Chapter Nine

Several days passed, and the winter storm dissipated. It wouldn’t be long before the Sutherlands returned. Something Heather couldn’t wait to get behind her. She hated how awkward it was going to be, and she still wasn’t convinced there wasn’t going to be some sort of punishment for breaking into their home. But what worried her more were the dreams.

Since that first night, she’d had them over and over, but not once could she remember any details. Sometimes she’d wake up with tears streaming down her face, and once or twice in Erin’s arms. She was beginning to think he should just move into her bed.

“Bad idea,” she muttered, setting a roast in the oven. Well, not a bad idea, but not a healthy one, that’s for sure.

Her attraction to him grew with every passing moment. The heat between them was about to cause one major meltdown. She’d not stopped the couch cuddling in front of the television; she enjoyed it too much. And the tender touches and sizzling looks throughout the day were impossible to ignore. She really needed to put some distance between them, but all she wanted was to crawl inside his skin.

“I should probably go stand out in the snow to cool off.” She let out a deprecating chuckle. She’d probably catch pneumonia and die. “Problem solved,” she muttered.

“What problem?” Erin said, as he strolled into the kitchen.

“Nothing. No problem. Just ignore me.”

“Och, lass, that is an impossibility,” he said, with a wink. “But I’ve come to help you with supper. Tell me what I can do.”

She propped one hand on her hip and grinned. “You want to help cook?”

“Aye, ’tis no’ fair that you’ve done all the work while the lad and I’ve done aught but enjoy it.”

“Okay.” Although she knew it was a bad idea to work in close proximity to him, she couldn’t stop herself. “You could spoon out the inside of those cooked potatoes into that bowl while not destroying the skins.”

With a grin he started in his work, and she did her best not to watch how the muscles in his arms flexed as he scooped out the steaming centers.

“What are your plans for this?” he asked.

“I’m making twice smashed potatoes. We add lots of good stuff to the guts and then put it back into the skins and bake them.”

“That doesna sound too difficult, but verra tasty.”

“Aye, laddie, that it is,” she said, with a laugh.

Erin chuckled at her attempts at an accent. He found it odd how she sounded of home in her sleep, but the words were strained when awake.

“You okay?” she asked. “You’re scowling at our dinner. Not a good sign.”

“Nay, I am fine.”

“Hey, you don’t have to do this. I’m fine with the cooking. I’ve been loving it, actually. I never get to cook for other people. It’s usually just me.”

“I want to do this. Truly. I was just thinking of—of home.” Although a rather large stretch of the truth, the Highlands and the sound of its people were home.

She grinned. “Even though it’s medieval, you miss it, don’t you?”

“Aye,” he said, and chose another potato. “’Tis home. How could I no’ miss it?”

The corner of her lips dropped, her smile fading as her gaze lowered to the lettuce she was washing. “I wouldn’t know what that’s like,” she said, her voice soft, almost a whisper.

He paused in his work. “Nay, leannan. You do know.”

“But—”

“You could no’ know what it is to miss it so, if you didna have a home. You’ve only forgotten.”

Her eyes grew damp as she looked at him. “I dream about it, don’t I?”

“Aye, but you doona name it.”

“Then how do you know I was dreaming of home?”

“’Tis how you say the words.”

Her lips quirked up in a crooked grin. “But you won’t tell me what I said.”

“Nay.” He returned to his potato. “But you will remember soon enough.”

She patted the water from the green leaves, then paused. “What if it’s bad?” she asked, more of herself than of him.

“Good or bad, ’tis home. You canna change that, just as you canna change the way the sun rises and sets. But at least you will know.”

She shook her head. “All my life I’ve avoided things. The ugly things. And when necessary I left them behind.”

“You mean you ran away.”

Her gaze leapt to his. “Maybe I had to.”

“Did you? Or did someone tell you to run?” He hoped his pushing would not do more harm than good.

“I don’t—” Her brow furrowed as she looked off into the distance. “There was a man and a woman. They were arguing.”

Setting his work aside, he turned to her and asked softly, “And what were you doing while they argued, lass?”

“I—I was trying to stop him. I pulled at where he gripped her arm, and he shoved me away.”

“Who, Heather? Who shoved you?”

“I—I can’t—”

“Aye, you can remember. Try again. Ma ’se ur toil e,” he added.

“Please,” Heather whispered, translating the old tongue. She then turned her watery gaze to his. “I said please. Then she told me—she told me to run and hide. I didn’t want to leave her, but she made me go. She pleaded with me to go, and I begged to stay.” Tears slipped from the edges of her violet eyes. “So I ran, and I ran. And then I—I—”

He clasped her upper arms and rubbed them, urging her to continue. “Go on.”

She struggled for several interminable seconds then shook her head. “No.” She pulled from his grip, and took a deep breath. “It’s no use. It’s gone.” She swiped her cheeks dry with an awkward chuckle. “Some nightmare, huh?”

“’Tis more than a dream, leannan. You know that.”

She shrugged her shoulders and placed the leaves into a large bowl. “Maybe, maybe not.”

He picked up the large spoon and returned to his work. She had been close to remembering, but something stopped her. He feared the truth was so horrible it would not allow her to remember, and it burned like a hot iron against his chest.

“The home I do remember was the orphanage,” she said.

“You told me how Burt came to be there, but how did you?”

“That’s where they took me after I woke up in the hospital.”

“Hospital? How badly were you hurt, lass?”

She paused while retrieving a bottle form the refrigerator. “Well, they said I had some bumps and bruises, but mostly I had a major bump on the back of my head,” she explained, and went back to the salad she was preparing. “I always figured I’d slipped and fell trying to cross the creek where they found me, but who knows?”

Erin’s head snapped up. “A creek? You mean a fresh water stream of some sort?”

She added various things to the salad as she spoke. “I guess so. I don’t know for sure.” She glanced at him over her shoulder as she tossed the ingredients around inside the large bowl. “They figured I was lost in the woods from a camping party or something, but no one ever reported a missing child.”

“And you couldna tell them where you came from?”

“Not only couldn’t I tell them anything, they said I barely spoke at all, other than my name, but I don’t remember any of what happened. I just remember going to the orphanage to live.”

Could it be? Could she have fallen into one of the magical springs? He knew that his aunt had found more springs with the same qualities in different places around the world, much like the one near his home, so it was possible, and what he had suspected since her dreams had begun.

She set the salad on the table, then came to stand beside him and inspect his work. “You did a great job. I should’ve recruited you earlier.”

He put aside his spoon and set the last potato back onto the plate. “I’m glad you approve.”

She took the bowl and began adding spices to it. “So anyway, now you know what I know. Not much of a story, but that’s all there is.”

“Nay, there is more to your past.” He washed and dried his hands. “A few moments ago you remembered something, but you have chosen to bury much of it deep down for now.”

“I thought maybe that smack on my head the other day triggered something, but it makes no sense. It has to be a dream, an irritating, recurring dream, but that’s all it is. There’s no other logical explanation.”

He took her hands from her chore and placed them against his chest, then he slid his arms around her small waist. She straightened but did not pull away. He was pleased she enjoyed his touch, perhaps even craved it as he did hers.

“When the time comes, I will be here to help you through what you are too afraid to remember,” he said.

“Why do you care if I remember anything?”

“Because, my bonny Heather, there is much between us.”

She shook her head. “There’s nothing between us but a little sizzle.”

A grin pulled at his lips. “Och, leannan. You couldna be more wrong.”

He pressed his lips to hers, halting her next words, with a heady kiss, unable to resist any longer. One she returned with a passion that was the sweetest nectar to his starving soul. The way her body molded to his was as if she’d been made especially for him. He’d never felt this way about a woman, and he never would again. The feelings he had for her had been growing with every passing second of every day. And he knew deep down she was his destiny.

“This is a mistake,” she murmured, her lips teasing his with her words.

“Nay. ’Twould be a mistake to ignore what pulls us together,” he said, placing kisses along the edge of her mouth, then across her cheek.

She sighed with a soft moan, and he could feel her uneven breathing against his cheek. “Lust,” she murmured.

He chuckled against her skin and felt her flesh rise beneath his lips as he made his way down the side of her throat. “Aye, there is some of that, and yet so much more.”

“But I don’t do this kind of thing,” she said.

He relished the scent of her, as he pressed his face against the side of her neck, her short blonde tresses caressing his skin. “And what thing would that be?”

“Jump into bed with men I hardly know.”

“Glad I am to hear it.” He made his way back to her mouth and brushed his lips across hers. “But I willna take you to my bed until you are ready.”

“What if I’m never ready?”

He lifted his hands and cradled her beautiful face, as he gazed into the depths of her violet eyes. “Then know this. Without you, I will live each day from this moment on in absolute torment.”

Her eyes widened, and he knew she believed him. He reclaimed her lips and crushed her lithe form to his. The desire and passion burning inside him no longer contained, poured over them in waves. A desire she equally shared, as her arms wrapped around his neck as she returned his kiss with a hunger so strong he felt bound to her for all eternity.

This was love—true love. There was no doubt, for it came from deep within his soul.

Heather ended the kiss, slowly and with a tortuous ache still burning in her breast. The look in his eyes, the pure unadulterated desire, perhaps even love, burned into hers.

“Doesn’t waste any time, does he?” a voice said from the doorway.

“Nay love, he doesn’t. I think it must be a family trait,” a different voice answered.

She jerked away from Erin and gripped the counter behind her while he turned with a smile to greet the couple, who had to be his godparents.

Their timing couldn’t have been better, although she doubted much more would’ve happened. Even though she’d managed to end the kiss, it wasn’t as if Erin would throw her over his shoulder and carry her to his bed with Burt in the next room. Not that she wanted him to—much.

“’Tis good to see you, Aunt,” Erin said, and stepped across the room and kissed her cheek. “And you, Uncle.” He shook his uncle’s hand.

“Sure you are,” his aunt said, with a distinct twinkle in her eye.

“Truly, I am glad you made it home safely.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said. “Now how about introducing us?”

Heather couldn’t form a single coherent thought in her lust filled brain. All she could do was smile, at least she hoped she was smiling. It was sort of hard to tell since her lips were still on fire.

“Ian and Jenny Sutherland, this is Heather Blanchard. Heather, my godparents,” Erin said.

Like a robot, she stuck out her hand and shook both Jenny and Ian’s. It was a surreal moment, it didn’t feel like it was actually happening, but here she was greeting the people whose home she broke into like nothing had ever happened.

But something had happened, and it had a name.

Erin MacLean.

There was something between them. Something powerful, something she’d never felt before, and it scared the hell out of her. This man had her twisted into knots the likes of which she’d never known. This overwhelming sense of right, of belonging, of intense desire. It was if she wouldn’t be able to breathe, or her heart to beat without him beside her. Never had any man gotten that kind of reaction out of her.

It could be that you’re in love, her heart whispered.

Oh, no. No, no, no, no. Not happening. She could—not—go—there. Love was a messy, painful, unwanted thing. She’d had enough experience with it before to know she didn’t want to have it again.

That wasn’t love, her heart argued, and she had to agree.

She hadn’t really loved Bo. It had been more of schoolgirl crush and a way to escape the orphanage. Yeah, it hurt when he left her behind, but when she looked back on it, it was just as well. If he hadn’t left, she would have eventually. After all, that was her life. Keep moving, keep running.

But from what?

A loud shout of triumph came from the den, snapping Heather back to the present, as Burt ran into the kitchen, his hands in the air in triumph.

“I made it to level ten!” He froze in his tracks, his hands slowly falling to his sides.

“Please tell me you’re not speaking of War of Cantor. I can never make it past level eight,” Erin’s uncle said.

Burt blinked a moment or two then grinned. “Yeah, I am. I always got stuck there too until Erin showed me a few tricks.”

Ian looked to his nephew. “You played the game and won?”

With a hearty laugh, Erin slapped his uncle on the back. “I shall show you, auld mon, how to beat the spiral staircase.”

“Auld man? I think I need to remind you of a few things, lad, below stairs.”

“Way cool! A sword fight!” Burt shouted.

Laughing, Erin motioned to him to help with the luggage, and the men started for the bedrooms, talking about weapons and fighting and computer games.

With a shake of her head, Jenny took Heather by the arm and pulled her along behind them. “So, Heather. Tell me about yourself.”

“Oh, well, there’s not much to tell.”

“Okay, how about we start with why you’re here.”

“You mean why did I break into your house?”

Jenny nodded with a grin as they continued up the stairs.

Heather opened her mouth but could only mutter a pathetic apology. She couldn’t truly answer that question. No one would ever understand her way of life. Hell, she didn’t understand why she lived this way. All she knew was she had to keep moving.

Just like her dream—her memory. There was no use denying it. She was remembering. But none of it made sense, and yet her whole life didn’t make sense. But why was she remembering stuff now? And why did it seem that Erin was the key?