Awaken the Highland Warrior

“You’ve remembered something?”

“No. It’s just a precaution.”

“You know your first name but not why you need all this secrecy?”

His brows flattened. “I only remember that one thing.”

“And someone named Druan.”

Faelan went still, staring at her as if she’d asked him when he last had sex. “It’s all muddled,” he said and attacked his food again.

“And that you needed to keep the disk safe.”

He stopped chewing and scowled at her.

“And you called the chest a time vault. That’s a lot of memories for someone who doesn’t have any.”

He gave her a glare that curdled the sip of milk she’d drunk. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice almost a snarl.

“I told you who I am.”

“How do I know you tell the truth?”

“I can show you my driver’s license.”

“What’s a driver’s license?”

His memory loss might be real, but he wouldn’t forget what a driver’s license was. “It means I’m not lying. I can prove who I am.” She raised her head and looked him dead in the eye. She didn’t want to accuse him, but she needed answers. There was a slim chance he was just a thief, but she’d bet her Mustang he’d been in the crypt longer than she’d been alive.

He stared back, neither of them blinking, then he let out a breath and picked up his fork. “You ask a lot of questions.”

If she had a penny for all the times she’d heard that, she’d never have to work again.

“I appreciate all you’ve done,” Faelan said, his voice sexy again. “But until things are clear I’ll ask you to keep this quiet.”

He wasn’t asking anything, but she let it slide. It was going to take patience to earn his trust. Lots of patience. Bree had lots of things. Too much of some. Patience wasn’t one of them.

“Does your husband work with horses?” he asked as if the distressing conversation had never taken place.

“Horses?”

“I saw them on your family crest. Is Levi Strauss your husband?”

“Levi? Oh, no, I’m not married.”

“You let a man who’s not your husband put his name on your ar… backside?”

“It’s a brand.”

“Brand?” He looked confused.

“A label. The name of the person who made the jeans.”

“Jeans?” he asked, then his face went blank, as if he knew he’d revealed too much.

“Denim. Dungarees.” Bree felt another shiver of excitement at his ignorance. More evidence that he was old.

“So you live here alone? There’s no male here to take care of the place? To protect you?”

“Do I need protection?” She’d hidden his dagger in one of her boots, and Grandpa’s old gun was here somewhere. Not that it would help; warrior or demon, Faelan probably knew a hundred ways to kill her with his bare hands.

He speared another chunk of pineapple. “Don’t all women?”

Bree put a hand to her throat and stared at the knife, remembering the crazed look in his eyes as he leapt from the vault.

“But my brother… uh, Biff, Big Biff, I call him, because he’s so big. And strong. He stops by sometimes. A lot. Probably tomorrow.”

Faelan’s shoulders stiffened. “Tomorrow?” He glanced at the door, his body tense as an arrow ready to fly. He’d be gone before lunch if she didn’t intervene.

“I forgot. He’s not coming until next week.”

He relaxed, but still watched her closely. “You never explained how you found me, where you got the key.”

“The disk? My great-great-grandmother Isabel found it when they were building the house. She hung it on the mantel for luck. Of course, no one knew it was a key.” She and her cousins had made up stories about it. She’d secretly believed it opened a time portal. If the book in the attic was right, her theory wasn’t far off.

“You did.” His tone was accusing.

Not until last night, when her fingers touched the grooves on the chest and she’d clearly seen the disk in her mind. How could she explain that or the words that had brushed her ear as the disk turned in the lock? “The opening on the vault had the same shape, the same grooves, and it’s made of the same metal.”