Donna Grant: Fire Rising

“Tristan, wait,” Laith said as he hurried to catch up. “We’re all just trying to help.”

Tristan came to an abrupt halt and turned to Laith to look into the Dragon King’s eyes that were the color of gunmetal. “Why is it difficult for everyone to comprehend that there is nothing in here,” he said and punched a finger against the side of his head, “about Duncan Kerr? My memories began when I woke up in the snow, naked and holding a sword two years ago.”

“Because there’s no denying you are Ian’s twin, mate. We just want to help.”

Tristan put his hands on his hips and let out an exasperated sigh. He looked around him, at the stark, rugged beauty of Scotland and felt some of the tension ease from him. There had never been any doubt he was a Scot. He had the brogue, but it was more than that. Scotland was in his soul, in the very fiber of his being.

“What if there are no memories of Duncan?”

Laith shrugged. “Then there’s no’. We move on.”

“And if there are memories, and they’re just buried?” he asked hesitantly, almost afraid to voice what had plagued him since he’d learned who Ian was.

“If the memories are there, it’s up to you whether you want them to come forth, Tristan. They may stay hidden because you are no’ ready. Or, like you’ve said, they may no’ even be there.”

“I doona want to see Ian.”

“You can no’ run from him forever.”

Tristan rubbed the back of his neck. “I just doona want to see the discouraged look in his eyes. I know what he wants, but I can no’ give it to him.”

Laith’s next words were stopped when they spotted Banan and Jane leading a woman to the manor. The woman wasn’t quite as tall as Jane, and her wavy, sandy-colored hair lifted off her shoulders in the breeze. The woman pushed her bangs out of her eyes, which caused her not to see Duke come bounding around the house.

The Great Dane stopped next to her, but his sheer size caused her to have to quickly regain her balance when the dog leaned against her. That’s when Tristan saw her wince and protect her left arm by holding it tightly against her.

“Who is that?” Tristan asked.

Laith watched them a few more seconds before he said, “I gather by the way Jane is fussing that she’s Sammi, Jane’s half-sister.”

While Banan took Duke’s collar, Jane ushered Sammi into the house. Just before Sammi walked in, her head turned and she looked right at Tristan with her powder-blue eyes. It was like a punch in the gut.

Startling, disconcerting.

Amazing.

The surprising connection that seemed to zip between them left him pitching, tumbling. Plunging.

And he wanted more. So very much more.

“Tristan?”

He pulled his gaze away from the now-empty doorway and looked at Laith. “What?”

“Whatever you’re thinking involving Sammi, I wouldna advise it.”

Tristan frowned and glanced at the house, wondering what kind of injury Sammi had. “What do you mean?”

“Forget it.” Laith gave a shake of his head, a wry smile upon his lips. “I’ve got to see what happens next. Come on. Let’s go meet Sammi.”

The fact that Tristan wanted a closer look at the woman should have been enough to make him walk the other way. He was just getting ensconced in his life at Dreagan. Phelan and the other Warriors were complicating things enough. Tristan certainly didn’t need a woman added to the mix.

Yet he followed Laith into the manor. The sound of voices came from the kitchen. As they stopped at the doorway of the kitchen they saw Elena pouring some tea and Jane fixing a sandwich while Sammi sat at the table desperately trying to stay awake.

He found his gaze drawn to her no matter how hard he tried to look away. Even in profile, she was beautiful with her long, graceful neck and her fall of sandy-colored hair about her. She sat tall and straight in the chair, as if it was as natural as breathing.

Tristan saw her fall asleep twice and jerk awake both times. The third time, she listed to the right. He rushed to her, grabbing her just before she hit the floor. Jane, Elena, and Banan turned as one from whatever they were doing to gawk at him.

He gazed down at the woman who slept in his arms, completely taken unawares as he looked into her oval face. Her cheekbones were incredibly high, her nose small, and her lips as decadent as sin.

Even in sleep, she made his body hunger to know her, his lips crave to taste her, and his hands ache to caress her. Desire shot through him like lightning, making him burn.

Making him yearn.

Tristan moved a strand of her hair out of her lashes and wished she would open her eyes so he could look into their cool color once more.

Then he remembered where he was, and just who he was holding. “I think the food is going to have to wait.”

“I knew she looked tired,” Jane said, a frown marring her forehead.

Tristan easily shifted Sammi’s body into his arms and stood. “She’s too skinny.”

“I knew she had lost weight too,” Jane said with a shake of her head. Then she looked at Banan. “I think she’s in some real trouble.”

“We’ll get it out of her,” Banan promised.

Tristan was careful not to touch Sammi’s left arm as more blood seeped through her shirt. “What about her injury?”

Banan let out a string of curses as he walked from the kitchen. “She said it was nothing. Bring her, Tristan.”

Jane was at his heels, tripping twice, as he followed Banan up the stairs. Despite both of them watching him like hawks, Tristan found his gaze drawn again and again to the woman in his arms.

Her hair, a unique mixture of blond and light brown, hung over his arm, the waves teasing him to touch them. Her exhaustion and injury worried him that someone had pushed her to her limits, and he wanted to know who had done that to her. And why.

Her jeans hung too loosely on her already small frame. The lime green collared pullover looked as if it had once fit her to perfection but now was just a little baggy.

Banan threw open a door to one of the rooms on the second floor and pulled back the covers on the bed as Tristan walked inside. Gently he laid Sammi down, and not once did she even stir.

“What’s happened to her?” Jane asked in a soft, worry-filled voice. “That’s not the Sammi we saw four months ago.”

Across the bed Banan caught Tristan’s gaze and gave a slight nod. Tristan leaned down and gently lifted her sleeve and saw the ugly, puss-filled wound.

“We need her shirt off,” Tristan said as he looked at Jane and Banan.

Jane was quick to find scissors and cut the shirt off her sister. That’s when they got their first good view of the wound.

“That’s from a gunshot.” Banan’s voice was laced with fury and retribution.

Jane walked until she stood beside Tristan and gently touched Sammi’s wound. Jane’s eyes lifted to Banan. “I think it’s infected.”

“The stitching isna professional,” Tristan remarked. Then he frowned as he studied the uneven sutures. “It almost looks as if Sammi did them herself.”

Banan clenched his jaw. “She’s exhausted, starving, driving a car that isna hers, and she’s injured. Whatever secret she has, she willna give it up easily.”

“And I’m not going to give up until my sister is safe,” Jane said, straightening and daring her husband to argue.

Banan quickly lifted his hands. “I’m just stating a fact, my love. We’ll make sure that no matter what, she is taken care of.”

“We need Con to heal her,” Jane stated.

Before Banan could argue, Tristan said, “If Sammi doesna know who we are, it might be better if we clean this as best we can and only use Con as a last resort. After the fiasco with Denae and Kellan, the less Sammi knows, the better.”