The Highlander's Touch

Page 18

“No, two men touched it before I did.”
“You saw them touch it—truly touch the flask?”
She was silent for a long moment. “Oh my God, the tongs!” she exclaimed. Her head shot up and she stared at him with an expression of horror. “No. I didn’t actually see them touch it. But there was a pair of tongs lying next to the chest. I’ll bet Steinmann and his cohort never touched the chest or the flask at all! Is that what did this to me—touching the flask? I knew I shouldn’t have pried into business that wasn’t mine.”
“This is very important, lass. You must answer me truthfully. Do you know what the flask contains?”
She gave him a look of utter innocence. She was either the consummate actress or was telling the truth. “No. What?”
Actress or innocent? He rubbed his jaw while he scrutinized her. “Where are you from, lass? England?”
“No. Cincinnati.”
“Where is that?”
“In the United States.”
“But you speak English.”
“Our people fled from England several hundred years ago. Once, my countrymen were English. Now we call ourselves American.”
Circenn regarded her blankly. A look of sudden revelation crossed her face, and he wondered at it.
“That was silly of me. Of course you couldn’t possibly understand. The United States is far across the sea from Scotland,” she said. “We didn’t like England either, so I can empathize,” she said reassuringly. “You’ve probably never heard of my land, but I’m from very far away and it’s imperative that I get back. Soon.”
When he shook his head, her jaw tightened, and Circenn felt a flash of admiration; the lass was a fighter to the last. He suspected that if he had attempted to kill her, there would have been no pleas from her lips but vows of vengeance to the bitter finale. “I am afraid I cannot send you back just now.”
“But you can send me back at some point? You know how?” She held her breath, awaiting his reply.
“I am certain we can manage,” he said noncommittally. If she was from a land across the sea, and if he could find a way to accept not killing her, he could surely find a ship to put her on, if it was decided that she could be released. The fact that she was from so far away might make it easier for him to free her, because it was doubtful her homeland had any interest in Scotland; and once she was gone, perhaps he could force himself to forget he’d broken a rule. Out of sight might well be out of mind. Her appearance in the keep could truly have been a vast mistake. But how had his chest gotten to a land so far away? “How did your museum obtain my chest?”
“They send people all over looking for unusual treasures—”
“Who are ‘they’?” he asked quickly. Perhaps she was innocent, but perhaps the men she’d mentioned were not.
“My employers.” Her gaze flickered to his, then away.
He narrowed his eyes and studied her thoughtfully. Why had she averted her gaze? She seemed to be making a genuine effort to communicate with him. Although he saw no sign of outright deception, he sensed strong emotions in her; there were things she was not saying. As he pondered the direction of his inquisition, she stunned him by saying “So how do you send me through time? Is it magic?”
Circenn released a soft whistle. By Dagda, how far had this lass come?
LISA SAT ON THE BED ANXIOUSLY AWAITING HIS REPLY. She found it difficult to look at him, partly because he frightened her and partly because he was so damn beautiful. How was she supposed to think of him as the enemy when her body—without even briefly consulting her mind-had already decided to like him? She’d never felt such a visceral, instant attraction. Lying beneath his overwhelming body, she’d been flooded with a frantic sexual desire that she’d hastily attributed to fear of dying; she’d read somewhere that happened sometimes.
She forced herself to remain motionless so she would betray neither the panic she felt nor her unacceptable fascination with him. In the past few minutes she’d been transported from fear and rage that her life might end so inauspiciously, to astonishment when he’d kissed her. Now she settled into wary numbness.
She realized—the man had some seriously intimidating body language—that he was in complete control, and unless she could catch him unaware, she didn’t have a chance of escaping. She had already blown her best opportunity to catch him off guard when she’d ambushed him at the door. He was well over six-and-a-half-feet tall, more massive than any professional football player she’d ever seen, and she wouldn’t have been surprised if he weighed in at three-hundred-plus pounds of solid muscle. This man didn’t miss a thing; he was a natural-born predator and warrior, scrutinizing her every move and expression. She fancied that he could smell her emotions. Didn’t animals attack when they scented fear?