Awaken the Highland Warrior

“No. Time vaults were made for demons.” If humans found out about the time vaults, they could pose as big a threat to the clan as the demons. If he thought she’d tell someone… he swallowed, not wanting to think about what he might have to do. No matter how much she’d done to help him, he couldn’t allow her to endanger his clan.

“Why won’t they open for so long?”

Was there no end to her questions? If he wasn’t careful, she’d uncover every secret his clan had hidden since the world began. “After a hundred and fifty years in suspension, demons lose their power. If someone opened the time vault afterwards, say a historian who thought she’d found a chest filled with treasure, the demon would be powerless.”

She rolled her eyes and grabbed another piece of gauze. “I guess the time vault doesn’t have the same effect on warriors and talismans.”

“Some things seem… different.” Like this cursed ache for a woman who’d watched an engaged talisman and lived to tell it. The tip of her tongue appeared. It was pink and wet, and he could think of so many places he’d like to see it besides in her mouth. “Are you finished?” He had to get out of this bathroom so he could breathe without inhaling her.

“Almost. The bleeding is slowing. I was reading Isabel’s journal last night. Remember, I told you how Frederick was killed near the chapel? I found the entry in Isabel’s journal. She said he was acting strange, wouldn’t stay away from the chapel, and he kept talking in his sleep about a book. He died a few nights later. I bet he found the Book of Battles inside.”

“Who put it there?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. Let’s start with finding out who that car is registered to. It might give us some answers.”

“How do I do that?” Nothing here was familiar to him. He glanced at her breasts. Well, some things were. He was tired of relying on her for everything. He wished he had his horse and his sword. In Scotland, he’d had the finest stallion. People had admired him. There wasn’t a warrior more respected. Now he hadn’t even a halfpenny to his name, dependent on a woman for every morsel of food and for shelter, transportation, and a bed. His brothers would give him the devil if they saw him. He could almost see Tavis, his chest puffed out, arms held wide, a mischievous grin. “Lads and lasses, here in the flesh, the Mighty Faelan, famous throughout Scotland, admired by lasses the world over, and his magnificent stallion, Nandor,” Tavis would bellow, as Ian rolled on the ground laughing. That was usually as far as Tavis got before Faelan leaped off his horse, pinning his brother until he stopped. Until the next time. God, he missed his brothers.

“I memorized the tag number. Cars have to be registered with the Division of Motor Vehicles. They keep track of who owns what. My friend Janie’s boyfriend works there. I’ll try to sweet-talk him into telling us who owns the car.”

“Can’t Janie do the sweet-talking?”

“If we can find out who owns the car, we can go after them. Figure out what they want.”

“We?”

“You think I’m going to sit around on my backside and do nothing, with demons and halflings running around my yard?”

That’s exactly what he thought she was going to do.

“The bleeding stopped.” She glanced toward the window as she covered the wound with fresh gauze. “Do you think they’ll come back tonight?”

“I doubt it. Grog will be afraid to tell Druan what happened. That could give us some time.”

“I still think we should get those swords from the chapel. I’d like that big one with the curved blade.”

He was beginning to understand why she wasn’t married. “That big bag you carry could do damage enough.”

She tore off a piece of tape and secured one edge of the thick bandage. “For what it’s worth, you threw that dagger like a pro.”

He felt a rush of pride until he remembered she had thrown it like a bloody warrior herself. “You’ve got dirt on your face.” And everywhere else. He wiped a smudge from her chin.

“I fell into a grave.”

“A grave? Damnation. I forgot to cover it.”

“That’s cute,” she said with a lopsided, dirt-smudged smile.

“What?”

“The way you say damnation all the time.”

He’d had a lot of compliments in his lifetime, on how he handled a horse, a sword, a pistol, and his fists, and a few compliments on other things from a pretty lass or two, but no one had ever complimented him on cursing. He grinned. Only Bree.

She added another piece of tape to the bandage, her warm fingers brushing his skin. “There, that’s the best I can do. You’re going to have another scar, and this shirt’s history.” They both reached for the ruined shirt, fingers touching. She dropped her hand and turned to gather the first-aid supplies.

Faelan threw the shirt in the trash and stood. “You sure you don’t want me to look at your shoulder?” He was doing a lousy job of protecting her, though to be honest, she fell a lot on her own. Her feet had a mind of their own, and they seemed partial to holes. The scrape on her cheek had healed quickly, but her shoulder was cut, and the knees of the trousers she slept in were torn. Who knew what other scratches he’d find under there? That started him thinking about her naked again.

“No. It’s fine.”

Probably for the best. He might end up doing more than bandage her. “Whose shirt is that?”