Highland Knight Read online

  Amelia stifled a yawn, which caused the men to chuckle. ‘‘Absolutely, the grandest so far.’’

  Ethan hooked his thumbs in his belt and regarded Amelia Landry. A peculiar maid, in truth, yet more fascinating than any other he’d ever known. Confident, yet unaware of the amount of charm she possessed. Tall, yet moved with grace and poise. Quite a friendly sort, he thought, and brave to the point of madness—or mayhap ’twas madness, indeed, that drove such bravery. The girl insisted on returning to the same chamber, and would take no counsel otherwise.

  ‘‘Ethan is the only one who can cast imaginings in one’s head,’’ Rob said. ‘‘So who, by Christ’s blood, or what, caused such uproar in Amelia’s chamber?’’

  ‘‘An’ how did we no’ know about it?’’ said Sorely. He turned to Guthrie. ‘‘You’ve no’ seen anything such the like, then?’’

  Guthrie scratched a place under the bill of his hat and shook his head. ‘‘Nay, no’ a thing.’’

  Amelia stretched, stifled another yawn, and pulled the microrecorder gear from her head. ‘‘Well, I’m going to bed. I don’t think I can keep my eyes open for another second.’’

  ‘‘You’ll have a guard whilst you slumber,’’ Ethan found himself saying. While he admired the girl’s boldness and lack of fear of whatever had happened in her bedchamber, he wasna going to allow her to sleep in there alone. He wasna going to allow her to sleep in there at all.

  The hardheaded lass had other ideas, by the by.

  ‘‘I’ll be okay, really. Sincerely. Besides,’’ she said, a mischievous glint in her strange eyes as she made for the stairs, ‘‘if one of you plops down in the room with me, it might not happen again.’’

  Ethan blinked. ‘‘You want it to happen again?’’

  Amelia stopped at the stairs. ‘‘I’m ready this time. Last time, it took me off guard.’’ She smiled. ‘‘This time, I’ll be ready for it. And if I need you, I’ll just holler.’’

  ‘‘You’ll have a guard, Amelia. I willna argue about it.’’

  She stopped, turned, looked him in the eye, and grinned. ’Twas a wicked look, indeed. She cocked her head. ‘‘Fine. Who’s going to be my guard?’’

  Five idiot Munros all jumped at once.

  Ethan made the sixth.

  ‘‘Verra well,’’ he said, only half sorry. ‘‘I’ll go.’’

  Five grumbles sounded behind him. One giggle erupted from the staircase.

  ‘‘Well, come on, then. I’m pooped.’’ With that, Amelia Landry turned and jogged up the steps, that ball of hair atop her head slipping far to one side with each bounce.

  Ethan shook his head and followed. Never before had he known such a lass. Modern maids indeed were an odd lot, not that he’d actually had speech with one before now. With what few hill walkers and stragglers had ambled onto Munro land over the centuries, few had ventured into the ruins of his keep. And once the keep had been restored, och— he’d tried aplenty to have speech with lads and maids alike. They’d either lacked the sensitivity to his existence, or they’d run like a frightened bairn if they were receptive. Only Amelia had been brave enough to stay, besides old Guthrie, even while questioning her own sanity. He’d thought on the matter more than once, but found himself fascinated by it each time.

  ‘‘Okay,’’ Amelia said, standing at her room. Her cat sat just in front, as though a guard himself. ‘‘Let’s find out if anything funny has happened while we’ve been downstairs.’’ Without waiting for an answer from him, she pushed open the door and went inside, the cat hurrying ahead of them both. Ethan followed.

  Amelia walked around, flipped on a few lamps, and then got on her knees, rump in the air whilst she peeked under her bed.

  Ethan thought he’d like to remember that moment for the rest of his enchanted life. Not that he’d ever admit to it.

  Standing and brushing off her knees, Amelia gave him a grin. ‘‘Well, seems that everything’s in order here.’’ She inclined her head. ‘‘Are you sure you’ll be okay out in the passageway?’’

  Ethan lifted a brow. ‘‘In the passageway?’’

  Amelia blinked. ‘‘Of course. You don’t think you’re just going to sit in here and stare at me for the rest of the night, do you? No way could I ever fall asleep like that.’’ She grinned. ‘‘I barely know you.’’

  He could certainly manage it, the staring of her person all night. ‘‘Verra well. I’ll remain in the passageway. If you need me, you’ve only to shout.’’ With a nod, he turned to go.

  ‘‘Wait,’’ she said, and moved a bit closer when he stopped and turned. ‘‘I really do appreciate you watching over me.’’ She met his gaze with a bold one. ‘‘I’m still coming to grips with all of this’’—she waved her hand—‘‘and trying to convince myself that this is really happening, and that I’m not wacky, but just the lucky recipient of being so, so—’’

  ‘‘Receptive?’’

  She snapped her fingers. ‘‘Receptive. Versus being a complete lunatic.’’

  ‘‘I dunna think you’re that, Amelia.’’

  The smile she gave made her wide eyes sparkle. ‘‘This, everything . . . it just completely fascinates me, you know?’’ She took off her jacket, leaving only that bare-armed tunic she’d worn to bed earlier, which left little to the imagination as to her shapeliness. ‘‘Vlad the Impaler’s castle was for sale not long ago, and I seriously, seriously wanted to buy it. Really bad.’’ She shook her head, that floppy ball of hair sliding almost to the side of her head. ‘‘Imagine owning and living in Dracula’s castle. How cool would that be?’’

  Ethan considered. A lad named Vlad the Impaler couldna be too friendly of a person, and although he was fairly sure he’d not heard of Dracula, he supposed he’d been someone of high import, for Amelia to want to purchase his castle.

  Amelia laughed out loud, interrupting his thoughts. ‘‘What is funny?’’ he asked.

  Pressing her lips together, more likely than no’ trying to keep her mirth at bay, she finally lost the battle and flashed him a full smile. ‘‘You should see your face. I suppose you don’t know who Vlad/Dracula is. Rather, was.’’

  Ethan frowned.

  ‘‘Let’s just say he was after your time, but I’ll tell you about him later. It’s a great story.’’

  Still she stood, grinning at him like some mischievous youngster who’d just gotten caught doing something naughty and was busy planning the next bit of naughtiness. Ethan couldn’t help but focus on her, and when he did, he noticed just how wide her smile was, just how white and straight her teeth were, and how verra lovely Amelia Landry truly was.

  And she seemed to be just as lovely on the inside, as well.

  This did not bode well for him or the blasted enchanted state he was in.

  With that dreary thought in mind, he gave Amelia, that grinning fool, a curt nod and slipped out into the passageway. She gave him a little wave, and closed the door.

  Ethan settled down against the wall across from Amelia’s chamber, rested his arms on his bent knees, and listened to her bedtime rustlings. He knew no’ what she did, but she indeed was busy. The water turned on and off, things clinked about, that miraculous bowl in the garderobe flushed, and parchment crackled. She talked to her cat, Jack, who apparently slept on the bed with her, as she patted the mattress several times, trying to coax the feline to do her bidding. She hollered one more ‘‘Good night, Ethan’’ to him, he answered her likewise, and she quieted down.

  Briefly, he wondered why it was that she’d come to his hall to pen a story, yet hadn’t done much penning at all. Mayhap he and his men distracted her.

  No more than she distracted him.

  He’d admit to no one, save his own pitiful self, that he was attracted to her. Hopefully, he kept it well hidden. From the verra first day he’d clapped eyes on her, he’d been drawn to her. Mayhap ’twas her kind spirit, or her wit, he knew no’. Her beauty, aye—’twas a given. Any healthy lad would have a passing hard time ignoring
such a lush form, but ‘twas her eyes that fascinated him. Not only the unusual shape of them, or their color, but their depth. Amelia appeared to have the ability to see far deeper than most. When she looked at you, she met your gaze directly, and it left the sense of having your entire soul bared. Yet she did so without passing judgment. At least, he sincerely hoped it.

  Once she found out just what the Bluidy Munro had supposedly done, she might indeed judge, and he couldna blame her for it. Murdering one’s wife wasna something to easily put out of mind.

  Shoving his fingers through his hair, Ethan rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. By the blood of Christ, had he done it? ’Twas no’ his nature, killing women. Aye, he’d killed men aplenty, but ’twas in battle. He’d fully believed he wasna a murderer.

  Until he’d become enchanted.

  Never had he been a believer of superstition. He preferred facts, truths grounded in more truths. No’ the whisperings of ghosties, or ramblings of witches. Yet he’d become enchanted, aye? In life he’d have never believed such a thing could exist.

  Mayhap if an enchantment could occur, so could a bewitching. Or a cursing. Mayhap he’d done the murderous deed, but under the spell of a witch.

  With a hearty sigh, he opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on Amelia’s closed door. Just the words under the spell of a witch from his thoughts sounded idiotic. Yet the possibility was there, true enough. And if he’d been cursed all those centuries ago to kill an innocent lass, who was to say that same curse didna still linger within him?

  Mayhap it did linger, lying dormant within his centuries-old self. Mayhap he had the potential to do the verra same thing to Amelia once the gloaming fell, when his body found substance for that short period of time.

  If so, Amelia’s verra life was in grave danger.

  Ethan’s mood grew murky at the thought of it, and he found himself scowling, anger torrid within himself. He and the lads had kept away from Amelia purposely during the past several days, especially during twilight. He’d have to make good and sure to do the like this eve, as well, for Amelia Landry was quite looking forward to meeting them in the flesh. The Munro warriors would have to guard their verra own laird against the lass.

  Never before had Ethan been quite so grateful that the twilight lasted only about an hour.

  Mood definitely darkened, Ethan continued to watch Amelia’s door with a frown. ’Twas only at just before sunrise, when he heard the lass moving about and talking to that bluidy cat, did he rise from his position on the passageway’s stone floor and seek out his kin.

  They’d need to know to remain in his and Amelia’s presence at all times during twilight that eve.

  No matter how much he’d loathe it.

  Just as Ethan disappeared, he heard Amelia’s door open, then heard an unfamiliar word pass from her lips.

  He was fairly sure ’twas a curse.

  Chapter 8

  "Some guard he is, huh, Jack?" Amelia said, scratching between Jack’s ears. The sleek feline flopped over onto his side and stuck his chin in the air, a sure sign that he actually wanted some attention. After a few under-the-chin scrubs, Amelia patted his head, and then he jumped down and slinked out the door she’d left cracked open for him.

  So much for having a familiar presence around to soothe her.

  As Amelia made her bed, she considered the night before. Rather, the morning before. After she’d gone to bed the second time, she’d slept like a baby. No more weird dreams, no more freezing episodes, nothing. Had it all truly happened? Medieval Scottish warriors, an extra spook floating around, and all that enchantment? It was absurd. Crazy absurd.

  But yeah, by God, she believed it.

  As she tucked in the duvet, she remembered how frigid her room had grown, the threatening whisper, and that icy feeling of dread. She hadn’t made that up. No way. And she definitely hadn’t made up Ethan.

  Good Lord, that man could start fires just by scowling. She thought she liked that in a guy.

  Fluffing the pillows, Amelia smoothed the spread on the bed and then surveyed the room. On the desk sat her laptop, closed. Beside it, a pad of paper. Empty. Next to that, a pen. Combined, they called to her. Just grab the pad of paper and pen and start making notes. Or at least take the microrecorder . . .

  With a huff, Amelia walked over to the makeshift office, picked up the pad of paper and pen, and stared at it. Doodle, girl. Anything! Play hangman with yourself! Tic-tac-toe! Sketch a parrot! A pirate! ANYTHING!

  When she pressed the tip of the pen to the paper, only one thing flowed from that squishy gray blob of matter she called a brain. Just one word. Rather, one name.

  Ethan.

  She even made the E extra swirly.

  With still another huff, she set the pen and pad back on the desk, gave them both the stink eye, and glanced at her watch: 6:21. Perfect. She needed some thinking time, inspiration, a good, lung-expanding walk through the Scottish countryside.

  What she really needed was a freaking can of Cheez Whiz. But she’d settle for the walk/lung/ thinking thing. After all, she had the perfect inspirational setting. She was right in the middle of some of the most beautiful land in the world. Haunting, chock full of history, murder, mayhem, and did she forget to mention haunting?

  With a renewed spring in her step, Amelia dug through her clothes chest, found a pair of warm-up pants, a tangerine-colored tank top, and a pair of socks, and then headed into the bathroom. Correction. The garderobe. At least that’s what Ethan had called it.

  After washing her face, brushing her teeth, and pulling a brush through her hair and putting it into a ponytail, Amelia sat on the floor, yanked on her socks and sneakers, and did a few stretches to loosen her muscles. Finally, she stood, did a few more stretches, grabbed her iPod, and then slipped out into the passageway.

  She’d do her very best not to think of Ethan Munro all day long. Or his engaging smile, or that intriguing accent, or that fascinating scar beneath his eye shaped like a crescent moon . . .

  Or the fact that tonight, during the twilight hour— rather, the gloaming—she’d actually be meeting him in live, honest-to-goodness human flesh.

  Good grief.

  The passageways were dark, all except the dim inserts that cast a very weak glow. It was enough for her to see, thank goodness, because stepping on a rat just wasn’t on her agenda for the day. Or any day, actually. As she crept along, she considered just how quiet everything was. Did the enchanted warriors sleep? They must. Either that, or they were somewhere else in the castle. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Amelia found the hall empty. She stood for a moment, transfixed by the serene oddness of being in a fourteenth-century castle, made of stone and mortar by medieval hands, where those hands cooked, ate, fought, loved.

  And apparently still lived.

  A shudder ran through her, and for a moment, she felt as though she’d tumbled back in time. The empty hall transformed into a bustling, giant room, with medieval warriors sharpening their swords, telling naughty jokes, laughing.

  Amazing.

  Out of nowhere, Jack meowed and bumped against her leg. Amelia glanced at him, and inclined her head. ‘‘Come on, boy. Let’s go for a walk.’’

  Jack stared at her with wide green cat eyes, and as if he understood her words, slinked over to the door. Amelia followed, and they both slipped outside.

  As soon as she stepped out into the crisp Highland air, a sweet, clean scent invaded her nostrils, and she inhaled deeply. Unfamiliar with the flora and fauna of the area, Amelia made a mental note to ask Ethan just what that smell was. Clover, maybe. Heather? Whatever it was, she liked it. She took a few more big whiffs, then started out across the gravel toward the loch.

  Amelia regarded the scenery while she walked. So consumed by white-knuckled fear as she’d driven from Edinburgh, she hadn’t really enjoyed the view at all. Now that she could really look without the panic of scraping a ton of sod from the bumper of her rental car, she had to swallow h
ard in awe. Breathtaking didn’t quite sum it up, didn’t even begin to, actually. An eerie mist slipped through the craggy hills, through the tall pines, over the meadow. A patch of it settled just over the water, creeping closer to the keep as it made its way like a live thing across the Munro land. The closer she walked to the loch, the more the mist swirled and enveloped her. It clung to her skin, a cool, moist dampness that wasn’t heavy enough to be rain, but definitely heavy enough to soak her clothes. She thought she liked the sensation. A lot.

  Picking her way to the water’s rock and pebbled edge, where the black liquid rippled over the gritty soil, Amelia turned on her iPod, scrolled to her selection, and let the soothing, haunting concerto of The Phantom of the Opera wash over her as she walked and absorbed the Highlands.

  As if she’d lost all control over her own thoughts, the one thing she’d been determined to not dwell on rushed back, crowded her brain, and well, darn it, she dwelled.

  Ethan Munro. While he exerted more raw male power than any man she’d met in her entire life, he and his clansmen seemed to be a far cry from what the book described. Each had their own unique personality, and not one of them seemed to be the evil soul-stealing monster the book had portrayed them to be. Did they seem capable of hacking someone’s head off with their very sharp and pointy swords? Sure. Did they seem like the sort of guys who would kill innocents for their souls? Hardly. Now that she’d met them, even in their enchanted state of existence, the notion seemed more than ridiculous. It seemed idiotic.

  Amelia glanced up. She’d walked halfway around the loch. As she moved her gaze over the scene before her, an exhilarated thrill ran through her. As the wispy mist eased in and around the water, it weaved around the tower house keep. Tall and gray and masculine, it reached toward the lightening sky with authority, with a stone-solid presence that left Amelia feeling breathless. Craggy yet beautiful, she almost laughed at herself over the fascination she’d taken with the old castle.

  As she stared, a figure emerged from the mist. Her heart thumped a bit faster, and that thrill she’d experienced earlier? Doubled now. No, make that quadrupled .