CHAPTER SIX #2
She realized she was in a thirteen-year-old’s sweaty, dirty track pants and T-shirt.
Tabby felt herself blush. She was a wreck.
When had any man ever come onto her so strongly, much less with her not impeccably attired and perfectly coiffed?
She was hardly country-club ready now. “I borrowed the clothes,” she said slowly, “from a little girl. They’re dirty,” she added unnecessarily.
She touched her hair. It was in a ponytail, but strands were coming down everywhere.
“Aye—they smell.”
Tabby set the cloth down, embarrassed. Her clothes did smell, like a stale locker room. He clearly did not think her very elegant, and that somehow disturbed and confused her.
Tabby soaked his sleeve, trying not to notice his arm, aware of his stare. When she could, she began peeling the linen from his skin as carefully as she could. She didn’t want to hurt him—and she didn’t want to touch him, either.
As she pried away the linen, her fingertips grazing his skin, she realized that he was right. She was aware of him as she’d never been aware of any man. She feared her desire…as she should.
Desiring a medieval stranger was insanity—and she must never act on it.
But damn it, her heart was skidding like a car on black ice. Why was he the one to stir her as no other? What could that mean?
“Ye willna hurt me, Tabitha,” he said.
Tabby looked up. “Your arm has to hurt.”
“It hurt before I removed the bullet last night…but not verra much.”
Tabby went still. He’d removed the bullet himself? Then, of course he had—he wasn’t a poster boy for Polo, he was a poster boy for 300.
His mouth curved. “Ye’re easy to play.”
Tabby stared into his unwavering eyes. He’d stirred up her compassion.
She couldn’t help it. He’d probably been immune to the pain of extraction, but she hated the idea of his being alone and on the run and having to dig a bullet out of his own arm.
“I am not very experienced when it comes to men. Even though I was married, I never dated a lot.”
His eyes widened. “Ye were married?”
Tabby nodded.
“Ye act like a virgin.”
Tabby flinched. “That is so unfair.”
“But true.”
Tabby put the wet rag down, affronted. “I am old-fashioned. I am morally conservative. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t, but I am.” She picked up the rag and started cleaning blood, dirt and debris from the bullet wound, a bit more callously than she should have.
He took her hand and held it to still it. “I dinna mean to insult ye, Tabitha. Explain old-fashioned. I dinna ken morally conservative,” he said, his tone demanding.
She pulled away, his touch searing. Her insides felt so hollow now. She was careful not to glance up. “I do not sleep with strangers,” she said. “Although many women in this time do.”
He was silent.
She kept cleaning the wound, trying to stay entirely focused. Talking no longer seemed like a very good idea, either.
The emerging skin seemed pink and healthy. Of course his recuperative powers would be otherworldly, too. When he didn’t speak—although she could feel his watchful stare—she looked up.
“So ye fear sex with all men,” he said flatly.
She cried out. “Absolutely not!”
“Taking pleasure is natural.”
Tabby stared. “Why are we on this topic again?”
“I have never met a woman like ye before. Ye fear me but ye shout at me, debate, speak yer mind. Other women fear me, but they never speak—they run from me when we’re through.”
Tabby threw down the rag and stood. “Are you telling me that you have never had a conversation with a woman? Are you telling me that all women fear you?”
“Aye, they all fear me and I dinna care.”
Tabby didn’t believe him. It struck Tabby that this man had to be incredibly lonely. No one could survive a lifetime without intimacy from a lover and the opposite sex.
He stood and reached for her, his expression becoming indolent and sensual. “Tabitha, in my bed, there’s no need fer conversation.”
His hand burned her wrist. She tried to pull away and he let her go.
“We are stuck with one another until I can figure out what to do. You have to stop coming onto me.” She was becoming angry, at last. “And you have to stop looking at me the way that you do,” she said tersely.
“It’s not helping. There’s so much tension in here, no one can breathe! ”
He seemed surprised by her angry outburst. “But ye dinna have to be so tense, Tabitha. Ye choose to be so tense.”
She refused to comprehend him now. “I owe you and I want to help you, if I can,” she said in a rush. “But not the way you want. I am not going to bed with you, not now, not ever.”
“Because ye fear sex with all men—or just with me?”
She flushed. He was a stranger and she did not owe him any explanations or her life story. On the other hand, maybe if she told him she was the queen of fake orgasms, he’d leave her alone.
“Tabitha? A wise word…never tell a man ‘never.’”
Did he think her a challenge now? “We have a truce.”
He just shook his head and said, “I need to bathe.”
She went still, hoping she hadn’t heard him correctly. Images of him in her shower struck her vividly, full force.
“I stink of blood and death.”
Of course he wanted to bathe—he was hardly a caveman.
It occurred to her that nothing was going the way she wished, but then he was alpha, so of course everything would go his way!
“I guess I can’t refuse you a bath. It’s a fair request.” She kept her tone light, as if she didn’t care, and avoided looking at him.
He’d bathe; she’d cook enough food to feed an army—that would help her relax.
And then she had to figure out where he was spending the night.
He could not stay with her. That had suddenly become really clear.
She would call Sam while he was in the shower.
It was time to populate the loft, and Sam could bring him clothes; agents kept extras in their lockers.
Sam would keep her big medieval secret. Maybe she’d help get him to a hotel.
Or maybe they’d call Nick and let him in on the action.
Nick could actually solve her dilemma, she thought. But her heart seemed to sink.
“I willna leave.”
“Stop reading my mind!” she cried. “I am not referring to sending you back to 1298. I am referring to you walking out my door and spending the night elsewhere—alone.”
He folded his massive arms across his chest.
Her heart lurched, but this time with a frisson of alarm. “You are not spending the night here.”
“Ye dinna trust Nick.”
Tabby almost cursed. “Obviously you’re not reading my mind very carefully. Nick is a warrior and he’s on our side. He fights demons and wins.”
“Ye think he’ll interfere in the Destiny we share.”
“We do not share any Destiny!”
“Ye believe ye’re meant to help me. ’Tis why ye’ve haunted me fer ninety-seven years, offering to help me.”
Damn it, he might be right. “I’m not calling Nick. You can stay at a hotel—an inn.”
“An’ what about the dark soldiers?” He was smug, as if he knew he’d won.
In that moment, she knew he had won, too.
“Do ye wish to ken why I willna leave ye alone?”
Tabby stared at him, dismayed. “Not really.”
He ignored her. “Ye need my protection.”
She was instantly bewildered. “I don’t need protection.
” Then she realized he didn’t understand.
“Macleod, this loft is fortified with my grandmother’s spells.
She was a very powerful witch. Evil has never been able to get in here.
It’s like holy ground. What happened earlier today won’t happen again. ”
He shook his head, his face set now. “Evil hunts ye.”
A chill swept down her spine. “Evil hunts everyone. Evil destroys whatever it can.”
“No. Evil hunts ye, Tabitha Rose.”
Tabby met his gaze and he stared back. He was so serious that her alarm became dread. “Why do you think that?” she asked slowly. But she was becoming uncertain. “It was a witch burning. It happens all the time, here in this city and in major cities around the country and across the world.”
“The boys wanted ye. I heard them.”
The chill churned in her gut. He could not be right. Why would evil hunt her?
Those boys had known her name—but that was on the classroom door.
But the Rampage had been premeditated, because the fire alarms had been dismantled.
Rampages were usually spontaneous and random acts.
There had only been two subs intent on a witch burning, when they usually worked in large gangs.
Except for the crime last week, when three subs had been involved.
Maybe the attempted burning in her school was a part of a new trend… or maybe not.
But why would evil target her?
He was wrong, she managed to think. Evil hadn’t targeted her. And damn it, now he meant to stay the night.
“Show me where to bathe.”
They could argue about the intention of the subs all day and all night, and never figure it out, she thought. He was clearly determined to stay and protect her. “All right. You win. But I’ll bet you always win, don’t you?”
His expression never changed.
Tabby clenched her fists. “You can stay, but only for one night, and you sleep there, on the sofa.” She pointed, her hand trembling. “And you will sleep there alone.”
He murmured, “Then stop thinkin’ about me without my clothes.”