Ever My Love

  “Irresistibly attractive?” he repeated.

  “Or so I heard.”

  He laughed in spite of himself. “I fear to pursue that lest you find me other than self-effacing, but feel free to tell me more if you like.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know any more than that. Just wanted to see what you thought.” She looked at him seriously. “I wanted to make sure I’m not living next to a serial killer.”

  He would have made light of that, but there was something about the tone of her voice that resembled what he’d heard the night before at the inn, so he kept his damned mouth shut. She was running, and obviously from something she didn’t like. If she wanted to assure herself her neighbors were safe, there was a reason for it.

  He wondered what that reason was.

  He shook his head. “I’m just a starving poet trying to write the occasional bit of verse whilst fighting off scores of women who can’t read first form.” Among other things, of course, but those other things he fought off were just not all that important at the moment.

  “First form?”

  “Seventh grade in America.”

  She studied him. “I get the feeling most women don’t want you for your iambic pentameter.”

  “Sad, but true. Unfortunately, rumors of my wealth and irresistibility are, I must admit, grossly exaggerated. But what of you? What mischief do you combine in order to feed yourself?”

  She sighed and toyed with her teaspoon. “I’m not sure at the moment. I used to make jewelry.”

  “Used to?”

  “Lost it all in a bad business deal,” she said lightly, “which I’m trying not to think about very often.” She set her spoon down. “You know, I’d better get to the dishes. I have no idea what time it is, but it feels late. I lost my phone yesterday and apparently lost track of time right along with it.”

  And then she very purposefully didn’t look at him.

  He hadn’t made a bloody fortune at the negotiating table, never mind keeping himself alive on various medieval battlefields, by not being able to read his opponents. He scrambled for something to say, because he suspected she expected it.

  He also had the feeling she had seen him stumble out of the past, damn it to hell.

  At least he’d had his hair hanging around his face and down to his shoulders. He’d had the good sense to put it in a ponytail that morning.

  “You know, that’s odd,” he said, congratulating himself on spewing out intelligible words instead of frantic stammers. “I had some Yank bang on my door this morning and tell me about a phone he found somewhere in his wanderings,” he said, lying with abandon to save his own sweet neck. “I wonder if it might be yours?”

  She looked at him in surprise. “Another American?”

  “A balding lad with a Hawaiian-print shirt. Know him?”

  “Thankfully not.” She seemed to relax a bit. “What did the phone case look like?”

  “Hello Kitty?”

  She blinked, then looked at him narrowly. “You’re not funny.”

  “I’m damned clever,” he corrected. “As well as a bit of an acquired taste, or so I hear. Want to go for a walk? You can see the sights along the way to my house, then decide if the phone is yours.”

  “Is this like inviting me up to see your etchings?”

  “Would you come if that were the case?”

  She laughed a little in a way that he wasn’t quite sure how to take and seemed to think that was answer enough. He helped her clear the table, then saw to her dishes quickly whilst she went into the loo and changed into something that looked quite a bit less like nightclothes.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Cooking and cleaning up? I’m not sure those girls down in the village know what they’re missing.”

  He smiled. “Don’t noise it about or I’ll never know a moment’s peace.”

  “Probably not.” She considered, then looked at him. “Any suggestions on the fire?”

  “Use the wood I brought in,” he advised, “and don’t be shy with those starters in the crock by the sink. One ought to do it—just tuck it under the wood in the morning, then light it if it won’t catch all on its own.” He shrugged. “I’ll leave you my number. Ring me if you need aid.”

  “That’s very nice of you,” she said slowly.

  “I’m just hoping for more of His Lordship’s very fine preserves. Don’t eat them all before I can get back this way, aye?”

  She pointed to her door. “Out.”

  He smiled and went to hold the door open for her. He waited for her to lock up, then started off with her up the path toward his house and the loch. Not many people used it, which he supposed pleased him well enough. As he’d said, he liked his privacy. He also was happy to enjoy the rain and the addition of good company on his journey.

  They reached his house sooner than he wanted, but there was nothing to be done about it. He wasn’t sure she’d had enough time to forget what she no doubt thought she had seen, but he wasn’t sure he could solve that at the moment, either.

  “Want to come in?” he asked as they stood at his door, partly because he was in the Highlands and he wasn’t about to let her stand outside in the rain and partly because he found himself surprisingly unwilling to let her simply walk off.

  “Oh, I’m fine here,” she said, hovering at his threshold. “I’m sure you have things to be doing.”

  Catching up on one of my lives would have been the first thing out of his mouth, but he didn’t suppose that was all that useful. He didn’t press her, but rather simply nodded and went to fetch her phone off the table. It began to ring before he reached it, which surprised him. The bloody thing hadn’t made a peep before.

  He picked it up, then carried it back to the door. “Yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “It looks like someone is ringing you,” he said, handing it over.

  She frowned as she took it. “That’s odd. I got a new number before I left the States and haven’t given it out.”

  He didn’t want to point out that whoever had stalked her all the way to the village might very well be capable of finding her phone number, mostly because, again, he wasn’t supposed to know anything about her situation.

  “I think it might be a local number,” she said. She held it out to him. “Recognize this?”

  He saw all the numbers, truly, but the only ones that had any meaning for him were the last four.

  1387.

  He had spent all the years when he might have been considered an adult masking his reactions, which was the only reason he didn’t shove her bodily off his front stoop. He took a deep breath.

  “I’ve just remembered an appointment,” he said. He didn’t like the edge to his tone, but there was nothing to be done about it. If he didn’t get her very far away from him immediately . . . well, the truth was, he had no idea what might happen to her. The last thing he wanted was to drag someone else into his madness.

  “Sure,” she said slowly. She smiled politely. “Thank you—”

  “I have to hurry.”

  She lifted her eyebrows briefly, and he didn’t blame her a damned bit for it. He was being intolerably rude, but he had no choice. He practically shoved her off his deck and escorted her off his property.

  “Another time,” he suggested.

  “Maybe,” she said. “Thanks for my phone.”

  She turned and walked away. She didn’t dawdle, which he would have regretted at a different time. At the moment, he just wanted her safely away.

  He could feel time nipping at his heels. Nay, not just that. He could feel that bloody time portal closing, and he had to get through it before it did. He didn’t like to think about what had happened in the past the first and only time he had purposely refused to step through the gate that opened for him.

  At least he could think about
it. The MacLeod clansman he later learned he could have saved if he’d been in the right place certainly couldn’t.

  He ran back to his house, slammed his door shut, then bolted back to his bedroom to don his medieval gear. He could only hope, as he generally did, that no one was watching him. Restraints would be in his future otherwise, he was sure of it.

  He pulled his sword out of the closet, made sure his house was put to bed as best it could be, then took a deep breath.

  He opened the door and walked back into the past.

  Chapter 7

  Emma walked along the village main street and wondered if the time had come for her to start looking under planters and around corners for leprechauns and wood sprites. There was something very strange going on in the surrounding environs, and it wasn’t limited to everyone driving on the wrong side of the road.

  Her nose for that sort of thing was definitely giving her trouble, in spite of her demanding that it cease and desist. She blamed her childhood for her unwholesome skills. She might have been a regular kid by day, but by night, she had been a world-class snoop. Being able to scout out the terrain ahead of time, along with having an ear cocked for any plans and schemes that might have been brewing, had saved her endless amounts of grief with her parents and siblings.

  That begged the question of why she hadn’t done a better job of taking note of all the red flags waving frantically when she’d first started dating Sheldon Cook, but that was probably something better left unexamined. She had plenty of mysteries demanding her attention at the moment without adding ruminations over her past decisions to the mix.

  Take the day before, for instance. She’d spent the afternoon in James MacLeod’s little cottage, feeding her fire as she’d been taught earlier that morning and trying not to think about the inexplicably weird behavior of her extremely good-looking neighbor. Her efforts had been halfhearted at best, which had left her succumbing to the temptation to put on her deerstalker and examine the facts.

  He had cooked her a fabulous breakfast, which had definitely gotten their relationship off on the right foot. He’d followed that up with a nonthreatening invitation to walk to his house, which had been equally pleasant. She’d almost begun to think that she could let her guard down a bit when he’d abruptly changed gears and practically shoved her off his porch. It was as if he’d suddenly discovered she carried the plague.

  Crazy came in all varieties, apparently.

  It was a pity, mostly because she’d hardly been able to look at that guy without having to remind herself to keep breathing. But she had turned over a new leaf on her way across that big, blue ocean, and that leaf-turning had as one of its components the solemn vow to avoid nuttiness in any and all varieties. Nutty but handsome was just not going to cut it.

  Apparently sitting in a cottage with nothing to do with her hands besides wring them wasn’t going to cut it, either, which was why she’d decided it was time she pulled herself together and got down to business. She would find pencils and paper and at least start experimenting with design ideas. She would breathe in Scotland, set it down on paper as best she could, then hammer it into permanent metals when she had the chance. The very thought of that new direction and the opportunity to perhaps breathe life into a former business made her pulse race a bit with an enthusiasm she hadn’t felt in far too long.

  She also had to admit, if she were going to be entirely honest, that she had come into town in search of cell phone reception, since it was something she definitely didn’t have at her house. It was important to have that sort of thing when one wanted to see if there might be any art supply stores in the area or find out where to get the best batch of fish and chips.

  If one happened to type a neighbor’s name into a handy search engine to see what sorts of details could be unearthed about that neighbor, who could blame one?

  That was, she had to admit, the very first thing she’d done once she’d parked in the first public parking lot she’d come to. She’d seen nothing about art supply stores, hadn’t really cared what she’d unearthed about local restaurants, and been somehow unsurprised to find that there was absolutely nothing about a Nathaniel MacLeod in Benmore, Scotland.

  There was plenty, however, about a Nathaniel MacLeod in both London and Manhattan.

  She would have considered that nothing more than someone having the same name as her neighbor if there hadn’t been a picture of her breakfast buddy in a suit. She’d scrolled through his details, frowned thoughtfully over the oddly familiar name of his grandfather’s company that he had apparently been a part of for several years, then killed the page before she discovered anything else. Snooping was useful, but sometimes that little warning voice that shouted Here be dragons was a voice best listened to right away.

  She had put her phone in her pocket, then crawled out of her car and decided on Mrs. McCreedy’s store as a good first stop, mostly because she’d wanted junk food to distract her from things she didn’t want to think about. She’d found sugary things slathered in chocolate, but she’d also had a text show up as she’d been leaving the store.

  Him you’re wanting to avoid is following your credit card tracks. Let me know when you want to go to Inverness to dump your rental.

  She had read that text from Patrick MacLeod several times, but it still said the same thing. She was tempted to wonder how Patrick had learned what Sheldon was up to, but quickly decided maybe she just didn’t want to know. She’d had a sufficient eyeful of Uncle Bobby. For all she knew, that was just the beginning of the odd things about Patrick MacLeod’s friends.

  She didn’t doubt that a person’s credit card trail could be readily traced, she just couldn’t believe that Sheldon had managed to do the same. He offended everyone he met and the only people who continued to talk to him after that offending were ones who couldn’t avoid it. If he’d gotten someone to help him, it had been because he’d paid them—

  “Emma?”

  She jumped. Her phone jumped as well, then decided to swan-dive onto the sidewalk. Facedown, of course. She looked over to find none other than Nathaniel MacLeod himself hopping out of his dusty SUV to come execute another rescue. He picked up her phone and turned it over. Emma looked at the shattered screen and was more relieved than she should have been that she hadn’t left a search for his possible criminal record open in her browser. It was bad enough that she hadn’t cleared that text from Patrick.

  Nathaniel ran his finger over the screen, then went very still. He’d obviously read Patrick’s text, but since he didn’t know anything about her life, his careful expression was probably due to Patrick’s enigmatic language. She pulled the phone out of his hands and put on a smile.

  “Just some residual stuff from home,” she said cheerfully. “No worries.”

  He studied her for a moment or two. “You know,” he said, then he cleared his throat. “Sorry. Too much shouting recently.”

  “Soccer fan?”

  “Something like that. Anyway, I’m driving to Inverness this morning on business. If you’d like, I can help you leave your car there, as was suggested. I’m assuming that is Lord Patrick texting you.”

  She nodded. “It is, though I have to say I really don’t like accepting favors from them.”

  “Favors?”

  Why not spill her guts right there on the sidewalk? That wasn’t her usual modus operandi, but she was out of her depth at the moment. “He and his brother are insisting that I stay at the cottage for free. I shouldn’t have accepted, but I was off-balance before. I’ve got to change that today.”

  “I’m sure they can afford it,” he said without hesitation. “Do them both a world of good.”

  She wasn’t sure how to judge that. Who knew how much it cost to keep a historical property like Benmore Castle running? She’d only seen the main MacLeod castle as an X on a map, so she could only speculate on its size. She didn’t want to think ab
out the expense—

  She realized her hand was shaking, but there was nothing to be done about that. It was cold and raining, and she was suddenly quite chilled over a text that should have had her scoffing.

  “Being backed into a corner is never a pleasant thing,” Nathaniel offered cautiously. “In regard to both cars and life. Your car, though, can be sorted easily enough. My fault on your phone as well. I’ll replace it.”

  She shook her head. “It was old—”

  “I don’t think it was, so let me see to it. Do you need to run back to your cottage, or shall we just go from here?”

  She let out her breath slowly. “I can go as is.”

  “Then let’s be off. Where did your hire car come from? The place by the station?”

  “I hate to admit this,” she said, wincing, “but I honestly can’t remember.”

  He did smile then. “Jet lag is hell. Where’s your car now?”

  “Up the street.”

  “Can you drive?”

  She shot him a look that he apparently found amusing.

  “I take it that’s an aye,” he said. “I’ll wait for you then, shall I?”

  She paused, then looked at him. “I have unhealthy food from McCreedy’s in this bag. I can share on the way back, if you’d like.”

  “And so I am repaid tenfold for my prodigious generosity.”

  She smiled, then looked at him. “Finish your business from yesterday?”

  He hesitated. “I’m not sure that business is ever finished, but aye, ’twas done very quickly and hopefully for a few days at least. Let’s flee the scene before that catches up to me.”

  She supposed the enigmatic nature of that should have had her perking up her ears, but maybe it was indicative of how her day was going that it didn’t. She simply nodded and walked off to get her car.

  The drive south was substantially less stressful than her initial drive north had been, but this time she wasn’t half asleep and it definitely helped to have someone to follow. She couldn’t deny, though, that she was relieved when she pulled into a rental place behind Nathaniel and turned the car off. Realizing she was indeed in the right place was a bonus.