Awaken the Highland Warrior

Erik, Jared. Was she surrounded by men? “Who’s Jared?”

“My friend, the archeologist I told you about. What’s the matter with you?”

What was the matter with him? He was stuck in a time he knew nothing about, dependent on a woman who was pretending to be human. “Tell me who you are and who sent you.” His hand tightened, crumpling the corner of the photograph.

Her breath came fast, and he could smell her fear. “I don’t know what happened while I was outside, but you’re scaring me,” she said, shrinking against the door.

“You’d do well to be scared. Explain this.” He thrust the photograph at her, but the phone rang. They both jumped, and the photograph fell. Bree tried to move, but Faelan put his hands on each side of the door, trapping her. The phone rang six more times as they stared at each other, neither one moving. He saw the fear drain from her eyes and fury take its place.

“How dare you accuse me of anything when you’re the one walking around telling lies? Acting like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. If you were a real man, you wouldn’t be afraid to admit who you are.”

He felt like Nandor had kicked him in the face. His honor had never been challenged by a human. The phone rang again. She stomped on his foot and did a quick squat, ducking under his arm so fast he would have been mortified if his brothers had seen. She grabbed the phone, her fiery gaze never leaving his. He was beginning to seriously dislike telephones.

“Hello? Hi, Mom.”

Mom? If she hadn’t stolen the clan’s book, then someone in her family must have. He eased closer to listen. His foot kicked an apple, rolling it under a chair.

“Tell me, darling, is the house a disaster?” a woman said.

“Actually, it’s coming along pretty well.”

“You said your men won’t be back until next week. I was thinking I would come and help—”

“No.”

“Are you all right, Briana? You sound strange.”

“I’m just out of breath. I’ve been gathering apples to make another pie.” She blasted Faelan with a withering glare, and he felt the last of his anger drain. She’d freed him from the time vault, offered him a bed and food, even baked him an apple pie, and he was acting worse than that Russell bastard. He’d witnessed her distress over his call. Halflings lied easily, but they were awkward with false emotions. And he’d never heard of one baking an apple pie and falling in holes. It was possible she only resembled the woman in the photograph or was related to her. According to her, the place had been in her family for generations. His gut told him she was innocent. His gut had said the same thing about Grog, though, and look where that had gotten him.

“Now’s not a good time,” Bree said. “You know, your allergies. I’ve been sanding floors. The place is a dust mite motel.”

“I’m glad you’re staying busy. You needed something to focus on, and I know how much you loved summers there. Maybe this will get those foolish ideas out of your head.”

***

Bree watched Faelan, standing there, arms folded across his chest, eavesdropping. His eyes were intense, but his glower had softened. Bree decided that while he had no regard for her privacy, he did have a soft spot for mothers. Of course he would. He’d lost his.

“I almost forgot,” her mother said. “Russell called.”

“Russell called you?” Bree’s throat constricted.

Faelan moved next to her, head tilted, probably listening to both ends of the conversation. He looked contrite now, as if he hadn’t just gone berserk.

“He says you won’t take his calls,” her mother said.

“Of course I won’t take his calls.”

“So he’s not Romeo. We’re not getting any younger, dear. I want to play with my grandchildren, not bequeath them my belongings.”

Faelan’s brow did its half-lift thing, proving he was indeed listening to her mother’s side of the conversation.

“Don’t hold your breath,” Bree muttered, wondering what her mother would say if she saw Faelan. He made Romeo look like a girl. Heck, he made Rambo look like a girl.

Disaster averted, Bree hung up, wondering which Faelan she’d see. Fierce warrior, wounded hero, smoldering lover. Or Mr. Hyde.

“So you have men here?” he said, making her wish she’d never found McGowan’s blasted map.

“It’s not a male harem. They’re helping me with the house. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but you’d better get your act together, or I’ll call Peter and have you arrested. See how you like jail food.” She turned her back on him. “I’m going to bed. Make your own damn pie.” She kicked an apple at him and stomped down the hall toward her bedroom, not caring whether he was gone in the morning or not. The mirror rippled as she tromped past. She blinked and stared at the thing, but it just hung there like mirrors do. First the computer screen, now the mirror. It was Faelan. He was driving her insane. Kissing her one second, scaring the living crap out of her the next, and accusing her of God knows what.

She slammed her bedroom door and locked it, ranting as she threw on pajamas. What had gotten into him? Was he jealous? Erik was a flirt, and Faelan had that whole he-man thing going, not to mention his appetite troubles. She was the only female around. That meant all his pent-up hunger had one outlet. Her. Of course he’d see any other male as a threat.