my nose.” He touched it gingerly.

  “Sorry. I’m just jumpy. It’s not every day you find out you almost married a demon.”

  Faelan put his dagger on the table. “Do you want to stay awhile?” He cleared his throat and studied his toes. “Sleep here, if you want.”

  Staying with him was a bad idea, but hanging out with a warrior who had a talisman capable of blasting a demon into nonexistence was preferable to going back to her room with only her imagination for company. She nodded. “I was coming to see you anyway. I figured we could talk.”

  “Talk?”

  “It might help to talk about your sister. Talking helps. Men don’t usually know that. They have to be prodded into these cleansing conversations.”

  “Then prod away. We have much to discuss anyway. Please, sit down.”

  His room was similar to hers, but painted a soft blue with a queen-sized four-poster bed, mahogany tallboy, chest of drawers, and an old roll-top desk. Antique pictures covered the walls, but no little dark-haired girls to remind him of the sister he’d lost. The lamp beside the bed cast a warm soothing glow.

  Then, she did a stupid thing. She moved past the only chair in the room, a wingback, and sat on the end of the bed with her legs folded under her, in a skirt that didn’t reach her knees when she was standing.

  Faelan glanced at the chair before joining her, settling at the top of the bed. He crossed his ankles and leaned against black and cream toile pillows, his bare feet almost touching hers. Bree swallowed and gave him a quick once-over, thighs stretching the fabric of his jeans, the faint trail of hair low on his stomach, hard abs, and finally the tattoos on his chest, dancing under the lamp’s glow. This was a mistake, but it was too late to leave.

  “I see Mrs. Edwards gave you a bandage.” Other than opening his old wound, he appeared unscathed.

  “Told her I’d bumped into a tree. No
t quite a lie,” he said, dragging his gaze from Bree’s legs.

  Bree tugged at her skirt, wishing she’d sat in the chair.

  “I won’t take advantage of you,” he said, watching her squirm. “Not that I blame you. I wouldn’t trust me either.”

  “You didn’t take advantage of me before.” If he apologized again, she’d hit him over the head.

  “Maybe I’m trying to convince myself.” He folded his arms against his chest, biceps bulging. “I’ll keep my hands right here,” he said, tucking them under his armpits, eyes twinkling. “We could ask Mrs. Edwards for a brush.”

  “A brush?” Had she forgotten to comb her hair? She ran her hands over her head, feeling her damp ponytail.

  “If I get out of line, you can hit me with it like you hit Grog.”

  “Oh, a broom.” He didn’t use many Scottish words, but when he did, it was utterly charming.

  “That’s a sight I’ll never forget, no matter how hard I try. I don’t know who was more surprised, Grog or me.” He shook his head. “Having a woman try to rescue me is an experience I don’t relish. And not one I’d care to repeat. You live up to your name, I’ll say that. You are a disturbance.”

  “I’m disturbing?”

  “You disturb me.” He grinned, and she felt lava pulse through her veins.

  They were treading dangerous waters. “These are modern times. You need to be man enough to let a woman do some rescuing too,” she said, which resulted in a dubious scowl. “Do you think Druan knows we were there? Could he smell us?”

  “I doubt it. They stink like the devil, but their sense of smell isn’t strong. Couldn’t live with themselves if it were.” His hands dropped to his talisman. “He must be desperate by now. We’ve got to find my clan. Druan’s disease—” Faelan stopped.

  “Disease? What disease?”

  Faelan blew out a breath and closed his eyes.

  “You’re still hiding things.” She started to get up, but he caught her arm. He moved closer and sat with his legs crossed so that their knees almost touched.