by Cindy Miles
‘‘Dunna ever say that aloud again! Do you hear me?’’ He gave her a shake. ‘‘Answer me!’’
She just stared at him, those odd-shaped eyes glassy and unblinking.
He gave her another shake. ‘‘Dunna say it!’’
He felt his body leave the ground for a moment, Amelia’s arms were suddenly out of his grasp, and a big fist had been planted against his jaw. His head snapped back, but he didna fall. Holding his chin, Ethan stared at Torloch, who gave him a vicious glare—one he hadn’t seen since battle.
Torloch pointed at him. ‘‘I dunna know what’s gotten into you, Ethan, but you’ll no’ touch Amelia that way again.’’
Ethan glanced at her then, and her face had the look of someone who’d just lost a loved one.
Christ, he wanted to wipe that look from her face and replace it with the one she’d had that day in the rain, before—’’
‘‘What do those words mean?’’ she asked, boldly moving toward him. ‘‘Tell me!’’
The wounded look was gone, and just that fast, replaced by one of pure fury.
Ethan preferred that.
She marched right up to him and poked him in the chest. ‘‘Dammit, Ethan, you tell me what those words mean!’’
He started to turn away again, but the lass was relentless. She grabbed his arm. ‘‘Don’t you walk away!’’
He shrugged her hand off, and recalled rather fast that Torloch had a penchant for fisticuffs.
This time, Tor struck his eye. The swelling began immediately. He didna care. For the last time, he turned to walk away.
Amelia ran in front of him and blocked his path. ‘‘Tell me!’’ she shouted. ‘‘I’ll just follow you wherever you go until you do!’’
Ethan stepped around her, but she jumped in his path once more. ‘‘Tell me!’’
‘‘Dammit, woman, move!’’ he yelled.
Torloch grabbed him, locked his arms behind him, and held him tight. ‘‘Tell her, laird. Before we run out o’ twilight.’’
Ethan stared at Amelia, her chest rising and falling with angered breaths, her hands balled into fists by her side, her face pinched in anger.
Christ, mayhap if he told her, she’d leave him alone.
Torloch, damn his arse, gave Ethan a shake. ‘‘Tell her!’’
‘‘Love of my heart!’’ Ethan shouted. The resolve ran out of him. He quieted. ‘‘It means love of my heart.’’
Amelia took a step forward, lifted her hands, and when the soft skin of her palms cradled his cheeks, he let out a hefty sigh.
‘‘Look at me, Ethan Arimus Munro,’’ she said, her voice softer now, yet hoarse from shouting. ‘‘Please.’’
Ethan did. Damnation, he couldna help it. Even knowing it placed her life in danger, he couldna look into those green eyes, so wide and trusting, and keep his feelings from her any longer. ’Twas selfish, and beyond dangerous, he knew, but he couldna deny it any more than his own next breath. ‘‘Táim I ngrá leat, Amelia Landry. By the blood of Christ’’—he shrugged loose from Torloch’s grip and slid his hands over hers—‘‘I’m in love wi’ you.’’
Amelia’s eyes closed on an exhale, and a tear leaked through her lashes. Finally she looked at him. ‘‘That kiss with Aiden wasn’t real. It was only to—’’
Ethan stopped her words with his mouth, and behind him, his kinsmen cheered. Amelia fell into him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and kissed him with such fervor, he all but wished his kin would leave them.
‘‘I love you, Ethan Arimus Munro,’’ she said against his lips. ‘‘Forever.’’
Ethan smiled, although worry gnawed at his gut. He’d discuss what had happened later, after the gloaming. For now he wanted his woman no other place but against him. ‘‘Go síoraí,’’ he said.
‘‘What’s that mean?’’ Amelia asked, her lips softly dragging against his.
‘‘Forever,’’ he told her.
And he prayed it would be true.
And with his men chortling and whistling around them, Ethan stood there by the loch until the last second of twilight, kissing his beloved.
Right then, he cast a fervent request to God and the stars above that she’d never be taken from him, that her life would be spared.
Even if his was not.
When the last of the twilight was swallowed up by the summer’s eve, Ethan walked beside Amelia, back to the keep. As he neared Aiden, he stopped. ‘‘I didna mean to hit you so hard, cousin.’’
Aiden grinned and wiggled his jaw. ‘‘ ’Twas worth it.’’
Ethan knew it, too.
Amelia sat as close to Ethan as she could on the sofa without slipping through him. Still, that wasn’t close enough by far.
He loved her, you know. Táim I ngrá leat is what he’d said to her. In front of his kin, even. Gaelic words of endearment. The medieval L word, so to speak, but in a much more romantic way. Not just I love you, but I’m in love wi’ you. It’d sounded beautiful, exotic, perfectly medieval.
It had struck the core of her soul.
Ethan had quietly sat next to her and explained everything that had happened that day in the rain, leaving out their very, very passionate kiss. The whispered voice, the harsh wind and biting hail.
The threat to kill her if Ethan didn’t leave her alone.
‘‘So that whole hail storm and wind had kicked up once you’d voiced your love for Amelia aloud?’’ asked Rob.
‘‘Aye, and the more I argued with the voice, the more violent it became.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘Passing odd, to hear something so strong inside myself, and even more odd to answer it back.’’
‘‘You’re positive ’twas the same voice from before? ’’ asked Gilchrist. ‘‘ ’Twas a long time ago, Ethan.’’
He looked at his kin. ‘‘I’m sure of it.’’
Amelia rubbed her brow. ‘‘I feel we’re nowhere with all of this,’’ she said. ‘‘I’d thought for sure once the ghosts started speaking to me that we’d get a clue. Now they’ve both clammed up.’’
‘‘Aye, but we want the bad one to stay that way,’’ said Gilchrist. ‘‘It doesna like you, Amelia.’’
‘‘I wonder why the malevolent spirit doesna just cast another enchantment,’’ said Aiden. ‘‘What stops it?’’
‘‘Probably being dead,’’ replied Amelia. ‘‘Maybe once the enchanter died they lost their powers, or whatever they’re called.’’
Ethan nodded. ‘‘I think Amelia has it aright.’’ He looked at all of his men, and then at Amelia. He drew a deep breath. ‘‘Mayhap you should go—’’
‘‘I’m not leaving.’’ Amelia frowned. ‘‘Running away is not the answer, Ethan.’’
‘‘Neither is putting your life in danger,’’ he said, his voice low. ‘‘I’ll not have it.’’
‘‘I’ll stay inside,’’ she said.
‘‘You’re verra first experience was inside,’’ answered Ethan. He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘‘By the blood of the saints, ’tis frustrating.’’
All the warriors grumbled in agreement.
Amelia stood and stretched. ‘‘Well, we’ve really no choice but to continue on as before. Even if we knew who the enchanter was, not to mention the murderer, who may be one and the same, it wouldn’t help us break the spell.’’
She stopped and blinked.
‘‘What is it, Amelia?’’ asked Ethan.
She started to pace, arms crossed over her chest. With one finger, she tapped her jaw. ‘‘The gentle spirit has more than once urged me to ‘break the ssspell,’ along with the message ‘they must go back.’ ’’ She glanced at the men. ‘‘I think that means you must go back, in—’’
‘‘Time?’’ finished Aiden.
‘‘You mean back to the day of Devina’s death?’’ asked Sorely.
Ethan remained quiet, but he’d leaned forward and now rested his forearms against his knees. He stared at the space between his feet.
‘‘Mayhap Amelia can pen a
time enchantment?’’ said Rob. He looked at her. ‘‘Can you?’’
‘‘I’m a writer, not a witch,’’ Amelia said.
‘‘That’s a fact to be pondered,’’ said Aiden. He rubbed his jaw.
Amelia grinned at her coconspirator. ‘‘Don’t pout, Aiden. You’re a wonderful kisser, by the by.’’
The men chuckled.
‘‘Anyway,’’ she continued. ‘‘I’m guessing here, since my field of expertise usually doesn’t include magic, but when an enchantment is cast, wouldn’t there be a backup somewhere? I mean’’—she snapped her fingers—‘‘maybe whoever enchanted you did so with the plan to unenchant you at some point, but the enchanter was killed before that could happen.’’
‘‘Which is why we’ve been stuck in this place for seven centuries,’’ said Gilchrist.
Amelia smiled. ‘‘Exactly.’’
‘‘I rather fancy the twenty-first century,’’ said Rob. ‘‘Well, if I’d be able to leave our borders and see more of it, that is. I do like the tele.’’
‘‘What would sending us back there do?’’ said Ethan. His gaze bore into hers, as though he’d been thinking hard on the same question for several minutes. ‘‘What outcome could it have?’’
Amelia thought about it. ‘‘I don’t know. Unless you went back before Devina’s murder.’’ She looked at him. ‘‘Maybe you’re supposed to go back and prevent her death?’’
Ethan worried his brow with his thumb and forefinger. He thought, and then with those mesmerizing silver eyes, he locked gazes with Amelia. ‘‘Even if we did all of this, lass, and we were able to go back to our time and right Devina’s murder. Then what?’’
So caught up in trying to find a solution and solve the crazy mystery of the Munro resident spirits and Ethan and his kin’s out-of-this-world enchantment, she hadn’t bothered to think of just what the outcome would finally be.
All at once, Amelia knew it. Knew it clear to her bones. The thought hit her square in the gut and nearly knocked her breathless.
‘‘We’d have to stay there, back in our time. Isna that right?’’ asked Torloch.
Amelia turned and stared into the empty hearth. ‘‘I don’t know,’’ she said. ‘‘I really just don’t know.’’
So many thoughts crashed over her at once, so forceful and so plentiful, they made her brain ache. How could something as simple as leasing an old creepy tower house for the summer for a little bit of writing solitude have turned into such a life-altering quandary?
One thing she did know.
No matter the outcome, Amelia would lose Ethan.
Chapter 26
During the week that followed, everything remained quiet. For the most part, that is. Every morning, Amelia trained the warrior-knights in their newfound love of martial arts. Fast learners, all of them. They’d become quite good, too, and had even started sparring with one another—quite a sight to behold, watching fourteenth-century warriors spar in the arts. Fast of hand and foot, paired with their honed skills of sword fighting, and the guys had indeed become lethal weapons.
During the afternoon hours, Ethan remained by her side. Whether she was busy writing scenes on her note cards, or filling in the fictional portion of her time line, he stood close, unable to physically touch her, yet Amelia had never felt more caressed than during those hours. With his eyes alone, Ethan had the power to make her skin burn with a single look, and the way he’d lean close to her, mere inches apart— good grief, she was sure the keep would experience a major power outage.
And all the while, Ethan kept a close guard on Amelia. As did all of the Munros.
At twilight, for that magical gap in time between daylight and darkness, she and Ethan were inseparable. Both were careful not to say the L word anymore; it had somehow seemed to trigger the ugly response from the malevolent ghost, which, they’d all come to believe to be a woman. Ethan had racked his brain but could find no good candidate as to who that woman might be.
Ethan, Amelia realized rather fast, needed no words to express his feelings. Although careful not to stray too far from the keep, they’d find a bit of privacy near the loch, or just outside on the wrought-iron bench Guthrie had brought from the widow’s cottage and placed near the castle wall, or a nice, secluded, shadowy alcove, like the one they presently were in.
Ethan, being the big guy he was, crowded the concealed, stone hideaway, which was fine with Amelia. It reminded her of a brick oven cutaway, or a mini hearth, with an archway and a stone slab for a seat. Amelia had placed pillows on top for cushions, and with the barely there glow of torchlight flickering in the passageway, it gave the most perfect, medieval ambience.
To go with the most perfect, medieval warrior, of course.
Neither, though, had voiced aloud their fear of what would become of them, no matter what the end scenario was. Not once. The fear was there, though, constantly, ever-present and lying just below the surface, and any good therapist would take great pleasure in knocking their heads together for a good wake-up call, to try and hammer sense into both of them, to make them talk about it. Not keep it bottled up inside, hoping it would just go away, or fix itself.
A clear vision came to her, of her and Ethan, each sitting on tall stools beside each other, before a live audience, facing Dr. Phil while he asked, ‘‘So, how’s that working for you?’’
‘‘It’s not,’’ she’d answer.
Dr. Phil would raise his eyebrows and shrug, and the audience would chuckle . . .
‘‘Amelia,’’ Ethan said, breaking into her thoughts. He traced the bridge of her nose with his finger. ‘‘What’s troubling you this eve?’’ He tucked her hair behind her ear.
Amelia gave a soft laugh. She was about to make Dr. Phil proud. ‘‘The same thing that bothers me every eve, Ethan, and every morning, every night, every afternoon.’’ She looked at him, his chiseled face cast in shadows, the one silvery eye with the moon scar beneath it staring back at her. ‘‘What’s going to happen to us?’’ She sighed. ‘‘If you go back to your time—even if that could be managed—we’d never see each other again. If nothing happens, and you remain enchanted forever, I grow old and die, and you stay the same, living on forever.’’ She shook her head. ‘‘I’m not sure I could bear being sixty while you remain a young, virile, thirty-one-year-old, give or take a few centuries. It’s almost like you’re a ghost, but not.’’ She looked at him. ‘‘It’s like we’re doomed no matter—’’
Ethan leaned in, closed his mouth over hers, and simply breathed. One big hand slid over her jaw, tilted her head, and his lips nudged hers open and he kissed her, long, deep, drawing the worry out of her and swallowing it whole. The way he held her face when he kissed her, it felt as though he were blind, and touching her cheekbones, her chin, her brows, as his only means of discovery. With an erotic suckle of her bottom lip, he pulled back and stared at her.
‘‘Amelia,’’ he said, that deep, medieval voice making her shiver, ‘‘no matter the outcome, I’ve lived a more fulfilling life in the past several weeks with you than I did the whole of my days whilst in my time. I’d do it again, too, if it meant spending one more twilight hour with you.’’ His gaze seeped far into her soul. ‘‘Whatever happens, we’ll take it on together, aye?’’
He was right, of course. They’d do their best to wrangle the problem, and they’d cross that bridge when necessary. She took a deep breath and smiled. ‘‘Aye.’’
Ethan grinned. ‘‘You’re verra cute when you say that, by the by.’’
Amelia leaned her head against the alcove’s wall. ‘‘Maybe we should all carry a lucky rabbit’s foot.’’ She glanced at him. ‘‘You know? A good-luck charm.’’
Ethan chuckled. ‘‘That brings to mind a long-ago memory. When I was a lad, my grandmother had us all carry around a talisman to ward off evil. In case anything happened upon us in the wood. Verra superstitious, Madeline Munro. Too bad we stopped carrying them around once we grew up.’’
Amelia hel
d his hand, traced his strong fingers, then turned his hand over to feel the calluses there. ‘‘What were the talismans?’’
‘‘Slivers of yew bark.’’ He grasped her hands and put them around his neck, pushed her hair to one side, and pressed his mouth to her throat. The warm wetness of his tongue, followed by the gentle movement of his lips against the sensitive skin of her neck made her insides quiver. His hand angled her head just to the right, and his finger trailed over her collarbone.
All at once, Amelia froze. She blinked, then jumped so hard she knocked her head against the stone wall. Grabbing his head in her hands, she lifted his face. ‘‘What did you say?’’
Ethan stared at her, the sexy curve of his mouth lifting into a grin. ‘‘When? For the life of me, all I can recall is tasting your verra soft throat.’’
Amelia let out a gusty sigh. ‘‘What was the talisman you carried around as a little boy?’’
Ethan blinked. ‘‘A sliver of yew bark. Why?’’
Amelia’s heartbeat quickened, and she stood slowly. ‘‘Oh, my gosh.’’
‘‘What is it?’’ Ethan asked.
Rubbing her temples, she paced in the passageway. ‘‘In my room, and then in the forest that day, when the whispering ghost sent me outside to the forest in the dark,’’ Amelia said. ‘‘It kept repeating the word you, only the word was drawn out, like youuu.’’ She looked at him, his expression puzzled. ‘‘I think it may have meant yew, as in the yew tree.’’ She looked at him. ‘‘I don’t know, it may be crazy,’’ she said, ‘‘but I think we should all carry a piece of yew bark. My guess is that is the message the gentle spirit was trying to tell me—along with trying to send you back in time, which seems impossible, but, I mean, we’re dealing with spirits and enchantments and malevolent beings who can throw spiky balls of hail and turn rooms to frost.’’ She smiled and took a breath. ‘‘A little woo-woo protection couldn’t hurt.’’
