Highland Knight Read online

  Or maybe he could die? He could certainly get a big black eye. She hadn’t thought of that before.

  Good Lord, she didn’t have a clue. With so much going on, the guys, the enchantment, the ghosts, her deadline—who had time to seriously ponder the what ifs? Not her, nosiree, and no way.

  Just as she grew closer to the great hall door, sounds from behind the keep rose in the air. Loud sounds. Mean sounds. Grunts. Cursing. Cheering.

  And the clang clang of steel hitting steel.

  Hungry or not, this she had to see for herself.

  Highland mist, Amelia decided, needed no schedule. At any and all times of the morning, day, or night, it could swirl and sift throughout the trees, over the meadow, the loch, and through the surrounding hills. She found she liked it. It gave the landscape a moody, eerie look and feel, which was right up her alley, of course.

  The mist had slipped over and around the keep, wafting sheets of near-translucent white drifting like a live thing, and as Amelia eased around the corner of the tower house, to investigate the noises, which sounded a lot like a medieval battle, she froze in her tracks and held her breath. She wanted to stay undetected, lest they stopped doing the very cool stuff they were doing.

  A swordfight, between Sorely and Torloch. Not a choreographed sword fight, although those interested her, too. Hardly anything was better than watching two sexy guys duke it out with a pair of swords, even if they were just acting.

  Tor and Sorely weren’t actors. They were real, honest-to-goodness medieval warriors, ones who’d not only dueled with swords for fun in their time, but had done it for pure, raw survival.

  Big difference between medieval guys and actors.

  She’d checked all their hands. Calloused, every one of them, from the grip of their two-handed broadswords. And it amazed her.

  Tor and Sorely were in the thick of it, and they looked dead serious on killing each other. One would thrust, the other deflect. The sheer force in which the blades crashed together proved these guys meant business. Their biceps, cut and muscular, flexed with each swing of the sword, and with each swing came a rather naughty-sounding Gaelic word.

  Actually, they were all shouting and speaking in Gaelic. Amelia couldn’t understand a single word, but she could tell the naughty ones from the regular ones.

  The naughty ones were followed by rowdy laughter.

  Finally, Sorely and Tor’s swords came together, then up, and they were face-to-face. Tor planted his elbow in Sorely’s eye, who in turn swore and did the same back to Tor.

  Aiden stepped forward and shoved the two stalemates apart. He hollered something in Gaelic, the rest of the guys cheered and replied, and then Ethan came forward, unsheathing his sword.

  Gulp.

  With an excited flutter in her stomach, Amelia watched as Ethan and Aiden made a slow circle around each other. All fun and laughter had completely disappeared from Aiden’s face. Both had the same stance: bent at the knee, careful, predatory, slow steps, eyes fixed on each other, sword double fisted above their heads.

  Truly a sight to behold.

  Definitely adding it to that running list of things to remember forever.

  Aiden took the first swing, and Ethan easily deflected. At six foot seven, Ethan moved like a panther slinking through the forest for prey. With those silver bands encircling each bicep, his roughened length of plaid draped casually, yet perfectly, over his chiseled body, he looked every bit the ancient Celtic warrior he was.

  With a few encouraging shouts from the sideline Munros, the cousins began their swordplay, each taking bone-crunching swings at the other’s head. Amelia caught herself ducking a few times, as if the blade swung at her own encapitus melonus. Once she almost squealed out loud, and she clamped her lips shut and put a hand over her mouth to keep the noise in.

  Finally, just like Torloch and Sorely had done, Ethan and Aiden locked up with their swords, face-to -face. But with a strength that made Amelia’s mouth go dry, Ethan shoved his hilt forward and knocked Aiden in the chin.

  Someone shouted and the next thing she knew, Ethan and Aiden threw down their swords and withdrew knives from somewhere within their plaids. They circled, crouched, and the mist slinked through their legs and bodies.

  Had Amelia not known any better, she’d swear the cousins were preparing to kill each other. Their faces were drawn tight, their mouths pulled into determined frowns, and already each sported faded reminders of the last time they’d duked it out.

  Were they really going to knife fight in that thick mist? How on earth could they see each other? And it seemed the thicker the mist, the more the peanut gallery, aka the Munros, cheered them on.

  Amelia watched, stomach in knots. While Mel had done, in her opinion, a fabulous job portraying William Wallace, and the battle scenes had been gruesomely impressive (one of her favorite scenes had been when the battle line of Highlanders mooned the English), she thought nothing could compare to seeing very real—even in their enchanted states— warriors fight hand-to-hand combat with a short pair of sharp pointy knives.

  Amelia wondered briefly if Ethan and his clan had fought with Wallace. She’d make it a point to ask him about it.

  Just as that astounding thought passed, something caught Amelia’s eye. Faint, barely there—so much so she wondered if she had really seen it. She had.

  Through the heavy mist, and moving about Ethan and Aiden, a figure wearing a dark cloak emerged. Although no face could be seen in the shadows of the cowl, it appeared to be watching Ethan’s every move. Amelia blinked, unsure of her eyes. Could it be the same figure from her dream?

  Ethan took a swipe at Aiden and his arm passed right through the cloaked form.

  Amelia gasped, and then the figure turned and looked straight at her.

  And then it threw its shroud-covered head back and laughed and started to drift toward the keep.

  With her heart beating fast, Amelia moved from her spot near the corner and called to the figure. ‘‘Hey! Wait a minute! Come back here!’’

  When it turned, it lifted a long arm, beckoned, and hurried away. Amelia did the only thing she thought to do at the time.

  She followed it.

  Chapter 18

  Just as Amelia hollered, Ethan jerked. Aiden’s blade tip caught the side of his chin, but Ethan ignored it. Instead he watched Amelia hurry toward the rear of the keep from where she’d been watching their swordplay. Aye, he’d seen her, but hadn’t let on.

  ‘‘What’s she doin’?’’ Aiden asked. ‘‘Pardon for the nick, there, old man.’’

  ‘‘Who is she yellin’ at?’’ Sorely, followed by Tor, Rob, and Gil, stopped to watch her.

  As if she heard, Amelia shouted over her shoulder, ‘‘Can’t you guys see it?’’

  ‘‘See what?’’ Ethan returned, glancing around.

  ‘‘I dunna see a bluidy thing,’’ said Aiden.

  ‘‘Och, damn, that hardheaded girl,’’ said Ethan, and stuffed his knife in his belt. He picked up his sword and sheathed it as he ran after her. What was she up to now?

  His men followed, which was just as well. Not that any of them could help, but he wasna about to let Amelia go trailing after a spirit without him.

  As she entered the rear of the keep, beside the larder entrance, she disappeared. Ethan hurried, and once inside, he paused.

  ‘‘There,’’ said Torloch. ‘‘She’s gone up the larder steps.’’

  ‘‘Even Guthrie doesna go up those,’’ said Rob. ‘‘What’s she doin’?’’

  Ethan let his kin muse out loud. He sifted through the wall and headed up the once-used back steps, which wound in a tight coil the length of the tower, clear to the ramparts. ‘‘Amelia!’’ he called.

  ‘‘I’m here,’’ she said, way above, and her voice sounded muffled. ‘‘Hurry!’’

  Ethan did, as much as his big self could, by the by. Unable to take more than two steps at a time, he wished he could fly. But he was enchanted, no’ a bird. He hurried as
best he could.

  His men all managed the steps below him, cursing and, he imagined, elbowing one another as they clambered to reach the top. ’Twas a long bluidy climb.

  Eee-than!

  With his heart in his throat, Ethan ran as fast as he could up the remaining steps. The old wood door to the ramparts swung open at the top, and he hurried toward it.

  Rushing out onto the landing, he searched for Amelia. Then he froze.

  The daft girl stood on the narrow wall of the bulwark, her face white, and her eyes wide. Bare arms stretched out for balance, she trembled. Her lips were blue and she looked half frozen.

  His men filed out the door, crowded behind him, and cursed, and Ethan held up a hand to warn them to stay steady. Their unease filled the air, and with good reason. His woman was teetering on the bluidy wall.

  Ethan met Amelia’s frightened gaze, which scared the hell out of him. She wasna the type to be afraid of anything. He prayed that when he spoke, his voice sounded steady and not crackin’ with fear for her safety. ‘‘Step down, Amelia. Easy.’’

  ‘‘I,’’ she started, then cleared her throat. ‘‘Can’t.’’

  Ethan kept his eyes on her. ‘‘Yes, you can.’’

  Amelia closed her eyes tight, and her footing faltered.

  ‘‘Open your eyes, Amelia,’’ Ethan said evenly. ‘‘Do it now, lass, and step down.’’

  Without moving her arm, she pointed downward with her finger. ‘‘Can’t.’’ Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she didna open her eyes. ‘‘Rats.’’

  ‘‘Where?’’ whispered Gilchrist in a like voice from behind. ‘‘I hate rats.’’

  Ethan scanned the walkway, then looked at Amelia. ‘‘There are no rats, love. Come down.’’

  She wouldna, though. Amelia stayed frozen to the spot.

  With a deep breath, Ethan eased toward her, to where he was standing directly beside her. He spoke calmly. ‘‘Amelia, there are no rats. ’Tis only a vision. Now, step down.’’ Christ, if she fell . . .

  Still keeping her eyes squeezed shut, Amelia blew out a few gusty breaths, lowered one leg verra slowly, and muttered curse after curse—most of which Ethan didna understand—until her foot touched the walk. The other leg followed, and she stood as still as death, eyes closed.

  Ethan let out a sigh of relief. ‘‘Open your eyes, girl.’’

  She did, slowly, and one at a time. Glancing around and behind her, to the other side of Ethan and the men, she looked up at him, her expression befuddled. ‘‘There are no rats.’’

  ‘‘Nay, there’s none.’’

  She breathed out a long breath and leaned her rear against the bulwark wall.

  The men all edged forward and gasped.

  ‘‘Lass,’’ Ethan said, ‘‘move away from the wall.’’

  She did, and started to pace. ‘‘But there were rats, Ethan. Hundreds of them, all over here.’’ She indicated with her index finger.

  ‘‘Are you sure they’re gone now?’’ asked Gilchrist. ‘‘I hate the bluidy things.’’

  One thing Ethan loved about his brother Gil, he was brutally honest. Even when it came to admitting fear of a rodent.

  Amelia continued to search. ‘‘They’re gone.’’ She turned and looked at Ethan. ‘‘But they were here.’’ She shook her head and glanced around a bit more. ‘‘I’m a big chicken, admittedly, but there are some things I’m not afraid of—like heights—and some things I’m petrified of, like rats. I’m horrified of them.’’ She waved her hand. ‘‘And that shrouded specter made hundreds of them attack me, which is why I jumped up onto the wall.’’ She returned her gaze to his. ‘‘You didn’t see it, did you?’’

  Ethan couldn’t take his eyes off Amelia. He wanted to pull her to him tightly and kiss her senseless, and at the same time he wanted to strangle her. Slowly. ‘‘You could have fallen to your death, woman,’’ he said. ‘‘I dunna care if you were following Christ Almighty himself, dunna do it again alone.’’

  She flinched at his sharpness, but nodded. ‘‘Okay.’’ She glanced at his men. ‘‘Thanks, guys. Sorry to be such a pain in the—’’

  ‘‘Amelia,’’ Ethan said. He could tell she was angry now, and probably still afraid and didna want to admit it. ‘‘I—we couldna bear to see something happen to you.’’

  She smiled, heaved another sigh, and walked toward the ramparts door. ‘‘I know, and I appreciate it.’’ Pushing the door open, she stepped inside. ‘‘I think I need a break’’—she waved her hand—‘‘from all of this.’’

  Ethan exchanged a look with his kin, they shrugged, and then followed Amelia back down the back larder steps.

  Amelia muttered the whole way down.

  For Ethan, he was just glad to see her down. Muttering, mad—it didna matter to him, as long as she was safe.

  That, he noted, had become quite important to him of late. Mayhap since he’d first clapped eyes on her.

  When they reached the bottom, Amelia and Guthrie, who’d just returned from the market, conversed about department stores, rentals, and deeveedees—all of which left Ethan clueless. From the looks of his kin, they were just as stupefied as he.

  ‘‘Lass,’’ Ethan said. ‘‘Dunna be angry.’’

  She turned from Guthrie, who’d merely shaken his head and began taking out various foodstuffs from the brown sacks he’d brought in, and gave Ethan a wide, glorious smile. ‘‘You silly boy, I’m not mad. I am, though, in need of a serious ghostless break for a day. Enchanted guys I can handle.’’ She shuddered. ‘‘But that thing I followed to the top of the castle freaked me out, and I need to shake it off the best way I know how.’’

  ‘‘Why’d you follow it, lass?’’ asked Aiden. ‘‘None of us saw it.’’

  ‘‘Aye, could you tell it was wicked?’’ Rob asked. ‘‘And how did it persuade you into going clear to the top of the keep?’’

  Lifting an apple from the bowl on the table, Amelia buffed it against the thigh of her trews—shorts, rather—and looked right at Ethan. ‘‘I first watched it watching you, when you and Aiden were fighting. It was so weird, how it followed you with its eyes. Then it walked right through you.’’ She shrugged. ‘‘I was surprised, and must have sucked in some air, because the thing looked dead at me.’’

  ‘‘What then?’’ Ethan asked.

  ‘‘It beckoned to me,’’ she continued. ‘‘No words, just waving me on with a long, robed arm. So I did, and once I made it to the top of the keep, it was there waiting on me.’’

  Ethan did no’ like the way this tale was going. ‘‘Did you see a face? Or get any sort of a bad feeling about its presence?’’ he asked.

  Amelia shook her head. ‘‘I only heard more whispering.’’

  Ethan cocked his head. ‘‘More?’’

  She nodded. ‘‘This morning, in the forest—’’

  ‘‘Och, lass,’’ he said, rubbing his jaw. ‘‘What happened in the wood?’’

  ‘‘Simmer down, sport,’’ she said.

  Someone, more than likely that fool Aiden, snorted. Ethan ignored it and met Amelia’s gaze. ‘‘Go on.’’

  ‘‘On my walk, I visited the old yew near the border of your land.’’ She pulled herself up onto the counter and sat, took a bite of apple, chewed it, and continued. ‘‘I heard whispers coming from it. Actually, I thought from behind it.’’ Another bite, chew, swallow. ‘‘But I put my ear to it and realized it came from within—or so it seemed.’’

  ‘‘So this wasna a threatening whisper?’’ Sorely asked.

  Amelia shook her head, the ball of hair wobbling to and fro. ‘‘I felt no threat this time,’’ she said. ‘‘The whisper said, ‘Break the ssspell,’ making the S sound like a snake, and then, ‘They must go back.’ ’’

  Ethan nodded. ‘‘Is that all?’’

  She looked at him. ‘‘No. More whispers started up, and they sounded everywhere at once, and I couldn’t understand anything.’’ She shrugged. ‘‘When I left the forest, a very
maniacal laugh sounded from deep in the woods. Now, that was creepy.’’

  Ethan moved closer, and wished mightily he could touch her. Grab and shake her, more likely, but hold her safe. The lass had more nerve than most lads he’d grown up with, and it made him fear for her life. He had the feeling, though, if he told her as much, she’d make it a point to do the verra thing he didna want her to do. ‘‘I’ll go with you from now on.’’ He cleared his throat. ‘‘In case I might can hear the whisperings, as well.’’

  ‘‘Aye,’’ said Aiden. ‘‘We canna miss out on so much sport as that, lass.’’

  ‘‘All except the rats, o’ course,’’ said Gil.

  Amelia slowly munched on her apple, eyeing each man over the stem of it. Once finished, she tossed it into the waste pail and grinned. ‘‘You may have fooled plenty a maid back in the day, but not this ole girl. I know what you’re up to.’’ She looked directly at Ethan. ‘‘Especially you. Don’t worry. I won’t go into the forest alone anymore. Promise.’’

  Ethan stared at her, and she batted her long lashes at him in a flurry. His kin laughed out loud, and Ethan fought hard to keep it in, but he chuckled at his Amelia.

  His Amelia?

  Damn. He was bluidy doomed.

  While she laughed and jested with his kin, Ethan watched her, and wished mightily that twilight would come early and stay late. Whilst he appreciated her loveliness in the eve, when she’d don a gown and heeled slippers and stuff she’d roll on her lips from a little tube that tasted verra grand, indeed, he rather liked the way she looked now, as well. Her hair in that amusing, floppy ball, a sleeveless tunic that bore the face of a rather formidable-looking man with fangs and a black cloak, and a pair of hacked-off trews that showed enough of her legs to have gotten her lovely neck stretched as a witch back in his day. Her footwear—sneakers, she’d told them— were things to be had in the twenty-first century by one and all. Rather comfortable-looking, he thought. Comely, as well.