Anita Clenney - Awaken the Highland Warrior

He was gorgeous. And his voice. She took a breath and tried to gather her wits. He was a puzzle to solve, not a potential boyfriend. “I couldn’t let you starve.” Or she’d never find out who he was. She’d tried searching for the Connor clan, but her computer wasn’t cooperating.

If she truly believed he had amnesia, she’d mention the name and see if it jogged his memory, but she suspected he knew exactly who he was, and he was trying hard to hide it from her. And if he was the demon, and thought she knew too much, he might kill her and be done with it, which probably made her the stupidest woman alive for bringing him inside, but what kind of historian would toss out a living, breathing, walking history book?

“I’m indebted to you,” he said, spearing a chunk of fresh pineapple with a small knife, popping it in his mouth. “I have nothing. Not even a horse.”

A horse? She bit back a smile. The only payment she wanted was answers. “So you still have no idea who you are or how you got inside the chest?”

He shook his head, his mouth too full to answer.

“You must remember some snippet of something. Children? A wife?” If Alana was his wife, did that kiss count as cheating?

“I wasn’t… I don’t think I was married.” He licked his lips, drawing Bree’s attention to his mouth.

“Brothers? Sisters?”

He shook his head, the movement so small it could have been a tic. If she hadn’t been watching his mouth, she would’ve missed the flicker of anguish that tightened his face.

“We should tell someone. We could put up pictures of you, see if someone recognizes—”

“No.” He banged his glass on the table and leaned forward, his face rigid. “You can’t tell anyone about me. No one.”

“You’ve remembered something?”

“No. It’s just a precaution.”

“You know your first name but not why you need all this secrecy?”

His brows flattened. “I only remember that one thing.”

“And someone named Druan.”

Faelan went still, staring at her as if she’d asked him when he last had sex. “It’s all muddled,” he said and attacked his food again.

“And that you needed to keep the disk safe.”

He stopped chewing and scowled at her.

“And you called the chest a time vault. That’s a lot of memories for someone who doesn’t have any.”

He gave her a glare that curdled the sip of milk she’d drunk. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice almost a snarl.

“I told you who I am.”

“How do I know you tell the truth?”

“I can show you my driver’s license.”

“What’s a driver’s license?”

His memory loss might be real, but he wouldn’t forget what a driver’s license was. “It means I’m not lying. I can prove who I am.” She raised her head and looked him dead in the eye. She didn’t want to accuse him, but she needed answers. There was a slim chance he was just a thief, but she’d bet her Mustang he’d been in the crypt longer than she’d been alive.

He stared back, neither of them blinking, then he let out a breath and picked up his fork. “You ask a lot of questions.”

If she had a penny for all the times she’d heard that, she’d never have to work again.

“I appreciate all you’ve done,” Faelan said, his voice sexy again. “But until things are clear I’ll ask you to keep this quiet.”

He wasn’t asking anything, but she let it slide. It was going to take patience to earn his trust. Lots of patience. Bree had lots of things. Too much of some. Patience wasn’t one of them.

“Does your husband work with horses?” he asked as if the distressing conversation had never taken place.

“Horses?”

“I saw them on your family crest. Is Levi Strauss your husband?”

“Levi? Oh, no, I’m not married.”

“You let a man who’s not your husband put his name on your ar… backside?”

“It’s a brand.”

“Brand?” He looked confused.

“A label. The name of the person who made the jeans.”

“Jeans?” he asked, then his face went blank, as if he knew he’d revealed too much.

“Denim. Dungarees.” Bree felt another shiver of excitement at his ignorance. More evidence that he was old.

“So you live here alone? There’s no male here to take care of the place? To protect you?”

“Do I need protection?” She’d hidden his dagger in one of her boots, and Grandpa’s old gun was here somewhere. Not that it would help; warrior or demon, Faelan probably knew a hundred ways to kill her with his bare hands.

He speared another chunk of pineapple. “Don’t all women?”

Bree put a hand to her throat and stared at the knife, remembering the crazed look in his eyes as he leapt from the vault.

“But my brother… uh, Biff, Big Biff, I call him, because he’s so big. And strong. He stops by sometimes. A lot. Probably tomorrow.”

Faelan’s shoulders stiffened. “Tomorrow?” He glanced at the door, his body tense as an arrow ready to fly. He’d be gone before lunch if she didn’t intervene.

“I forgot. He’s not coming until next week.”

He relaxed, but still watched her closely. “You never explained how you found me, where you got the key.”

“The disk? My great-great-grandmother Isabel found it when they were building the house. She hung it on the mantel for luck. Of course, no one knew it was a key.” She and her cousins had made up stories about it. She’d secretly believed it opened a time portal. If the book in the attic was right, her theory wasn’t far off.

“You did.” His tone was accusing.

Not until last night, when her fingers touched the grooves on the chest and she’d clearly seen the disk in her mind. How could she explain that or the words that had brushed her ear as the disk turned in the lock? “The opening on the vault had the same shape, the same grooves, and it’s made of the same metal.”

He grunted his disbelief. “What about this map you mentioned?”

“I found it in a trunk in the attic. There was a riddle on it.”

“What kind of riddle?”

“‘It lies hidden close to God, in a place where evil can’t trod.’ That’s what it said. Then I read in Isabel’s journal that a man came by in the 1800s searching for lost treasure, and I’ve always figured anything worth hiding is worth finding—”

“He came here?”

“His name was McGowan. He was murdered before he found what he was looking for.”

“Murdered?” Faelan asked.

“He and another man with him.”

“What year?”

“Early 1860s. After I read the journal, I remembered seeing McGowan’s name on the box holding the map. The map resembled the graveyard. The riddle said ‘close to God,’ and the graveyard is close to the chapel. I thought someone had buried coins or jewels. Then I noticed the crypt was missing on the map, the biggest and oldest thing there. I figured it had to be a clue. And there was no place to hide anything except inside the burial vault.”

“Can I see the journal?”

Bree started to refuse, thinking it would be invading Isabel’s privacy, kind of like opening her underwear drawer and waving her bloomers around, but Faelan seemed very curious about Isabel’s visitors, and Bree wanted to know why. “Sure,” she said. She found it on the floor beside her bed, where it usually fell after a long night of reading, and carried it back to the table. “I’ll read it to you.” “The most dreadful thing has happened. McGowan and another man were robbed and murdered last evening as they walked through the woods to town. The bodies were found early this morning. Frederick tried to keep it from me, but I overheard the men talking about the vicious attack. There was speculation that someone else was also searching for McGowan’s treasure, or it may have stemmed from an argument over this impending war. Someone in the area has been helping slaves escape to Canada. The men did seem rather intense. The older one in particular was disturbing. I think Frederick regretted inviting them to stay.”