“He’s different lately.”
“Stands to reason. He’s got the world to save, demons to chase. And now we have mysterious time vaults popping up in cellars and castles vanishing into thin air.” He rubbed his chest and winced. A dark spot on his shirt seemed to be growing.
“Are you bleeding?”
He glanced down. “It’s just a scratch.”
“Scratches don’t bleed like that.” She put her cookie down, moved closer, and reached for his shirt collar to peek at the wound. It was about two inches long, above his battle marks. “This is way more than a scratch.”
“It’s nothing. I’ll throw a Band-Aid on it.”
“Warriors heal fast, but it’ll take more than a Band-Aid to cover that. I saw Coira put a first aid kit under the sink.”
“Aye, nurse, but don’t get too close. I haven’t showered yet. I’d hate to overpower you with my manly scent.”
Bree gathered the first aid kit and turned to find Ronan easing his T-shirt over his head. Jiminy Christmas! His chest was a work of art. His battle marks looked similar to Faelan’s, but they ran in two rows down the center of his chest.
Bree examined the wound. “Don’t tell me one of your girlfriends did this.”
He lifted a dark brow. “Somebody’s been telling tales. Just taking care of some unfinished business. It got a little messy.”
“Angus?”
He nodded. “I tracked down the demons that attacked him. Three of them. They wouldn’t say who ordered the attack. I’d say someone thought Angus knew something important.”
“You went after them alone?”
“I fight solo.” Ronan’s jaw was hard. Guilt flashed in his eyes. He watched her clean his wound, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, as if the words came from a sacred place. “My older brother was killed by a demon. I was there but I couldn’t save him.”
Like Faelan and Liam. Did all warriors feel responsible for everyone around them? “I’m sorry.” Bree wiped a drop of blood that ran down one of his marks, and her head started to buzz. “But you shouldn’t go out alone.” She covered the wound with antibacterial cream. “Getting yourself killed won’t bring Cam back.”
Ronan’s whole body tensed. “How did you know about Cam?”
“Who?”
“Cam. My brother.”
“You just told me.”
“Not his name.”
“I said his name? Are you sure?”
“Maybe I imagined it.” He rubbed his eyes. “Old ghosts.”
“Do you think those demons followed Angus here? He said something about a traitor. If they know where the house is—”
“I don’t think they got that far. If they did, they won’t be talking now. I have a hard time believing there was a traitor in the clan.” But like Sean, Ronan looked more worried about the matter than he sounded.
“There you go,” Bree said, smoothing the last piece of tape. “Next time, take someone with you.”
“Thank you. Faelan’s a lucky man. I am too, to have such a bonny nurse,” he said, inspecting his new bandage, almost touching his talisman.
“Are all talismans different?”
“Aye. Some look similar, but no two are alike.”
“I can’t imagine wearing something so powerful around your neck. I mean one flash of Faelan’s and those halflings were gone, right before my eyes.”
Ronan’s mouth dropped. “You saw the light from his talisman?”
“It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“You watched an engaged talisman? Bloody…” He stared at her, frowned, and shook his head. “The time vault must have messed it up. If you’d looked at the Mighty Faelan’s talisman full strength, we wouldn’t be sitting here swiping cookies. You, my bonny lass, would be dead.”
“That’s what Faelan said.”
“His talisman has probably killed more demons than any warrior who’s lived. He was the first warrior in two hundred years to be assigned one of the ancient demons, the only one to be assigned two of them.”
“Why aren’t they usually assigned?”
“They’re too powerful. Cody MacBain’s the only one who’s been assigned one since Faelan.”
“Who does the assigning?”
“Michael.”
“This warrior? Where is he?”
“Oh, here and there.” Ronan rubbed his stomach. “I think that last cookie was one too many.”
“I should have stopped after the third.” Bree replaced the first aid kit while Ronan put the cookie jar back. They rinsed the glasses and loaded them in the dishwasher.
“I know nothing about this.” Holding his shirt in one hand, Ronan took her arm and led her from the kitchen. “Fairies,” he whispered.
Bree giggled. “Or bogles.”
“We’ll blame it on Brodie.”
“I think I’ll try to sleep for a couple of hours,” Bree said. “It’s only six o’clock.”
“I’ll walk you up. I need some rest, myself.” Ronan put an arm around her back as they walked up the stairs past Sorcha’s door. Had Faelan gone back for another round after he’d found Bree’s bed empty? “You speak Gaelic?”
“A bit.”
“What does Tha thu as do chiall mean?”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“What?”
“That’s what it means… You’re out of your mind. Can’t imagine where you heard that,” he said, grinning.
She was out of her mind. For feeding Faelan, giving him a bed, sleeping with him, when all he did was hide the truth. Before she and Ronan could say good night, her door flew open. Faelan stood in his underwear, glaring at them, mouth so tight she was afraid he’d grind his teeth to powder. His eyes blazed from Ronan’s bare chest to his arm at Bree’s back.
“You good here?” Ronan asked Bree.
“Fine,” she grated. If he hadn’t been there, she would’ve told Faelan what he could do with his glare.
“Good night then. Faelan,” Ronan kept a straight face until he turned away. Bree saw him grin.
“Where’ve you been all night?” Faelan demanded before Ronan was out of hearing. “And why’s he half naked?”
“Go ask him.” She shoved past Faelan. If this was how things were in his day, treating a girl like he owned her one minute, like a leper the next, and bouncing from bed to bed, then he could go back.
Faelan shut the door, his arms stiff, hair mussed like he’d been sleeping. “What were you doing with him?”
Bree whirled on him. “Faelan, there were plenty of times in my own home when I would’ve been justified in saying this, but I didn’t.” She walked around him and opened the door. “I’m saying it now. Get out!” She put a hand on his chest and pushed him into the hall. He scowled and blinked as if she were the one being rude. He started to say something, but she shut the door in his face and locked it.
He was like the rest, a toad in a Prince Charming shell.
She stepped over his discarded jeans and T-shirt, changed her mind, picked them up, jerked open the door, and dumped his clothes at his feet. He was still standing there when she relocked the door. She crawled into bed without undressing. It was warm, and it smelled like him. He’d slept here. She buried her face in the dent his head had made, and soaked the pillow with tears, swelling her eyes, making her temples throb. When she finished crying, she got out of bed and rummaged in the side pocket of her suitcase for one of the sleeping pills she’d brought, since Faelan seemed nervous about flying. The sketchbook was there. She’d brought it on a whim, thinking she’d face her ghosts while Faelan faced his.
Bree’s hands trembled as she opened the first page. An abyss of shadows and gloom rushed at her, and blocked memories loosed with each turn of the page. There were sketches of the graveyard and the crypt beneath the overhang of trees that looked more human than wood. Of a castle. This castle, or was it Druan’s? A face looked out of a window, a monster with thick skin and sharp teeth, like that thing in
the chapel, but worse. Bree as a little girl, reaching for the burial vault with bloody hands as a light glowed behind her.
Memories flashed in her head, like an old movie reel, becoming clear for the first time since that night. She remembered screaming for help, clawing at the blocked door until blood dripped from her nails. Then she’d heard the whispers, soothing her. Her sobs quieted, and she’d fallen asleep. She’d dreamed of the shiny man like she had so many times before. He was tall and beautiful and kind. He’d always told her she was special, that she had something great to find. This time he told her that her father was gone, but he’d sent someone else to protect her. He showed her a man’s eyes. Beautiful, dark eyes. She’d awoken to yells and lights and a dozen searchers. After the commotion died down, her grandmother took her inside and explained that her father was dead. She never told her grandmother that she already knew. Bree turned the page and gasped.
Before she’d hidden the book, she’d drawn her protector’s eyes.
Chapter 26
Bree awoke to yells and the clash of metal. A battle! She bounded out of bed. Had the demons found them? She ran to the window overlooking a fenced area she thought was a riding ring. There were no horses. There were warriors, at least a dozen of them, practicing in the late morning mist hanging over the meadow. Most of the sparring men were dressed in kilts. Some fought with swords, lunging and sidestepping, others hand-to-hand combat.
Ronan stood bare-chested, holding a bow. He pulled an arrow from a quiver belted on his kilt. There was no way he could hit the target. It was a hundred yards away. He nocked the arrow and drew back, held for a second, then released. The arrow hit dead center of the bull’s-eye. Cripes. Robin Hood had nothing on this guy.
Her gaze shifted, and she saw Faelan standing off to one side, a sword pointed to the sky. Like the others, he wore no shirt. Even this far away, she could see the muscles in his arms and back tense as the sword lowered and his body began to move in that flowing rhythm of power and grace. Poetry in motion.
She pulled herself from her stupor, gave her teeth a quick brushing, threw her hair into a ponytail, and left wearing wrinkled jeans and a long-sleeved green T-shirt. Over the cries and clash of metal, Bree heard more familiar sounds. The clink of dishes and pans accompanied Coira humming a tune. Breakfast smells filled the hall, stronger as Bree neared the kitchen. Coira was setting a buffet with the usual fare and others Bree didn’t recognize.
“Good morning. I hope the noise didn’t wake you.”
“Do they always do this?”
“They have to stay ready for battle. You get used to it after a while.”
“They look… amazing. I saw Ronan with a bow.”
“No one can beat him at archery. He’s almost a legend, like our Faelan,” she added. “Do you want some breakfast? We eat late when they’re practicing.”
“Maybe in a bit. I think I’ll wander outside.”
Coira smiled. “It is an impressive display. All those braw lads. Oh, I remember when Sean was young.” She patted her heart and sighed. “My, my.”
Bree laughed with her and walked outside. The sounds grew louder and the testosterone thicker as she approached the field. Sorcha wasn’t there. Faelan must have worn her out. Bree paused to watch Jamie throw Brodie onto his back, relieved to see he wore underwear beneath his kilt. “That’ll teach you to fight wearing a skirt,” Jamie teased. Brodie shot up and grabbed Jamie around the knees, and they both went down.
Faelan was still in the same spot, sparring now with Cody, who, like Jamie, wore jeans. The men circled each other like big cats, swords extended, movements controlled, precise. Metal clashed as the blades met, muscles shifting with each clang. Then, Faelan whirled and lunged, knocking Cody’s sword from his hand.
“The Mighty Faelan lives,” Cody said, retrieving his sword.
Faelan grinned and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm.
Just a show of teeth, and Bree’s knees turned to water. She looked away before she forgot how angry she was.
At the back of the field, Tomas was fighting hand-to-hand with Anna. She flipped him over her head, landed behind him, and kicked out, catching him in the back of the knees. Bree grinned and wandered over to a table holding an assortment of weapons; knives, daggers, the bow Ronan had used, and a wicked-looking crossbow. A target was set up against several bales of hay.
She idly picked up a dagger, testing it in her hand. It felt like a crowbar, not an extension of her arm. She made sure no one was watching, drew back her arm, and let the dagger fly. It sailed over the target, and she heard a curse.
Ronan stepped out, chest glistening above his kilt, hair damp with sweat. He held the dagger in his hand. His bandage was gone and the gash was almost healed. “If you need more practice bandaging wounds, just ask, darlin’. In fact, if you feel the need to practice anything at all…”
“Sorry about the dagger.”
“You’re holding it wrong.” Ronan moved behind her and placed the dagger in her hand.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Please,” he whispered. “I’m trying to look busy. I had only two hours’ sleep. Niall’s killing me.” He put one hand on hers, pulling it back, slow and smooth. The heat from his body seeped through her, though the morning was cool. “Now, release, with your wrist like this.” He demonstrated with his left hand. They practiced the move a few more times, Bree doing exactly as he said. As she released the dagger, she caught sight of Faelan coming toward them, face set like one of Druan’s gargoyles. The dagger flew over the target a second time.
Niall stepped from behind it. “You throw like a lass.” He turned the dagger sideways, tossing it to Ronan. “You hiding from me?” Niall asked, folding thick arms over his chest. His legs looked like tree trunks sticking out of his kilt. He had to be over six and a half feet tall, the only warrior she’d seen with a hairy chest.
“No.” Ronan gave Bree a warning nudge.
“Sorry,” Bree said. “I threw the dagger. Ronan’s trying to show me how to do it, but it’s not working like it did before.” She frowned and looked at her hand. “When I killed that halfling, it felt different, like the dagger was part of my arm.”
“You killed a halfling?” Ronan said.
“Faelan was fighting off a bunch of them after rescuing me. They had him trapped. I knew he was going to die, and I had his dagger.” She shuddered, thinking how close the blade had come to his head. “I threw it at the one holding him. Hit him smack in the chest, and poof, he was gone.”
Both warriors went slack-jawed. “The halfling disappeared?” Ronan said.
“Impossible,” Niall muttered.
“It is?”
Ronan shook his head. “You said you saw the light from Faelan’s talisman, but I didn’t know—”
“She watched an engaged talisman?” Niall put his hand over his massive chest, his expression wavering between horror and shock.
Faelan approached. “I need to talk to Bree,” he said, addressing Ronan and Niall.
Still looking dazed, Ronan raised a questioning brow at her. When she nodded, he nudged Niall, and they walked away.
“How the hell could she…” Niall’s words faded as they moved toward the fence. She could see their animated gestures and puzzled stares and knew they were talking about her.
“We need to talk,” Faelan said, his voice expressionless.
She stared at the trickle of sweat running like a lazy river between his battle marks. She wished he’d worn a shirt with his kilt. She wanted to tell him what she’d discovered in the drawings, but she was too angry. “I don’t,” she said and turned away. Ronan and Niall pretended to study the warriors still sparring on the field.
Faelan moved in front of her, gripping her arm, his features like his voice, recognizable but fake, as if he wore a mask of himself. “I shouldn’t have jumped you like I did.”
“Are you referring to last night or the night before?”
“Both.”
Now he was going to tell her it shouldn’t have happened. She knew it shouldn’t, but she didn’t want to hear it from him. She pulled her arm back and tried to step around him, but he stopped her again.
“When I saw you with Ronan—no matter, I haven’t had much of a chance to talk to you in the last day or so, but—”
“Cut the crap. I woke up alone, cleaned up the sticky mess you left,” she said, jabbing his chest, “and you don’t even bother to say hello or thank you. Go find Sorcha and leave me alone.”
Ronan and Niall weren’t even pretending to watch the field now.
Faelan trapped her hand in his. “Bree, listen to me. Angus is dead. I just found out.” Faelan’s face was real now, somber.
Bree’s fingers tightened on his. “Dead? No.” She pulled away, walked a few steps, and slumped against a maple tree, watching a dying leaf float to the ground. She’d killed Angus. She hadn’t warned him, and now he was dead. She wanted to lean into Faelan, feel his heart pounding, safe. For now.
“I think it would be best if you left.”
She looked up. “What?”
“I want you to leave here,” he said, the mask back in place.
Leave? The idea made a few passes around her head, looking for a place to land. He was dumping her. Bree was familiar with dumping. She’d dumped and been dumped, but it had never made her feel like her lungs had been pureed. It wasn’t that she’d awakened him and helped him fit into his new world or fed and clothed him when she should’ve had him arrested. Or that she’d lent him money and turned him loose in her Mustang. She’d put her life in his hands. Given him her body, her heart, and he was throwing her out of Scotland. Out of his life.
“You should be away from this. It’s too dangerous. Go someplace safe, maybe your mother’s.”
In male speak it meant he didn’t need the guilt of seeing his folly every time he bumped into her. He’d known all along she wasn’t a suitable mate, but now he had Sorcha to quench his lust.
She bit her lip to keep it from trembling, hoping he thought she was upset over Angus. Sorcha walked across the grass carrying her sword, but stopped when she caught sight of them. Bree moved past Faelan, holding her head high, and past Sorcha, who watched with an inscrutable look on her face. Bree had to get away from this place. Away from him. Every man in her life had let her down, even her dad, although dying hadn’t been his fault.
Awaken the Highland Warrior Page 26