He shook his head. “You and your photographs.”
“What are you doing?”
“Taking my things.”
“But, but,” she sputtered. “Do you have to?”
“You want to keep my clothes?”
Her eyes grew brighter. “Could I?”
“Suit yourself,” he said, discreetly removing the white stone from his sporran and slipping it into his pocket. He put the sporran back on the chair. Maybe she’d be so busy photographing his kilt that she’d forget about those swords he’d hidden in the chapel.
“The kilt looks like it’s been dyed using plants. I did some research, and I believe the red comes from the madder plant. If I’d known for certain they were authentic I wouldn’t have used Spray ’n Wash…” She put the kilt down as gently as she would a new bairn. “Did all the warriors in your time wear a kilt?” she asked, following him to the door.
“At home we did. Otherwise, we dressed as natives of the land where we traveled.”
“Isn’t a kilt awkward for climbing over things, like fences and castle walls?”
“No, it’s comfortable. ’Course, someone standing below would likely get an eyeful. Though, there was the time Ian almost castrated himself.”
***
Faelan crept toward the parlor in his underwear. He’d just taken off his jeans when he heard the car. This one was brave, driving right up to the house. Faelan stood behind the door and waited. The handle jiggled, and the door opened. He sniffed, but he couldn’t smell a bloody thing except Bree’s perfume. The whole house smelled like her. He heard a thump and seized the man from behind, wrapping his arm in a stranglehold around his neck. He was short. Faelan pressed his dirk against the man’s jugular vein, and a feminine shriek pierced his eardrums.
Faelan was shocked, but he held on. In this new century, he couldn’t afford a female the courtesies he’d been accustomed to giving before. He tightened his grip, lifting the intruder off the floor. “Who are you?” he demanded.
Light flooded the room. Bree stood in her soft sleeping pants, like the ones she’d bought him, and a shirt that left most of her shoulders bare. Her mouth hung open. The thing in his arms sputtered, and Bree shot forward.
“Mom? Oh my gosh.”
Mom?
“Put her down.”
He lowered the dirk and set the woman on the floor. “I’m sorry. I thought she was…” he stopped, not sure how much Bree wanted revealed about their nocturnal visitors.
***
“What is the meaning of this, Briana? Who is this man? And what is that smell?” Bree’s mother stepped away from Faelan, rubbing her neck but maintaining her composure. Orla Kirkland always maintained her composure, even when she was being strangled. She turned to face Faelan. Her eyes widened.
He did make a spectacular sight in his boxer briefs, dark hair hanging to his shoulders, and muscles no gym could endow, sporting tattoos, a dagger, and bare, sexy feet.
“Oh my.” Orla looked him over, head to toe. “He’s in his underwear, Briana. Why is he in his underwear?” Her eyes grew even rounder. “That’s why you aren’t taking Russell’s calls.” She smiled and gave him a look Bree knew too well, the kind that was sizing him for a tux and wondering where to order the wedding cake. “Hello, I’m Orla Kirkland, Briana’s mother, and you are…?”
“This is Faelan.” It wouldn’t do any good to deny the conclusion to which her mother had joyfully leapt.
“Faelan Connor, ma’am,” he said, gallantly tipping his head, a rather absurd-looking gesture with him in his underwear, holding a dagger. “I apologize. I thought you were a burglar.”
“Protective. How nice,” she said, glancing at his underwear again. “Are you staying here?”
“Uh…” Faelan threw a panicked look at Bree.
“For the moment. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” Bree asked.
“I mentioned it on the phone, dear. I’d planned to get a hotel, but there’s not a vacancy to be had. Some sort of conference in town.” She glanced at the house. “Not too bad.” She crinkled her nose. “But I think you went a bit heavy on the perfume.”
“The bottle spilled. What about your allergies and all this dust?”
“I’ll be here for only a day or two. I’m on my way to meet Sandy. You remember my friend. She’s coming to Florida for a visit, but she hates to drive alone, and she refuses to fly. Can you believe someone in this day and age afraid of airplanes?” she asked Faelan. “I’m going to pick her up. You have clean sheets, don’t you, Briana?”
“I, uh… yes.” The problem was, she didn’t have a bed to put them on, and Bree was certain her mother had never slept on a sofa. “You can have my room.”
“Where will you sleep, darling?” She tossed a loaded glance from Faelan to Bree.
“Uh, the couch.”
She held her arm out to Faelan. “Well then, that’s settled. Faelan, would you be a dear and bring my suitcase? In the morning, we’ll have a little chat, get to know one another, and I’ll tell you some of the cutest stories about Briana.”
Faelan handed Bree his dagger and took the suitcase in one hand, her mother’s arm in the other, and the two
