Awaken the Highland Warrior

Now he was going to tell her it shouldn’t have happened. She knew it shouldn’t, but she didn’t want to hear it from him. She pulled her arm back and tried to step around him, but he stopped her again.

“When I saw you with Ronan—no matter, I haven’t had much of a chance to talk to you in the last day or so, but—”

“Cut the crap. I woke up alone, cleaned up the sticky mess you left,” she said, jabbing his chest, “and you don’t even bother to say hello or thank you. Go find Sorcha and leave me alone.”

Ronan and Niall weren’t even pretending to watch the field now.

Faelan trapped her hand in his. “Bree, listen to me. Angus is dead. I just found out.” Faelan’s face was real now, somber.

Bree’s fingers tightened on his. “Dead? No.” She pulled away, walked a few steps, and slumped against a maple tree, watching a dying leaf float to the ground. She’d killed Angus. She hadn’t warned him, and now he was dead. She wanted to lean into Faelan, feel his heart pounding, safe. For now.

“I think it would be best if you left.”

She looked up. “What?”

“I want you to leave here,” he said, the mask back in place.

Leave? The idea made a few passes around her head, looking for a place to land. He was dumping her. Bree was familiar with dumping. She’d dumped and been dumped, but it had never made her feel like her lungs had been pureed. It wasn’t that she’d awakened him and helped him fit into his new world or fed and clothed him when she should’ve had him arrested. Or that she’d lent him money and turned him loose in her Mustang. She’d put her life in his hands. Given him her body, her heart, and he was throwing her out of Scotland. Out of his life.

“You should be away from this. It’s too dangerous. Go someplace safe, maybe your mother’s.”

In male speak it meant he didn’t need the guilt of seeing his folly every time he bumped into her. He’d known all along she wasn’t a suitable mate, but now he had Sorcha to quench his lust.

She bit her lip to keep it from trembling, hoping he thought she was upset over Angus. Sorcha walked across the grass carrying her sword, but stopped when she caught sight of them. Bree moved past Faelan, holding her head high, and past Sorcha, who watched with an inscrutable look on her face. Bree had to get away from this place. Away from him. Every man in her life had let her down, even her dad, although dying hadn’t been his fault.

No. Not every man.

There was still one she could count on.

***

Faelan stood outside Bree’s door, sweat running down his chest. He’d tried sparring with Brodie to work off his frustration, but it hadn’t helped. He had to make her understand. He raised his hand to knock and flinched as something crashed inside. It was followed by cursing and a flurry of banging and stomping.

“What time does your flight leave?” a male voice asked. Faelan felt the doorknob dig into his palm. What the hell was Ronan doing in Bree’s room?

“Six a.m. I’ll get a room for tonight,” Bree’s muffled voice said.

“You want me to come with you?”

Come with her? Faelan pressed his ear to the wood, straining to hear her response. All he heard was a smacking sound. Was that bastard kissing her?

Faelan flung open the door. It bounced against the wall and almost smacked him in the face when he charged inside. Ronan was half naked, as usual, and there wasn’t an inch between him and Bree. Both of them turned, and Bree’s face frosted over. She stood on tiptoe, gave Ronan a kiss on the cheek, and snatched her suitcase.

“Thank you, Ronan, for everything. I’ll call you later.” She stalked past Faelan, her eyes liquid with pain.

For everything? What had he bloody given her? Faelan stared at Bree’s retreating back and Ronan with his arms crossed, eyes hard. Faelan wanted her to leave, but not like this. He hurried after her. He’d throw Ronan out a window later.

Faelan raced down the opposite hall, shoving past several warriors who looked up in surprise. Rounding a corner, he ran into Conall, the young warrior he’d practiced with earlier. “I need your help.”

After a hurried conversation, Faelan followed Bree outside to where Anna’s car was waiting. “Let me carry that.” He reached for her suitcase and she whirled, eyes ablaze. The corner of the case grazed his groin, and he grunted, doubling over as she turned and stomped to the car. He hobbled after her. “Wait, we have to talk,” he wheezed.

Bree flung her luggage inside Anna’s car. “Talk.” Her expression was dour, as if she’d been sucking lemons. “You lie to me, treat me like a leper, and now you want to talk? You’re just like those demons you hunt. A handsome form hiding a troll. I risked my life for you, fed you, clothed you, tended your wounds. I found your family. I gave you everything I had to offer, and you shoved it all back in my face. There’s nothing left to say.”

She climbed in the car and slammed the door. Anna, standing by the driver’s door, gave him a cool stare and got in. The car sped down the driveway, leaving Faelan standing there holding his groin. He was still there when Conall’s car rolled by.

A troll? She’d called him a troll? He turned and saw the flash of faces disappear from the window behind him and warriors watching from the field. “Mule-headed woman.” He started toward the stable. Horses didn’t nag or bombard a man with hundreds of questions and look at him with accusing eyes that wrapped his heart in layers of guilt.

“You gonna let her go?” Ronan asked, coming up behind Faelan. He’d put on a shirt, at least.

“Aye.” Faelan debated on knocking the scowl off Ronan’s face. Instead, he clenched his fists and trudged toward the stall of the black stallion that reminded him of Nandor.