Chapter 6
Chapter Six
He would always protect her. Calia replayed the words over and over, wanting to believe them but too burned by the past to accept the vow without question. She needed to ignore this eerie connection she felt with Mathison and concentrate on putting her life back together—alone.
They’d made themselves a pallet on the floor between the bed and what she prayed was the cottage’s load-bearing wall in case the rest of the roof gave way or another tree hit the structure.
With the storm still raging with apocalyptic force, it was their only option for shelter until daybreak, which would hopefully bring some relief.
Poor Otto still cowered in her arms between her and the wall.
He’d refused to settle down between her and Mathison, so she lay on her side with her back almost touching the mysterious man who had just saved her life.
He wasn’t asleep. She could tell by the subtle shifting of the blanket every time he took a breath.
A heavy sigh escaped her as she idly petted Otto, reassuring him with her touch.
What a colossal shit-show this move to Scotland had become.
It would take weeks to clear away the debris and repair the damage, and who knew how much it would cost?
She had insurance, but felt sure there had to be an act of God clause in there somewhere that would keep the policy from paying out as it should, and it would take forever to get any money out of them.
That’s how insurance usually worked. After dealing with Gillian’s medical expenses, there was no love lost between her and insurance companies.
“Everything will be all right, lass,” Mathison said quietly, as if he’d heard her inner fuming.
“I didn’t allocate for catastrophes.” She tucked her cheek against the top of her dog’s head, needing as much comfort as he did. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Come morning, once I have a look at the damage, we can make a plan.” He shifted, rolling to his side toward her and touching her arm with a tenderness that both consoled her and made her want to dive into his arms and sob herself senseless.
Either that or have an entirely awkward, inappropriate, and yet what she somehow knew would be a mind-blowing one-nighter.
I don’t do one-nighters. But man alive, what a wasted opportunity.
Inwardly, she laughed at herself. This rare Scot probably already thought her a crazy American and would be as far from her as possible if not trapped by the storm.
It was only right that she let him off the hook easily.
After all, he was a nice guy. “I know you didn’t sign up for a mess like this.
Once the storm passes, don’t feel like you have to stay around. I’ll be all right. I always am.”
“Why would ye say such a thing?” He sounded hurt…and slightly miffed, and his hand remained on her upper arm in a nice, inviting I’m going to keep you safe kind of way.
“Because you didn’t sign up for this,” she repeated.
What else could she say? She was afraid that if he stayed around long enough to rebuild her home, she might not be able to resist him.
He had an inexplicable yet undeniable pull to him she’d never experienced before.
How crazy would that sound if she shared that with him?
“Mairwen hired you to do minor repairs. Weren’t you planning to move on after this job? Or return to your home?”
“I move on whenever I wish, lass, and I also stay where I am needed. Do ye need me?”
More than he would ever know, but she bit her lip to keep from saying that. “We’ll know more in the morning, when we can see how bad everything is.” She awkwardly covered his hand with hers and squeezed. “I just wanted to give you an out if you needed it.”
“All I need is ye by my side.” The velvety darkness, broken by the scant amount of light filtering in from the woodstove in the next room, echoed with unspoken possibilities.
“Can ye not feel it, Calia? The drawing between us, the reaching of our souls for one another?” He trailed his fingers through her hair, raking it back from her face.
Ever so softly, he traced the outline of her ear.
If she turned and faced him, it would be all over. Even she didn’t possess that kind of self-control. She hugged Otto closer, fighting to remain strong…safe…alone.
“I barely know you,” she whispered, willing him to understand.
“We have known each other since time began,” he said just as quietly. “This lifetime merely needs reminding about all the other times before it.”
She watched the shadows dance on the wall in front of her, her arms wrapped around her dog, who snuggled tighter against her. “You’re talking about soul mates, fated mates again.”
“Aye.”
Such a thing couldn’t possibly be anything more than a romantic legend. “It would be lovely if fated mates truly existed.” She hesitantly twitched a shoulder. “I’m sorry. I just don’t believe in any of that stuff.”
He shifted again, raised himself onto his elbow, and gently turned her to look up at him. “Listen to yer heart. Yer soul.” He tapped her forehead. “Dinna listen with that mind of yers that allows this life’s doubts to taint yer judgement.”
His eyes were aglow with that eerie blue-white light again. She couldn’t resist reaching up to touch his cheek. “I think I’m losing my mind.”
“Good.” He traced the outline of her jaw, then ran his fingers up into her hair, and locked eyes with her. “Let go of yer mind, lass. Let yer heart and soul be yer guide.”
“If I did, what would…” She cut herself off, knowing she didn’t dare finish that sentence. Heart pounding so hard it was difficult to breathe, she touched his face again, tickling her thumbnail through the short bristles of his neatly trimmed beard. It was too soon. She just couldn’t. Not yet.
“Maybe someday,” she whispered, bracing herself for his contempt at the refusal.
“I will gladly accept yer someday with hope and anticipation.” He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead and lingered there as if savoring the sensation.
She closed her eyes and shuddered in a deep breath.
“He is safe,” whispered the inner voice she’d heard all her life, the voice that the FBI counselor had labeled as a rare gut instinct, but she preferred to think of as good old female intuition.
“I am yer safe haven,” Mathison said with another kiss to her forehead. “Always, lass. I swear it.”
A not entirely unpleasant eeriness rippled through her. Eyes wide open now, she struggled to make out his expression in the shadows. “My safe haven,” she repeated. “Why would you say that at this particular moment?” It was almost as if he’d heard her inner voice just as loudly as she had.
“Because ye are afraid. I smell it.”
Her old sense of bravado kicked in, giving her the courage to fully face him. Nobody called her afraid—even when she was. “I am not afraid.”
Even in the dimly lit room, she made out his expression that called her a liar.
“I’m not afraid.”
Still propped on his elbow, he smiled down at her. “There is no shame in being afraid, lass. A healthy dose of fear can keep ye alive at times. It’s when ye canna summon the courage to face that fear that makes life difficult.”
Was he teasing her? “I’m not a coward either.”
He laughed with an affectionate softness. “No one could ever call ye a coward.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.” He took her hand and laced his fingers through hers.
“Any woman brave enough to uproot herself and move to another land to start her life anew is no coward.” He hugged her hand to his chest, letting the strong, steady beat of his heart tickle against the back of it.
“Ye’re a fine, fierce woman who merely needs to learn to listen with her heart and soul as well as her mind. ”
“So you keep saying.”
“It bears repeating.”
The wind howled with a stranger, louder force, and the cottage shuddered. Mathison pushed up from the pallet and hovered over her and Otto like a human shield. He stared at the bedroom door as if someone or something was about to step through it.
“What is it?” She twisted around to look, but saw nothing but the flickering shadows set to dancing by the fire in the woodstove. “What do you hear?”
“The storm has changed,” he said, sounding as though he spoke more to himself than her. “Stay here.” He launched himself to his feet and charged out the door, closing it behind him.
“Stay here? Seriously? This is my house.” She jumped to her feet, then immediately swayed off balance and hit the floor with the worst attack of nausea she’d ever experienced.
Hugging her middle, she curled into a ball and concentrated on deep breaths.
In through her mouth. Out through her nose.
What in the daylights had just hit her? She swallowed hard against the sour aching at the back of her jaw, the clear warning signal that vomiting was imminent.
She couldn’t throw up. Not when she couldn’t even stand and make it to the bathroom.
Drenched in a cold sweat, violent shuddering overtook her.
Mathison returned, scooped her up into his arms, and cradled her against his chest. “I am so sorry, Calia. Damn that Mairwen and her meddling. I nay wished it to be this way.” Ever so gently, he placed her in the bed.
“Try to rest. ’Twill be better for ye that way. Dinna worry, I shall watch over ye.”
“What are you talking about?” Eyes tightly shut, she curled over onto her side, fighting the disorienting queasiness. “Water. Could I please have a glass of water?” A drink would make everything better. She just needed a sip of water.
“Aye, lass. I’ll fetch it.”
Otto jumped up onto the bed with her, but didn’t lie down. He stood beside her, growling.
“Shh…Otto. It’s all right.” But it wasn’t. Something was terribly wrong. She just didn’t know what that something was. The water would help. She’d concentrate on sipping the water and keeping it from coming back up.