Awaken the Highland Warrior

She had to find his name before one of them ended up dead. She considered going after the book, when a creak sounded outside her door. It could wait until tomorrow. She couldn’t face Faelan again tonight. The footsteps moved on, and Bree settled into bed with Isabel’s journal. After McGowan’s murder, Isabel’s journal entries slowed. Bree flipped to an entry dated a few days before Frederick died. I dreamed of the chapel again. When I woke, Frederick was gone. I would suspect he had a mistress, but I know he sneaks out there at night. All those years he forbade the children to go because of loose stones, and now he spends hours there himself. Perhaps he goes to pray. I fear that like me, he worries over what to do about the secrets we were told. I suppose we’ll have to choose one of the children soon.

Choose one of the children for what? An heir? A sacrifice? What secrets? A noise sounded somewhere in the house, but Bree figured it was Faelan preparing for bed. Frederick mumbles in his sleep about a book, but says he doesn’t recall it. I should warn him about the chapel, but he will just smile and pat my hand. In all our years of marriage, my disturbing dreams are the only thing I have kept from him, but men expect women to be proper and refined. I was afraid he would think me unladylike, or worse, a witch.

Bree yawned and closed the journal. Had Frederick found the Book of Battles in the chapel? Was that why a few nights later he was found dead outside the door? Who could have put the book there? Someone in her family must be a thief. Did Grandma know something about it? Was that what she’d been so eager to talk about before she died? Trying to clear her conscience? Bree wrestled with possibilities until her eyelids drooped.

***

Faelan reached for Bree’s door then pulled back. Nothing he said would get past her anger tonight. She was furious, and rightly so. He’d bloody well botched this up. He was either accosting or accusing the only woman who knew he was alive. He’d apologize in the morning. If they were still alive. He blew out a sigh and headed to the second floor. Perhaps he could earn back her trust. It was a bit early for demons yet; they preferred the dead of night.

Two hours later, he wiped the sweat and dust from his face and surveyed the sanded floor. That should please her.

He put aside his tools and left the room, aching for his bed. He couldn’t sleep, but he could grab a few minutes’ rest. Damnation. He’d forgotten to get a mattress. He climbed the narrow stairs, his brain muddled with exhaustion, suspicion, and lust. Regrets at what he’d done in the bathroom. More regrets that he hadn’t pulled her into the tub and finished it properly. But that wasn’t the way to treat a woman he’d known less than a day. She wasn’t a prostitute, but it didn’t mean she was fully human.

He stepped onto the dusty floor of the attic, gazing at what remained of the people who’d lived and died here. A stack of boxes was piled in one corner with bed frames, mattresses, and a child’s rocking horse. Hers? Tables and other bits of furniture were on the far side. He followed a trail of footprints to an old trunk, similar to one he’d owned. She claimed to have found the map in a trunk. Someone had been here, that much was true. He could smell a flowery scent, like a woman’s perfume. Lavender. He hadn’t noticed it on Bree. The mattress could wait a bit. If her story was real, he needed to find out why this McGowan had been crawling around the graveyard and if he was connected to Druan.

Faelan opened the trunk, raking through musty clothes, ribbons, and a stack of small boxes. One had McGowan’s name on the front, barely visible. She hadn’t lied about that. Unless she’d written it. There was no treasure map inside, only a couple of straight razors. It neither proved nor disproved her story, but he still found it hard to believe she just happened to find a map to the crypt where he had been buried, and she just happened to live here in this house where the key just happened to hang on the mantel. In his experience, coincidences usually required careful planning.

He’d have to keep his head clear and his kilt on until he figured it out. Many a warrior had been sent to his grave by a filthy halfling hiding behind a lovely female form. He looked at the trunk again. Why would anyone in her family need one of these? Faelan removed the contents and ran his finger along the lower edge until it brushed the familiar slit in the bottom corner. He sorted through the things he’d removed, but there was no key. He tilted the trunk on its side and heard a thump. Something was hidden inside. He was beginning to think this house held nothing but secrets.

It wasn’t likely Bree knew about the compartment. Any woman who went around opening burial vaults in the middle of the night wouldn’t stop at a locked trunk.

Faelan replaced the items, wondering what had happened to the few belongings he’d brought to America. As he closed the lid, he saw the footprints continued to a stack of boxes. Following the trail, he found books. He didn’t need books. He needed answers. He lifted the top of the nearest box and saw a leather journal with thick bindings. Was this the one she’d read from at breakfast? Why put it in here? He picked it up and opened the cover.

The breath whooshed out of him like it did when Tavis punched him in the stomach.

Chapter 10

His clan’s sacred Book of Battles. What, by all that was holy, was it doing in America? In Bree’s attic? Faelan slammed the book shut and put it on the trunk, staring at it as if it were a coiled snake. He’d never seen the book, much less held it. No warrior had. It was forbidden, kept under lock and key in a place known only to the Keeper of the Book. Not even the Watchers were allowed to see it. Inside was a handwritten list of five centuries of battles between warriors of the Connor clan and their assigned demons. It was even rumored to hold future assignments not yet issued by Michael.

If a demon got his—or her—hands on one, the entire clan could be wiped out. Faelan paced the floor, running his hands through his hair. Had Bree stolen it? Was she working with Druan?

He thought about her eyes, the softness of her mouth, how it fit under his, how clumsy she was, how alive. And that pie. The best he’d tasted. She’d saved his life. Probably saved the world. Would a halfling or minion do that?

There must be another explanation, but if not her, then someone in her family was a thief. How else could the book be here, in the place they had lived for generations? Was someone in her family a minion? Or all of them? It would make sense that Druan would put the time vault somewhere it could be guarded. Demons often had a family of minions serve them for generations.

Faelan looked at the book lying there, holding so many answers. All he had to do was look inside, and he’d know if he would destroy Druan. If his brothers had died trying to help him. His suspension and awakening wasn’t normal. Would he be forgiven for such a transgression?

Faelan’s hands shook as he opened the book again, but he couldn’t make himself look at the words. He wasn’t beyond breaking an insignificant rule or two, but he’d followed the important ones far too long to cast them aside now. He flipped through the pages quickly to make sure the book was intact. The ink was faded and there were some stains, but it seemed fine until the end. The last few pages had been ripped out.

Someone had taken part of the Book of Battles. Bree? She’d admitted to being here.