Sarah held down the backspace button, watching the little black line gobble up the words she’d written. Boring, uninspired words. It was times like this when she wished she wrote with a pen and notepad. Crumpling the paper and tossing it across the room would have to be more satisfying than this pale imitation of Pac-Man she’d been engaging in all afternoon. The characters wouldn’t speak to her. The story was just beyond her reach, as it had been for months. The only difference now was that she couldn’t even concentrate on trying to pull the words out of the ether.
She could only think about him.
Perhaps she should go with that. Use him in her book.
No. Bad idea. She would never fantasize about a real man. Especially not this one. It would be too uncomfortable if she ever met him again.
Which she wouldn’t. After all, he told her he was leaving today.
Still, she always ended up with a little crush on her heroes, fascinated by them as she’d never been by the real men she met. She suspected that was why she could write them so well.
That was also why she wouldn’t write about Ian. She didn’t want to be attracted to him. She wouldn’t be fascinated by him. She refused to be captivated by a man who probably suffered from random thoughts about whether or not he’d remembered to call his mother when he looked at her. Well, she amended her thoughts, his older sister at the very least. He was much too young for her.
Besides, Ian was the type of man who was way too tempting. She wouldn’t risk her heart, wouldn’t risk rejection at the hands of a man again. Once had been enough.
Brad. She had thought herself in love, at least in the beginning. But it wasn’t meant to be.
Brad had quickly grown tired of her. Tired of her strange feelings and odd behavior. Tired of waiting for her trust fund to kick in. She should be grateful to him, however. He didn’t hang around long enough to turn her into a bitter replica of her grandmother.
Instead he’d only stayed long enough to allow her to learn some basic truths about herself and life. She was meant to be alone.
She stood and walked to the kitchen, unconsciously wiping the tear that trailed down her cheek.
What had she accomplished today? Well, so far the only thing she’d managed was to work herself up into a really good feel-sorry-for-Sarah mood.
She entered the little kitchen Martha had stocked in preparation for her arrival, and opened the freezer door. Not a single container of chocolate ice cream to be found. Now that was a real shame. Self-pity always made her ravenous. Apparently there were several “necessities” she’d need to pick up on her next visit to town.
Since she wasn’t getting anywhere with her writing anyway, she decided to cook. Comfort food would make her feel better. It always did. A big, thick hamburger with thinly sliced sautéed onions. Maybe she’d leave off the bread so she didn’t have to feel too guilty. Then again, maybe not. At least it wasn’t ice cream. She could always go walking later to work off some of the calories.
She pulled out the largest onion she could find and set to work, peeling and slicing. Midway through the task, tears streamed down her face. These were onion tears, not pity tears. Much better than before.
With the last of the outrageously strong onion stirred into a slow sauté pan and a wonderful home-cooked aroma already building, she decided to take a minute for fresh air. She hurried out through the tiny conservatory and across the back porch.
Her eyes still stinging from the fumes and blurred with tears, she stood on the top step waiting for the breeze to perform its magic, making the pain go away.
She didn’t notice him at first.
He stood quietly with the sun at his back, right at the edge of the forest that bordered the neat little lawn. Watching her.
“Hi,” she called, and put a hand up to shade her eyes so she could see him more clearly.
Big mistake. Onion juice. The stinging tears flooded back. Closing her eyes at the fresh onslaught, she stepped forward, finding only air, and missed the top stair completely.
She threw out her arms to brace herself, fully expecting a face-first landing. She gasped when, instead of dirt, she encountered a pair of strong arms. How he’d made it across the lawn so quickly she had no idea and, at the moment, didn’t really care.
She tried to lean back to get a better look at her rescuer. Didn’t they grow any unappealing men in this part of Scotland? Apparently not.
He was tall—as tall as Ian. Where Ian was dark, this man was blond, with long hair pulled back in a low ponytail. Where Ian’s eyes were a piercing black, his were a deep green.
Wait a minute.
When had Ian become the measuring stick against which she gauged other men?
Still, this man had rescued her. “Thank you.”
“Not at all.” He tilted his head and appeared to inspect her face. “You’re not harmed?”
“No.” She smiled at him. “Thanks to you I’m not.”
“Then what pain causes you to weep so?”
Before she realized his intention, he loosened his grip and slid his hands down her arms until their hands met, where he clasped her fingers tightly.
No time to prepare, no time to steel herself for the assault of overwhelming feelings.
Feelings that didn’t come.
“Onions,” she murmured, unable to comprehend yet another contact that brought no pain of unfettered emotions.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I was peeling onions. The fumes…”
How is this possible?
“Onions?” He lifted his nose to the air, like a tracking dog on scent. “They are the source of that glorious aroma?”
“Glorious now that they’re cooking, maybe, but earlier…oh my gosh. My onions.” She jerked her hands from his and ran back to the kitchen.
So, she’d be having crispy rather than sautéed onions with her hamburger. At least they hadn’t burned.
“They certainly don’t look as good as they smell.”
Sarah jumped at the sound of his voice, not having heard him follow her into the kitchen. He peered over her shoulder at the stove, his nose wrinkled in distaste.
“I didn’t realize there were other guests here.” She turned and extended her hand, no longer concerned about what would happen if she touched this man. “I’m Sarah Douglas.”
He paused for a moment and then took the hand she offered, but instead of the expected shake, he lifted it to his lips in an old-world gesture, brushing it with a touch as light as a butterfly wing.
“I’m not a guest. I’m a neighbor, a friend of Ian’s. My name is Dallyn.” He dropped her hand to bend near the stove, sniffing deeply and licking his lips. “Ummm. This smell is wonderful.”
“Well, Dallyn, would you care to join me for lunch?”
His eyes lit up, his face breaking into a beautiful smile. “I would like that very much.”
Under normal circumstances, she would never have considered inviting a complete stranger to eat with her. But nothing had been “normal” since she’d set foot in Scotland.
Besides, this particular stranger held no threat for her. He was an amazingly good person.
She’d felt it in his touch.
* * *
Henry was home, ensconced in the den in his favorite chair.
Ian watched the man fiddle with the remote control, hunting for the program he wanted on television. He was obviously uncomfortable, his face contorting in pain each time he moved too quickly.
“Are you sure yer up to handling this on yer own?”
Henry glared at him. “I willna be on my own. Peter and Martha are here. Go.”
Ian turned to leave, but stopped. “You’d be in less pain if you’d take the medication they gave you.”
“Fine job of handling things I could do drugged out of my senses.” He tossed the remote to the table. “How do you think I’m to figure out what’s going on with our guest if I canna feel anything?”
As Ian had expected, Henry wasn’t at all pleased with the suggestion that he might have been wrong about Sarah.
“I’m no telling you to stay medicated for her whole visit, Henry. Only for a few days. Until the pain eases a bit.”
“Oh, so I suppose you think I’m no up to handling a little pain now.”
“Are you planning to act the petulant child all evening?”
“Only so long as you’re acting the meddling maiden aunt.”
Ian shook his head and sighed. “Even as a child, you never were good with pain, Nephew.” He stalked out of the room, not waiting to hear Henry’s next volley.
He had packing to do. Then he’d try to reach Daniel again. If he left within the next hour, he could be at Glaston House by midday tomorrow.
* * *
Ian threw his suitcase into what passed for a backseat in his vehicle and slammed the door. The car was small and somewhat cramped, but it went very, very fast when he wanted it to, and for that alone he loved it and thought it worth every pound he had paid for it. His auto was one of the things he loved best about this time.
He turned and started toward the side of the house, briefly considering whether or not he should go find Sarah. Say good-bye.
Deciding against it, he stopped with his hand on the gate. It was better this way. Better to leave well enough alone. There was nothing to be gained by prolonging things.
He turned in time to find Dallyn pulling the suitcase out of his car.
“What do you think yer doing?”
“We’ve a substantially significant event here. It requires an adjustment on our part.” Dallyn smiled and headed toward the front of the house. “A change of plans.”
Ian reached the Fae as they entered the door, stopping him with a hand to his arm.
“We have a rather significant event emerging at Glaston House as well. I need to leave now.”
“You’ve spoken to Daniel? He’s going forward with the plan?”
“Yes. I just got off the phone with him.”
Dallyn tilted his head up, eyes closed, like he waited for divine guidance. As if none came, he sighed and turned his penetrating gaze back to Ian.
“Would that I had two of you, Ian. But I don’t, so you’re staying here for now.” He headed toward the library. “Do you suppose we might have a dram of the fine whisky you keep in here? I seem to have a craving for it this evening.”
“What do you mean, I’m staying? I just told you I spoke to Danny. I have to get to Glaston House. He’s counting on my help.”
Ian watched in frustration as Dallyn tossed the suitcase on the floor and strode directly to the recessed bar, taking down three glasses and filling them.
“I suppose Henry is entrenched in front of his infernal telly?”
“We’ll talk to Henry when we’ve finished here. What’s going on?” Ian reached out for the glass offered him. Somehow he felt he was going to need it.
Dallyn drained his drink and refilled it before speaking. “I’ve been observing your little American guest today.”
Ian could feel irritation building again. Hadn’t last night been enough?
“And?”
“She’s quite lovely.”
The Fae watched him too closely for this to be a casual comment. He refused to rise to the bait, so he said nothing.
“She’s also quite a good cook.”
“Where are you going with this?” Ian set his glass on the table.
“I took the midday meal with her…lunch, I think she called it.” The intense scrutiny continued.
“You did what?”
Dallyn rarely showed himself to Mortals. Ian could barely remember the last time it had happened.
The Fae rolled the empty glass in his hand, staring at it as if he suddenly found its composition fascinating. “Quite the experience, too, since I don’t normally find Mortal food to be to my liking.”
Now he remembered the last time Dallyn had shown himself. Clearly remembered. Resentment roiled through Ian’s blood. “No. But you’ve frequently found Mortal women to be to yer liking, have you no?”
Dallyn refilled his glass before turning. “Are you losing your objectivity on this, Ian?”
“Losing my objectivity?” He shook his head. This went well beyond arrogance. “I’m no the Fae who showed myself to a Mortal. That would be you.” He picked up his glass, continuing to glare at Dallyn.
The Fae’s laughter echoed off the walls.
“I fail to see what’s so funny.” Ian crossed the room, deliberately refilling his drink from the bottle, giving himself time to calm. It was unlike him to lose control of his temper in this way.
“Exactly. You’re failing to see.” Dallyn narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t show myself to the woman.”
“What?” The whisky sloshed out onto his hand as he jerked around to stare at the Fae.
“She saw me standing there, observing her. In my own form.”
“But…how is that possible?”
“Well that, my friend, is what you’re staying here to find out.”
* * *
Sarah and her soul seemed well matched in at least one thing—they both kept their curtains wide open.
Hidden in the deep shadows of the garden, Ian watched her, as he had since Dallyn left. Sunrise was near and still she paced, stopping for short periods of time to stare at her little computer screen before rising and pacing again.
Henry had been ecstatic when they’d spoken to him. Dallyn’s discovery had given him a whole new take on the woman. He could hardly wait for the new day to begin so he could meet her. Ian had finally convinced him they should invite her for dinner, allowing Henry to study her discreetly rather than limp down to the cottage at first light for a good stare at the woman.
He, on the other hand, had been staring at her for some time now. Of course, that was different. He needed to come up with a plan to win her trust. A way to discover how much she knew about what she was, what she could do.
Fae blood.
It was the only explanation. She was like him.
No. Not like him. Not a Guardian. She was an innocent who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Wasn’t she?
If she was, he needed a plan to protect her from the Nuadians. If they learned about her, they could use her to access the Portals. They couldn’t cross the water surrounding the Portal, but she could invite them in, lead them across. Her Fae blood would allow her to see the Portals as easily as she could see the Fae themselves.
He watched now as she emerged onto the back porch and moved slowly down to the lawn behind the cottage. She stretched her arms and lifted her face to the approaching dawn like some pagan goddess. Some Faerie goddess.
He needed a plan to protect the Portal from her. Even if she were an unsuspecting innocent, she was still a danger to that all-important doorway to the Realm of Faerie.
She lowered her arms, but remained where she was, barefoot in the damp grass, as if waiting for the first ray of sunlight to bathe her face. A gentle breeze molded the gauzy gown she wore to the soft curves of her body. He was unable to tear his gaze from her.
He needed a plan to protect himself.