Rogue on the Rollaway

by MacLeod, Shannon

  They were nearly to the mezzanine when Colleen whirled on him in belated outrage. “Hedgehog?” she demanded.

  Faolan ducked his head and stifled a smile. “Just caught that, did ye? Truth is, I love it when ye get yer Irish up. Yer hair stands out all around yer face and em…ye look just a wee bit like….well, a hedgehog. It’s most fetching, though,” he added lamely, adding a bright smile in a valiant attempt to diffuse her temper.

  Colleen just couldn’t stay angry with him. “Am I a pretty hedgehog?” she asked, batting her eyes coquettishly.

  He lowered his head and settled his lips over hers. “Aye, my Princess. All the other prickly beasties pale by comparison,” he whispered.

  They visited nearby Disney World, riding the rides and laughing like a couple of children. His amazement at the park knew no bounds. “Yer modern world is magic enough,” he remarked more than once, “but this place is almost more than a mind can handle.” When he draped a possessive arm around her shoulder as they walked, her arm crept around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  At Epcot, they strolled from country to country in the World Showcase. Pausing to listen to a band doing a passable impression of the Beatles in the UK area, Faolan noticed a shop window crammed with mannequins wearing Scot apparel. Colleen squealed with delight. “C’mon,” she said, grabbing him by the hand and dragging him behind her, “let’s go see what they’ve got.”

  He seemed distant while they browsed, rubbing the fabric of one of the plaids absently between thumb and forefinger. A round middle aged man with bright ginger hair rushed over to assist the pair. “Is there anythin’ I can help you with? Assistance locating a specific clan tartan, perhaps?” the shopkeeper asked in a thick burr.

  Faolan’s head whipped around at sound of the man’s voice. “Nay, thank ye,” his quiet voice bordering on forlorn. “’Tis enough just to hear the accent.”

  “Och, a fellow countryman! Where’d ye hail from? What’s yer clan name?” the happy clerk chortled, gesturing at the rack. “That plaid yer holdin’ there is the Stewart.”

  “I know,” Faolan nodded. In a whisper he added, “Virescit Vulnere Virtus. Courage Grows Strong at a Wound.” He abruptly dropped the material and looked away, his face gray and somber.

  “This would be yours, wouldn’t it?” she asked, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

  “Aye, ‘twould, were I still wearin’ it,” he agreed, giving a pained smile to the clerk. It came out as more of a grimace. “John Gilchrist MacIntyre Stewart, of Edinburgh.” He slipped an arm about her waist and whispered, “I’m needing some air, lass.”

  Colleen nodded. “Thank you,” she said to the confused clerk. Taking Faolan’s arm, they headed for the exit without pausing.

  Faolan’s silence was deafening as they boarded the monorail bound for the Magic Kingdom. When the train eased forward, Colleen slipped her hand into his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. She was rewarded with a smile and he leaned over to give her a soft kiss on the temple. “What a dour bastard I’m turning into. My apologies, lass, for spoiling yer evening.”

  “You haven’t spoiled it at all,” she assured him, giving him a kiss of her own. “And the evening’s not over.”

  They arrived at Main Street, USA just in time to find a good spot to watch the Electrical Parade. After a fast glance around, they moved next to three women with a bored teenage girl and two sleeping toddlers in a double stroller. The six year old boy with them was far from either bored or sleeping. He hopped from one foot to the other, trying to see the characters and floats laden with millions of brightly colored lights through the crowd of people. “I can’t see, Mama!” the boy cried. “Can’t we move?”

  “No, sweetie, there’s too many people,” one of the women said. “The parade’s already started. We’ll never find a good spot in this crowd.”

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, mistress,” Faolan interrupted. He spoke into the woman’s ear, and with a look of first shock then delight, she nodded enthusiastically. Faolan lowered himself down to eye level with the boy. “How would ye like to see the parade from the tallest spot on the street?” he asked.

  When the wide-eyed boy nodded, Faolan scooped him up, set him down on one broad shoulder and stood. The child crowed with delight. “Look how tall I am, Mama,” he said over and over.

  Colleen’s heart did a funny little flip flop at the sight of Faolan with the child perched on his shoulder. “Have y’all been married long?” the grateful woman asked in a thick Texas drawl, jarring her back to the present.

  “We’re not married,” Colleen said, her voice faint. “We’re just…” she stopped, not quite sure how to proceed. “…friends, I guess.”

  “It’s not my business, but that there’s a man you want to hang onto,” the woman advised her. “He’ll be a good daddy. You can tell a lot about a man by the way he acts around children. He ain’t real hard to look at, either.” She winked.

  Colleen glanced up to see the faces of the boy and the man, equally enraptured by the sparkling lights on the passing floats and smiled a secret smile. “He’s a really special guy,” she agreed.

  They stayed for the fireworks and watched from the wooden bridge into Adventureland. Faolan leaned back against the railing, his arms encircling Colleen’s waist. As the grand finale lit up the night sky with a deafening explosion in a myriad of colors, Faolan lowered his head to her shoulder and gave a deep sigh of contentment into her hair. She lifted her hand to gently stroke his cheek, allowing her head to fall back against his chest. His embrace tightened in response. “Thank ye, Colleen,” he whispered, “for everything.”

  While on the ferryboat back to the tram station, Faolan remarked he was “a mite peckish.” During the tram ride back to the Donald parking lot, peckish turned into “hungry.” By the time she was merging onto I-4, he had progressed to an “I’m going to gnaw me own leg off if ye don’t feed me soon” level of starvation.

  Before he could resort to asking for pen and paper to write his last will and testament, Colleen suggested they stop for dinner out instead of waiting until they got home. “I’m amenable to anything that’ll put hot food in my belly,” Faolan assured her with a vigorous nod.

  Colleen took the next exit that sported a casual dining steakhouse sign. Seated within minutes of arriving, they were ushered to a quiet circular booth. Faolan slid in next to her, his hard thigh brushing hers under the varnished wooden table. Colleen shivered at the delicious contact, focusing her attention on the menu and ignoring what her hand wanted to do, which was run the length of those long thigh muscles.

  Faolan was oblivious to her inner turmoil. “I doona know what to choose,” he groused, flipping back and forth through the menu. “It all looks good.” Only five minutes had passed before their server, her name tag identifying her as Destiny, arrived with the requested ice teas. Colleen took one look at her distraught dining companion and asked for a moment longer to look at the menu.

  When the young waitress returned, Colleen ordered a bacon wrapped filet for her and a thick porterhouse for him, loaded baked potatoes and tossed Caesar salads. She picked up the menus to hand back to the server but Faolan gently captured her wrist in his hand. “Not so fast, lass,” he said, taking one of the menus from her and opening it back up. “What are these?” he asked the girl, pointing to one of the pictures.

  “Coconut shrimp,” the server answered, “Large Gulf shrimp breaded and rolled in fresh…”

  “We’ll have those,” Faolan interrupted, “and these…” Pointing to another picture, “…and one of those…and whatever that is as well.”

  Colleen giggled at the scribbling server struggling to get everything down. “Will that be all, sir?” Destiny asked pointedly.

  “For the now,” he nodded. She held out her hand to retrieve the menu. With a shake of his head, Faolan tucked the menu back behind the condiments for safekeeping and said, “I’ll be keeping this, lass. Just in case.”

  When t
he server turned and scampered back to the kitchen with her large order, Colleen laughed. “You’ve scared her to death,” she said. “That’s a lot of food.”

  “I doona care. Ye’ve run me hard and my strength is failing,” Faolan complained with a dramatic sniff then laughed. “In truth, I had a wonderful time with ye today. It truly is a magical place, and being with ye made it even more so.” Colleen ducked her head with a shy smile, and he lifted her hand to his lips to place a kiss on the back of it. “Our serving girl’s name is Destiny. “Tis an odd name, but apt I should see it here with ye,” he said.

  When Colleen turned a puzzled glance to him, he answered her unspoken question. “I feel ours are linked, somehow. Our destinies, that is.” He threaded his fingers through hers and brought her hand to his cheek, brushing it against the light dusting of whiskers sprouted since the morning. “Yer hands are so gentle,” he murmured, closing his eyes at the pleasure of her touch. His musings were interrupted by the arrival of the first of the appetizers, and Faolan threw himself into the serious task of trying the strange new foods.

  “Och, lass.” Faolan rolled his eyes heavenward, “Ye’ve got to try this…” he paused to look at the plate and shrugged, “…whatever it is.” He held a morsel up and she opened her mouth like a baby bird for him to pop the tidbit in.

  “Ish a quesadilla,” she mumbled around the mouthful of soft tortilla and cheese. Colleen let him have the majority of the shrimp–a big hit judging by the happy groans and smacking lips–when they arrived along with their salads. After those too were finished, she dabbed daintily at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “I’m going to run to the ladies room,” she explained, sliding to the edge of the booth. Faolan s gaze followed her protectively while she maneuvered around the edge of the dining room and past the bustling server station full of chattering college-aged servers. She disappeared around the corner with a small wave.

  Colleen freshened up and walked back by the now abandoned server area, immediately noticing the quiet that had fallen over the back of the restaurant. Five minutes. She wasn’t even gone five whole minutes. “Excuse me,” she seethed, wading through the group of female employees–kitchen, bar and servers alike–whose duties apparently required them all to be in Faolan’s immediate vicinity.

  His deep voice drifted to her through the crowd of women. “…my lady when she returns. Och, there ye are, Blossom,” Faolan grinned, standing up and taking her hand so she could ease back into the booth. “These lasses were just asking if I was a stripper. I told them I doona think so,” he said, his face clouded with uncertainty. “I’m not, am I?”

  The inquisitive lasses in question flushed scarlet and scattered to the four corners of the room at the murderous look on Colleen’s face. “No, you’re not, but I guess I can see how they’d think that,” she muttered darkly. “What you are is a freaking estrogen magnet.”

  Faolan took a good look at Colleen and a slow smile crept across his handsome face. “Yer jealous,” he said, his voice filled with amazement.

  “I most certainly am not,” she scoffed.

  “Aye, ye are,” he insisted. “I can see it in yer eyes,” his voice dropped to a seductive purr, “yer wantin’ me all to yerself.”

  Colleen drew herself up into an embarrassed huff. “You’re seeing things.”

  He chuckled. “And all this time I’m thinking ye were immune to my charms. Perchance do ye lie awake at night, wondering what I look like naked?”

  She rolled her eyes at that question, determined not to let him see how close to home his words were hitting. “No, I don’t.”

  “I’m hot,” he singsonged. “And yer jealous.”

  She snatched up the menu and propped it in front of her, shielding her from his gaze. “I am not,” she snapped, focusing all her attention on the dessert selections.

  “Aye, ye are,” he said with a grin, picking up the menu and laying it back down. “Tell the truth and shame the devil, lass. Yer mad about me.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Colleen protested again, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “You’re delusional, obviously bought on by…by…your forced starvation this afternoon.”

  “There’s that denial again,” he chuckled, and she giggled in spite of herself. She moved to jab him playfully with her elbow and he caught her arm before continuing. “It pleases me to know ye care, Princess, because I canna bear the idea of another man looking at ye and thinking the thoughts I’m thinking. And God help the poor bastard who dares touch ye.” His voice grew husky as something dark and sensual passed over his face. One big arm wound about her waist and a warm hand cupped the back of her neck. “I’ll freely admit it. I dream about what treasures lay beneath yer clothes. And yes, lass, I am starving, but the only thing that will slake my hunger is ye.” He lowered his head and his lips settled over hers, leaving no doubts about what he was hungry for.

  Streaks of white hot desire raced through her veins and lit up her nerve endings like one of the floats in the parade. She gave a half gasp, half moan while her traitorous hand sneaked up his chest, under his hair and around the back of his neck to pull him closer. The sound of approaching footsteps gave him pause, and with a deep growl of reluctance, he reined himself in just in time for Destiny to arrive with their steaks. “Let me know if I can get y’all anything,” she said, wide eyed. “I’ll be by to check on you in a few minutes.”

  * * * *

  Faolan nodded in dismissal, nudged his plate to one side and slid Colleen’s over in front of him. Before she could utter a sound of protest, he sliced the filet into tender bite sized pieces with the heavy knife, speared one and held it to her lips. “Open, Blossom,” he coaxed.

  “I’m not a baby,” she retorted, but opened anyway and allowed him to put the bit of steak in her mouth.

  “In my hall,” Faolan said in a low, thoughtful voice, “ye would be seated at the high table with me at yer side, and I would serve ye in this manner…” He fed her another bite, “…until ye were satisfied. Only then would I see to my own needs. ’Tis the way it should be with an…” his voice trailed off. Tightening his lips, he stared down into the plate as he cut off another piece.

  “Finish your sentence,” she said, chewing the last bite and swallowing. “Please.”

  “An honored guest,” he lied, not wishing to voice the words that were just on the tip of his tongue. An honored and beloved wife, lady of the keep, mother of his children… His head snapped up. That thought came unbidden from out of the blue and blindsided him. His chest tightened painfully when he closed his eyes and got the vivid mental picture of Colleen holding a small babe, two more clinging to her skirts. His babes.

  A sharp pain sliced through his heart. Ye canna give her what she needs, what she wants, what she deserves, his conscience rebuked. Ye know what will happen if she falls in love with ye. It might already be too late to save yer own heart, much less hers. Forcing a smile he fed her another bite, and for at least the millionth time wished he hadn’t been so weak and lonely for a woman’s gentle touch on a night so long past.

  * * * *

  That night and each night after, he came to her after she had gone to bed. Each night she fell asleep cradled in his arms. Every morning’s see-you-later hug was a little tighter, every good night kiss longer than the night before. In spite of this, Colleen maintained the invisible line she drew around herself, and Faolan was careful not to cross it.

  They talked into the wee hours night after night, laughing and regaling each other with stories and anecdotes. Faolan proved to be both an exceptional listener and storyteller, never failing to make her laugh with stories of his many adventures, all of which–may he be struck down dead should he be lying–were the absolute truth. Only one subject was taboo. The amulet. Every time she brought it up, he changed the topic at once. “No, I doona know how the curse works,” he told her over and over, even growing testy about it on one occasion, “and I doona know how to break it.”

  Colleen found
little by little she was starting to relax and actually enjoy their unconventional relationship. That, she later reasoned, was why she didn’t see the second paradigm shift coming.

  On a bright Thursday morning a week later, Colleen’s day got off to a rough start. First she overslept, rushing around the apartment and darting around Faolan in her mad dash to get dressed and out the door.

  “Blossom…” he began, waving a small piece of paper at her like a white flag. He leapt out of her way when she charged past him to look for her missing shoes in the bedroom closet. “My list. I’m trying a new–”

  “I’m not going to have time to stop at the store this morning. That’ll have to wait,” Colleen said, her voice muffled as she knelt on the closet floor, digging around for her other pump. With a triumphant cry, she dug it out and slipped it on then leapt to her feet. “We can order take out tonight if we need to.”

  There was an exasperated sigh. “But I was going to make…” Faolan tried again.

  “We’ll have to talk about this later,” Colleen cut him off, her patience reaching its limits, “I’m already late for work.” After a moment’s hesitation, she rose up on tiptoes and kissed him gently on the cheek to cushion her harsh words. “We’ll worry about it after I get off work.”

  His only response was a disgruntled harrumph but she didn’t miss his hand reaching up to touch his cheek where her lips had made the brief contact and the soft smile that curved his lips. “I’ll see you later,” she said, closing the door behind her with a wave.

  Down in the parking lot, her day got even worse. Her car refused to start and with a frantic phone call she begged a lift from Sandy, arriving a half hour late. Colleen was bombarded first by the sudden appearance of a packet of requisition forms an inch thick on her desk–due that day–then the shop cooler picking that morning to go into a coma, resulting in a visit from a surly maintenance worker who was oblivious to the dirt and greasy lubricant he tracked all over her clean carpet. This required a visit from yet another maintenance man with a ramshackle steam cleaner she was certain the flustered man was not qualified to operate. While trying to recover from that fiasco, a harried staff director pressed her into service as an emergency docent for a group of young school children. The requisition forms to be filled out and faxed that afternoon got pushed to the back of her desk.