by Donna Grant
“Good.” She glanced at his bared knees where his kilt had fallen when he’d sat. “Not that I don’t love a man in a kilt, but what do you think of getting some clothes to help you fit in?”
“You think I should change out of my kilt?” he asked with a frown.
“No. What I’m saying is that having some different clothes will help you fit in and become invisible when you want to.” Though Gwynn didn’t think a drop-dead gorgeous man like Logan would ever be invisible.
She’d seen the women looking at him, and salivating much as she had been. He was tall and striking, which only added to his appeal. Add in his sleekly muscled body without an ounce of fat, and women were ready to pounce. Literally.
Gwynn should know since she was one of them.
“This kilt is all I’ve ever worn.”
“I know,” she said as she looked at the worn, frayed edges and cuts that had been repaired. “We could find you a new kilt if you’d like. They make them for every clan. I’m sure we could find one just like what you have.”
He considered her a moment. “I’ll think on it.”
The silence that followed made Gwynn fidget. She wasn’t used to being alone with a man like Logan. Her last boyfriend had been over a year ago, and it hadn’t ended well. She’d stayed away from men after that.
But there was no staying away from Logan. He was like a magnet, pulling her attention and her gaze no matter how hard she tried to resist.
How would it feel to have those sleek muscled arms around her? How would it feel to run her hands through his long, glossy hair? To have his wide, firm lips on hers?
She was once again taken aback by his vitality and masculinity. He was a man used to command, a man used to action and battle.
A warrior in every sense of the word.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Logan’s body was on fire for Gwynn. He’d tried his best to ignore it all day, but every touch, however innocent, had only made him hunger for her more.
Being alone with her in her chamber while sharing a meal only reminded him of their close proximity. And how he shouldn’t touch her. Couldn’t touch her.
Wouldn’t touch her.
Gwynn was special. She could well be the last of the dying Druids, and she didn’t need to be sullied by Logan and what he was.
It would be easier if he hadn’t seen the way her hand shook after they touched, or how her eyes fell to his mouth. There had been an attraction the first moment he’d seen her, and it was becoming more and more impossible to ignore.
Especially when all Logan wanted to do was pull her into his arms and kiss her lips that had been tempting him for two days.
Gwynn cleared her throat and looked away. Logan let out a sigh and silently thanked God for the reprieve.
“You’ve learned a lot about my time,” Gwynn said. “And we know Deirdre is here. What’s the next step?”
Logan rubbed his chin and felt the whiskers scrape his fingers. He needed a shave. And a wash. “We need more information on Deirdre. She’s here, but why has she no’ done anything? That’s no’ like her.”
“Maybe she’s waiting for something.”
“Is there any way you can discover what it was that brought your father to Mallaig?”
She bit her lip and played with the condensation on her glass. “I’ve already tried. The university wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“Your magic—which side of the family did it come from?”
“My father’s,” she answered. “Why?”
“Has he always been interested in it?”
Gwynn nodded. “Oh, yes. He was obsessed with it.”
“Do you no’ find it unusual that he came to the verra place of your descendants?”
“Not really. He’d always wanted to come here.”
“And then you came and no’ only discovered you have magic, but that you’re the Keeper of the Tablet of Orn.”
Gwynn’s eyes rounded. “You think he came for the Tablet?”
Logan shrugged and rose to get her laptop. “It’s a thought.”
He did a search on the Tablet of Orn as Gwynn had showed him. Logan didn’t know what Bing was, but it always came up with the very things he searched for. So he wasn’t surprised when information came up on the Tablet.
“Oh, my God,” Gwynn said as she leaned next to him to read the screen. “Is there a picture of it?”
“Nay,” Logan said as he clicked one of the links and began to read. “But it says here it was believed to have been on the Isle of Eigg and reputed to have helped the Druids strengthen their magic.”
“This site could have been put up by anyone. Who knows if what they say is true.”
“I do,” Logan said. “Whoever this is knows more than they have alluded to on this … site. Is there any way to determine who wrote this?”
Gwynn took the laptop. “Maybe. Let me see.”
Logan watched as her fingers flew over the keys. He didn’t have to wait long to hear her groan.
“Whoever it is has their information blocked,” Gwynn said.
“I can no’ help but think your father coming here is somehow connected to your ancestry and the Druids.”
Gwynn rubbed her eyes. “I feel like we’re being blocked at every turn.”
Logan felt the same way, but he wasn’t about to give up. Gwynn needed his protection, especially now that he knew for sure Deirdre was there. It was just a matter of time before Deirdre found Gwynn.
Time.
Logan bit back a groan as he realized he could be protecting Gwynn for months or even years. Normally, spending that much time with the same woman would make him fidgety. But he let the knowledge settle inside him and found he wanted to spend that time with Gwynn, wanted to share the days, and most especially the nights, with her.
Which told him he was definitely in trouble.
* * *
Declan didn’t hesitate to unleash a blast of his magic that sent one of his guards flying backward to slam into a wall. Declan held the man there, pushing with his magic until he could hear his bones pop over the guard’s screams.
When the guard was silent and his body a mass of broken bones held together with sagging skin, Declan let him fall to the floor.
“Get him out of my sight,” he bellowed to the other guards.
Declan then spun around to face the captain of his men. “What happened, Robbie? I thought you had control of your men.”
Robbie’s eyes narrowed. “I do have control of my men.”
“Then tell me how the wyrran and Deirdre’s Warriors have gotten loose from my dungeons!”
“You would know better than I.”
Declan hated Robbie’s insolence, but he couldn’t afford to kill him. Even if he’d like to do nothing better. Robbie wasn’t only good at controlling the mercenaries; he was also Declan’s cousin.
“You used your magic on the cell doors,” Robbie said. “They weren’t supposed to be able to get out.”
A headache began to throb at the back of Declan’s neck. “I know that my spells have inhibited Deirdre from using her magic. I assumed it would do the same to the wyrran.”
“And the Warriors?”
“Ah, but they’re different,” Declan said. “As powerful as those Warriors are with their gods, magic can impede them.”
“If the magic is powerful enough.”
“Deirdre is the cause of this. The wyrran would never leave her unless she told them.”
Robbie crossed his arms over his massive chest, his muscles bulging—muscles he’d gotten by using steroids for too many years to count. “They’ll come back to her then. As long as you have Deirdre, who cares about the wyrran and a few Warriors?”
“I care,” Declan stated as he whirled to point a finger at his cousin. “They are linked to her. If I have them, I can use them. Now they’re gone.”
Robbie shrugged. “I can find them.”
“No, I doona believe you will. But I know how I can.” Declan stor
med out of his office and down the hallway to the stairs that took him up to Deirdre’s room.
With a wave of his hand he unlocked the magic holding the door and let it bang open. He gnashed his teeth when Deirdre didn’t so much as look his way from her chair when he barged in.
“Something the matter, Declan?” she asked as she idly ran her finger along the table next to her.
“You know what’s the matter. Where did you send the wyrran, Deirdre?”
She shrugged her slim shoulders and smiled contentedly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Ah, but you do, you deceitful bitch.”
She rose to her feet in one fluid motion, her long white hair falling around her like a cloak. Declan had thought her beautiful in her black gown, but in the black leather he’d chosen for her, she was simply stunning.
Deirdre was everything he had ever wanted in a woman. He’d waited too long, worked too hard to get the infamous drough to his time. She would be his. No matter how long it took.
“Watch your mouth,” Deirdre stated, her white eyes burning with hatred.
Declan looked her up and down, letting his gaze linger on the swell of her perfectly shaped breasts. “Your pets might have escaped, but you never will.”
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my millennia of existence, Declan, it’s that one shouldn’t ever say never. No man holds me prisoner.”
“I am,” he said with a smirk.
“And that’s why when I do get out of here I will make it my mission to capture you and drain you of your magic as I’ve done to countless other Druids.”
Declan wasn’t stupid enough to dismiss her threat. He knew how powerful she was. It was why he’d put so many spells on his mansion, and her room especially, to prevent her from leaving.
“Doona fight fate,” he said.
Suddenly she smiled. “I command fate.”
Behind him Declan heard a grunt. He turned in time to see a maroon Warrior behead two of his guards. That same Warrior was headed toward him.
Declan used his magic to halt the Warrior. He smiled as the Warrior growled. And then he heard the shrieks.
He turned his head to see three wyrran coming at him. Declan knew he couldn’t hold them off with his magic, so he did the only thing he could do. He stayed alive.
Declan glanced at Deirdre to see her confident smile an instant before he touched a panel on the wall that opened a secret compartment. He slid into the doorway and sighed once it shut.
No one, not even a Warrior would be able to get into his hideaway. It was triggered with his magic, and his magic alone.
That didn’t stop the wyrran from clawing at the expensive wood paneling or the Warrior from trying to punch through the door.
Declan’s shoulders sagged with relief when the shrieks and growls subsided. He waited another half hour before he cracked open the door, which was directly across from Deirdre’s room, to find her gone.
He shouldn’t have been surprised. It had been her plan all along to distract him while her wyrran and Warriors attacked. In his haste to save himself he hadn’t locked her into her room. Not that it would have done any good. The wyrran wouldn’t have stopped until they found a way to free her.
Declan sighed as he looked into the empty room. Deirdre was gone. And with her his dreams of having her. He knew he’d never capture her again.
But maybe he could prove he was her equal.
“Declan.”
He turned to find Robbie walking toward him with his black T-shirt in tatters and blood coating him. “How many did we lose?”
“All but six.”
“I’m going to need more, Robbie. And while we’re at it, I think it’s time we find some Warriors of our own.”
A gleam shone in Robbie’s eye. “About time, cousin.”
Declan looked at Deirdre’s room once more before he turned on his heel, and with his hands clasped behind his back, strode to his office. It was time to begin the war that would end in his ruling all. Most especially Deirdre.
CHAPTER TWELVE
December 20th
Logan had decided that spending the night in the small chamber with Gwynn was asking too much of himself. He’d climbed out of her window and sat atop the roof of the hotel when he wasn’t patrolling the area looking for any wyrran or Warriors.
Or Deirdre.
His mind kept going over everything that had happened the day before on Eigg. It was too much of a coincidence for Gwynn’s father not to have been on Eigg for the artifact.
By the time the sun rose, Logan had more questions than ever.
While Gwynn was still sleeping, he stole back into her chamber. She was in the same position on her side that she’d been in when he left. For long moments he simply watched her, his body demanding he crawl into the bed with her. That he take her into his arms and kiss her. Touch her. Make love to her.
Logan wanted it so badly he shook with the need. He’d never turned away from the prospect of bedding a woman. But Gwynn wasn’t just any woman. She was different in so many ways that had nothing to do with her being from a different time.
He couldn’t put his finger on what set her apart. He only knew that she was. And because of that, he should stay away from her.
If he could.
Logan made himself turn away from Gwynn and walked into the small room Gwynn had called the bathroom. She’d shown him how to use the shower, toilet, and sink. This was one room he could certainly get accustomed to. Hot water with a mere twist of a knob.
Logan removed his boots and set them side by side next to the wall. He unpinned the brooch over his heart and laid it on the counter next to the sink as his kilt fell to the floor.
He didn’t look in the large mirror over the sink as he removed his saffron shirt and stared at the bloodstains that hadn’t completely come out, no matter how many times he’d cleaned the shirt.
His kilt looked little better. The thought of not wearing his kilt made his chest hurt, but maybe Gwynn was right. Maybe he did need to blend in. And she had said they could get him a new kilt.
That, he wouldn’t mind having. He didn’t deserve it though.
“Hell, I doona deserve to wear the Hamilton kilt as it is.”
Not after willingly going to Deirdre. He’d acted selfishly and recklessly. And it’d cost him his family.
Logan could still hear his little brother, Ronald, calling after him. Begging him to return.
With a curse, Logan closed off his memories. They would do him no good other than to remind him what a daft fool he’d been. He leaned into the shower and turned the knob with the big H on it.
It took just a few moments before steam from the hot water began to fill the bathroom. Logan turned the other knob with the C on it until he found the temperature he liked.
He stepped into the shower and smiled as the water sloshed over him. It pounded on the tense muscles of his shoulders, easing him.
Logan wet his hair and used what Gwynn had told him was soap for his hair.
“Shampoo,” he read aloud off the small bottle.
With a shrug, he dumped some of it into his hands, amazed that it smelled good. He lathered it into his hair, scrubbing his scalp before rinsing.
He scrubbed his body three times and still he wasn’t ready to leave the shower, but he wanted to make sure there was plenty of hot water for Gwynn.
Logan shut off the shower and shook his head as he looked at how far mortals had come. He reached for the fluffy white towel and began to dry off.
He padded naked to the sink and ran his hand over the mirror to wipe away the steam that had fogged it. For several long moments he stared at the man before him.
In all his years Logan had never really seen his reflection. Oh, he’d seen it distorted in a loch, but it wasn’t the same as seeing it now.
The man who stared back at him was a stranger. The hazel eyes so like his mother’s held none of her warmth or kindness. His skin was bronzed from
the sun, and though his body held none of the scars he’d gotten as a Warrior thanks to the healing power of his god, he saw them anyway.
They were branded into his soul.
Logan turned his head to the side and looked at his face where a beard had begun to take shape. It had been several days since he’d shaved. He looked … unkempt. His appearance was certainly not something Gwynn would find appealing.
He allowed one of his claws to lengthen. Just as he prepared to use it to shave, he saw the small pink thing next to the sink. What had Gwynn called it? Oh, aye. A razor. She’d shown him how to use it on his face, but as he looked at it in his hand, he couldn’t imagine a man using it.
Logan looked between the razor and his claw. With a shrug, he stared into the mirror and began to use the razor.
* * *
Gwynn stretched and rolled over to find sunlight shining through the open curtains. She sat up and rubbed her eyes.
She could hear water running in the bathroom sink. A smile pulled at her lips as she thought of Logan. She’d slept for the first time in days because she’d felt safe with him in the room with her.
Though it had taken her a while to actually fall asleep. The idea of him in her room, the tall, masculine outline of him as he sat on the couch while she lay in her bed had brought an ache between her legs.
She didn’t take risks. Ever. Yet she had almost given into the desire that flooded her and invited him into her bed. Even now she wondered why she hadn’t.
But she knew the answer. She was chicken. What if he said no? She couldn’t take that, not now.
So she had kept silent, the need clawing at her, growing with every thought of his large hands touching her, of his lips sliding over her mouth, and his hard body pressed against hers.
She had only managed to sleep after that because of pure exhaustion. Tonight, however, would be a different scenario.
Gwynn threw back the covers and shivered at the chill in the room. Her body would never get used to the cold in Scotland. She rose and wrapped her arms around her middle as she walked to the bathroom door.
