by Ann Gimpel
Arlen couldn’t stand it. He went to her and knelt by her side, placing his arms around her. She didn’t pull away, and it gave him hope she didn’t hate the feral, untamed part of him that had come out to play killing priests.
“Probably a good time for us to leave,” Sean said.
“Aye, but we’ll want a full report come the morrow,” Will and Krista said almost in unison.
“A full report, indeed,” Morgan seconded.
The great room was already flooded with Druid power. It thickened still more, and then he was alone with Katerina crying in his arms.
“We need to talk,” he said, keeping his voice soothing, “but it doesn’t have to be today.”
She lifted her tear-stained face from his chest. “Yes, it does. I’ll never sleep if I don’t tell someone.” Her eyes darkened with horror at the things she’d seen. “I may never sleep again anyway, but at least if I talk with you, I’ll have a fighting chance.”
“Take your time.” He settled in next to her and sent a thread of magic to retrieve the whiskey bottle. It floated across the room, and he snatched it out of the air.
“That’s a neat trick.” She tried to smile but couldn’t pull it off.
“I’ll teach it to you.”
“Thanks. I was afraid you’d be so furious with me you’d never talk with me again.”
“Close.” He smoothed hair back from her face.
“But no cigar?” She angled a red brow.
“Och. You Americans and your aphorisms.”
He waited as she told him about her evening in fits and starts, from when she’d struck on going out for a ramble as the way to soothe her mental unrest.
“Except, it wasn’t me at all,” she said, “but Rhea who needed me outside the hotel, so she could drag me backward in time.”
“Good you recognize it, lass, now go on.”
He snarled when she got to the part about the perverted monk.
“What was he?” she demanded. “I thought maybe some religious splinter group since they were living in a decrepit stone hut.”
“Could be a lot of things,” Arlen replied. “The secessionists were just getting going then, but you’re right they weren’t Calvinists or part of the Church of Scotland. If they were, they’d have had better cassocks and not been living so far away from the church proper.”
Fear for her cut deep. It was a miracle she hadn’t been raped and then killed. When she relayed how she’d focused magic to cut through her chains, pride filled him. “Mayhap, you don’t need me as much as you think you do,” he said quietly.
She leaned into him. “But I do. If I’m ever in a bad place again, I don’t want to be questing about using trial and error.”
He didn’t tell her that sometimes trial and error was the best he could do. Magic was a fickle bitch, and she often responded differently predicated on a whole lot of uncontrolled variables.
After relaying the next part where she’d run from the hut and met up with both her kinswomen, the first priest, and her original captors, she asked, “What were those glowing stones?”
Arlen had been waiting for that question, but he hadn’t settled on how to answer her.
“Truth.” She lifted her chin.
He shut his eyes for a moment before snaring her gaze and holding it. “Men with those gems are Hunters. Morgan told you that much. The Church employed them to run down those with magic and kill them. Hunters have power of their own, but the Church allowed it because they were useful.”
“They’d have killed me.”
He nodded. “The stones burn brightest for witches. They were created by a long-ago sorcerer who hated them.”
She angled her head to one side. “You left something out.”
It was the second time she’d done that to him, used her magic to intuit something was missing. “Aye. What I skipped over is how they kill other magic-wielders. They gut you in such a way they can feast on your power, using it to strengthen their own.”
“Ewww.” She made a face. “Like vampires.”
“Aye, lass. Very much like vampires. Except when Hunters are done with you, you remain dead.”
“No returning as a junior-grade Hunter?”
“Nay.”
She sat straighter and raked hair back from her face. “Nothing more to tell. I screamed for you, and you answered me, so I went to ground the first spot I saw.”
“The standing stones were a good shelter. Even fallen as those two were, they contained power in their own right.”
“Rhea isn’t done with me. She’ll try again.” Kat’s voice shook, but strength shone from her eyes.
“She left you alone for years.” Arlen tried for soothing. The lass had been through so much, now wasn’t the time to mention she was the Roskellys’ last hope for continuation of their line.
Kat closed her teeth over her lower lip. “Sorry. I failed to mention this, but I figure I’m the last of them, and they need me to produce more witchy spawn.”
Arlen nodded.
Kat narrowed her eyes. “Does that chin shake mean you knew?”
“Aye, lass, but we don’t have to—"
“Oh yes, we do.” Her expression turned even more somber. “We need to begin those magic lessons right away.” Her pale cheeks splotched with color, and she added, “So long as you have time to work me in. I understand you probably have a full work schedule and—”
“What about your schedule?” he cut in.
“Oh yes. That.” She squeezed her eyes shut before opening them. “I’m too tired to go there.”
“You have every right to be tired. It’s early afternoon, and you didn’t get any sleep last night.”
Kat stumbled to her feet. Crossing the room, she grabbed her bag and dug through it, coming up with her phone. She waved it in his direction. “Never thought just seeing a Verizon logo would make me happy.”
He stood too and walked to where she stood. “What are you doing?”
“Calling a cab. What else? I need to get back to the hotel before I fall on my face.”
He squelched a smile. “Last time it was pitch facedown into your soup.”
“Same thing.” She shrugged and tapped the phone display.
Arlen placed a hand across the screen. He didn’t want to come off as overbearing, but nor did he want her to leave. He couldn’t protect her nearly as well if she put distance between them.
For once, words eluded him. She pushed at his hand and looked at him, a quizzical expression on her face.
“Doona take this wrong.” He winced. For some reason, he’d retreated to Gaelic.
Her quizzical expression turned pointed, and she looked more like the strong-willed, abrasive professor who’d made her mark researching the clans. “Doona take what wrong?” She matched his Gaelic, and he blessed her facility with languages.
He spread his arms in an expansive gesture. “This is a big house. Lots of unused bedrooms. Please. I’d consider it an honor if ye’d remain here.”
Her testy expression softened. “Thanks. I didn’t really want to leave, but I didn’t want to intrude where I don’t belong, either. The hotel’s paid for, and—”
Arlen laid two fingers over her mouth. He was being terribly forward, but he’d apologize later. “Hush.” A corner of his mouth twisted downward. “I went to a lot of trouble rescuing you—twice. Least ye can do is let a chap keep a close eye on you.”
She closed her teeth over her lower lip and reverted to English. “Is there some way to bar Rhea from this house?”
He wanted to lie so she’d sleep better, but he couldn’t do that to her. “Not really. Until ye strengthen your innate power, she’ll keep trying. Mayhap even afterward, but ye’re stronger than she is.”
“No, I’m not. At least, not yet.”
“Aye, lassie. Ye’re alive. It gives you an edge.”
“You’re just trying to make me feel better. Before, you said being dead conferred advantages. You can’t have it both ways.�
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“The only plus your kinswoman has—and ’tis significant—is we canna banish her. No matter what we do, she can find ways to return.”
“Until she gives up.” Determination ran beneath Kat’s words. “I can out-stubborn her.”
Arlen had moved his hand from her face to her shoulder. He squeezed gently, loving how she felt beneath his touch, all fluid skin and muscle stretched over bones. Desire kindled. He wanted to sweep her into his arms and carry her upstairs.
She leaned into his touch, swaying on her feet from weariness. Guilt needled him. The lass needed food, rest, mayhap a hot bath to help her relax. Beyond that, he was filthy, his clothes and skin streaked with dried blood and dirt. He moved his fingers from her shoulder down her arm until she laced her fingers with his.
Holding her hand, he led the way upstairs. He’d offer her the chamber right next to his. That way, he could keep the inner door open and watch over her while she slept.
What he wanted was to watch over her forever, but she had to come to him on her own, not because she was frightened or exhausted or wrung out. And certainly not because her witchy ancestor was hanging about in the wings pushing for them to have sex. Thinking about Rhea infuriated him. If she weren’t already dead, he’d have enjoyed ending her life.
They’d reached the third-floor landing, and Kat looked sidelong at him. “You’re angry. If you’ve rethought me staying here—"
He didn’t question her perceptions. They were part of how her magic worked. Arlen swung her to face him. “Not angry with you. How could I be?”
She turned the hand he wasn’t holding palm up. “Because I’m pigheaded and don’t follow instructions very well.”
He skipped the observation about her knowing herself quite well, and said, “I find those traits refreshing, appealing—”
Before he got any more words out, she threw her arms around his neck, stretched onto tiptoe, and kissed him, sweet, hard, and quick. When she lifted her mouth from his, she said, “It’s just me here in this hallway. Rhea isn’t anywhere around. You’ve turned me down twice, Arlen MacGregor. Send me away a third time, and I’ll never trouble you again.”
Emotion thickened his throat. Not trusting himself to speak, he wrapped her in his arms and crushed his mouth over hers.
Chapter 11
A Short Time Earlier
Between talking about what she’d lived through and the tumbler of hooch, Kat felt more like herself than she had since she’d landed in Old Inverness, beyond the reach of her own time. Some parts of her story were harder than others. She still felt dirty remembering the faux-holy man, his eyes burning with lust as he pawed at her.
Arlen was a good listener. Quiet and patient, he asked questions but didn’t drag the story out of her faster than she wanted to tell it. His support went a long way to help her put events in perspective, as did his approval of how she’d handled things.
Maybe he was restraining himself, but he hadn’t rebuked her for leaving her hotel in the first place. He had probed, but gently, drawing out her reactions to watching him kill the Hunters. She’d been honest about the mixture of revulsion and fierceness that had confused her at first. Until she recognized he’d done what he did to protect her—and the other Druids…
“Latin?” he asked.
Immersed in thought, she’d missed the first part of his question. “Sorry, what about Latin?”
“I was wondering if you speak Greek as well?”
“Um, yeah. Sumerian too, and I can decode Linear A and B.”
He rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”
“I bet you know them as well.”
“Aye, that I do, but our educational system is more slanted toward antiquities.”
Much as she wanted to launch a defense of U.S. universities, his observation was true. She stole a sidelong glance at him. Such a beautiful man. Blunt-cut dark hair fell across his face, brushing his shoulders. He must want to change his clothes, yet he hadn’t left her side. Dirt-streaked and bloody, speckled with singe marks, his trousers, shirt, and jacket still showcased his broad-shouldered build.
Thinking about him changing reminded her she needed to leave, and she got up intent on her bag and phone. She’d call a cab, and maybe they could pick a time later today—or even tomorrow—to get together. She needed to switch her airline tickets again. Or maybe she should just cancel them altogether and rebook once she knew how long she’d be here.
Her university was on Christmas break, so she wasn’t due back until the seventh of January.
He crossed the room to where she stood. “What are you doing?”
“Calling a cab. What else? I need to get back to the hotel before I fall on my face.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Last time it was pitch facedown into your soup.”
“Same thing.” She tapped the phone display. She wanted to stay right where she was, but she wouldn’t make a fool of herself. Or cause him to be uncomfortable. He’d turned her down twice. Nothing had changed, so throwing herself at him would be in horrible taste. He deserved accolades for rescuing her, not a hussy trying to muscle her way into his bed. She wanted him, but it ran deeper than that. Something about being with him completed her in a way she didn’t understand, but she didn’t question it, either. Explaining the turmoil making her heart beat faster felt quite beyond her, so she hunched over her phone.
Arlen placed a hand across the screen.
“What are you doing?” She pushed at his hand, confused.
A volley of Gaelic buffeted her, Old Gaelic she had to think about. By the time she’d come up with a loose translation, she bent her head over her purse to hide her elation. He wanted her to stay.
Here.
With him.
He’d just asked her not to leave.
Whoa, sweetie. Listen to the man. He said it’s easier to protect me if I’m here. I shouldn’t read too much into this. Or anything at all.
Determined not to make an ass out of herself, she let him take her hand and lead her up a winding staircase to the second floor and then up a straight one to the third. The house rose around her, almost feeling alive with its priceless collections of statues, crystal, wall-hangings, and thick, woven rugs that absorbed the sound of footsteps.
Everywhere she looked, Arlen’s exquisite taste shone through. Not only was each item delicate and beautiful, they’d been placed to maximize their brilliance in juxtaposition to everything else.
He tightened his fingers around hers; his mood was changing from happiness and relief she was staying to anger. Crap. Had she done something wrong? Or was he simply having second thoughts.
Once they crested the landing, she stole a sidelong glance his way. “You’re angry. If you’ve rethought me staying here—"
He swung her to face him, twin fires burning in the depths of his dark eyes. “Not angry with you. How could I be?”
Oh, honey. Let me count the ways…
She offered half a smile. “Because I’m pigheaded and don’t follow instructions very well.”
He shocked the hell out of her by saying, “I find those traits refreshing, appealing—”
Something cracked wide open inside her at the unexpected compliments. Maybe it was the witch blood, but she’d never shied away from going after what she wanted. Her resolve to behave frittered away like dust in a staunch wind. Launching herself at him, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. His lips were firm and sweet. He tasted of magic and blood and whiskey; the unusual combination stoked her desire. She could have kissed him forever, but she had to make sure it was what he wanted too.
She pinned him with her gaze. “You’ve turned me down twice, Arlen MacGregor. Send me away a third time, and I’ll never trouble you again.” She waited, barely daring to breathe. Would he walk away from her this time too?
Emotion rippled across his defined cheekbones and square chin dotted with dark stubble. Disbelief. Joy. Desire. Others she didn’t have names for. She�
��d expected words, but he wrapped her tight against him and crushed his mouth over hers.
She opened her mouth to him and sparred with his tongue, caught up in the simple relief and joy of being desired in return. He wanted her. This time, he wasn’t going to turn from her. She felt hunger, craving in how he held her, kissed her, and in the rigid column of flesh pressing into her belly.
They’d just come from a battlefield. Sex and death were linked. People fucked to remind themselves they were still alive, but what was unfolding between them ran far deeper than that. She didn’t question how she knew, in the same way she never questioned any of her intuitions.
They’d never failed her.
And they wouldn’t start now. Arlen was hers. They were meant to build a life together. She was as sure of it as she’d ever been of anything. He splayed his hands across her back, leaving trails of heat wherever he touched her. She held onto handfuls of his woolen jacket, wishing for the skin that lay beneath.
Breath quickening, her heart knocked against her ribcage. Her nipples hardened where they were crushed against him, and need slicked her labia and upper thighs. He thrust his tongue inside her mouth; she sucked on it like a drowning woman offered air. Magic filled with his Druid, earth-linked scents thickened around them. Heather, gorse, and rain-wet moorlands mingled with the vanilla herb scent she’d always claimed as her own.
The odors were heady, intoxicating. A woman could live on them forever.
His hands slipped lower down her back until he cupped the curves of her ass, snugging her against her hard-on. She wanted to look at him, kiss every centimeter of him from mouth to chest to stomach. If she could wait that long to take his cock into her mouth.
He made a decidedly male sound, somewhere between a growl and a gasp before ripping his mouth from hers. “I will not take you standing in my upper hall, lass. We’re both filthy. I’ll get the shower going. Unless you’d prefer a tub.”
“What I prefer is you. The faster it happens, the better.”
He winked broadly and glided into Gaelic. “Nay, ye only think ye want it fast. I know what ye need, and ’tis long, slow loving where ye scream my name and carve it into the headboard because ye canna help yourself.”