Chapter Six
“Where is she?” Philip
’s brother Malcolm barked into the institutional style black, corded phone connected to his side of the glass.
“Scotland.”
“Why is she there?”
He
’d expected Malcolm’s questions, but not his anger. “Following a lead.”
One of the prison guards glanced Philip
’s way and narrowed his eyes.
“Calm down, Mal.”
“I don’t understand why you’re not with her. She’s my ticket out of here.” Malcolm had been in the state penitentiary for over a year. There wasn’t an attorney alive that could get him acquitted of the crime he’d been caught committing red-handed.
With Helen out of the country, Philip would be able to search her apartment and gather more information. He couldn
’t exactly explain that to his brother while cops surrounded them. “I’ll be joining my
girlfriend
,” he said for the sake of the cops, “In a few days. Maybe we’ll be able to find more evidence that proves you’re not guilty.”
Malcolm took the hint and lowered his voice. “You shouldn
’t let her out of your sight. She’s good for you.”
Right. But trailing beside her all the way to Scotland would look questionable. He was her employer, after all. As much as he
’d tried to engage the woman in a relationship, she hadn’t budged. Maybe subtle had been the wrong approach. If Philip was sleeping with her, he’d know more about her inner thoughts.
He already had a plan to explain why he
’d followed her to Scotland. First, he needed to check out her apartment.
“I
’ll see you in a week.”
Malcolm frowned beneath his beard. “A week is like a year in here.”
Yeah, well, next time keep your fucking hands to yourself.
Philip tried his best to push the thought into his brother’s head. Useless. Philip’s little parlor trick worked on everyone he knew except his brother and Helen.
This was why Philip knew Helen was part of his solution to freeing his brother.
She held the power, only she didn
’t know it.
* * * *
The ride to Mrs. Dawson’s home brought back many memories. The landscape sped past the open windows on the car. Everything looked bigger. Busier. People drove with cell phones to their ears completely disregarding everyone around them.
Anxiety prickled his skin when he and Helen walked through a department store to purchase a few things. People stared. As men eyed the woman at his side, Simon inched closer to make certain the men doing the staring knew she and Simon were together.
Simon wasn’t the scrawny preteen boy he’d been in this century. Scotland and the MacCoinnich family had made him into the man he was now. This century would never have grown him as big. He knew the power of his body, of his mind. He took comfort in his Druid gifts. They were always there, even when he wasn’t using them. He may not have his broadsword strapped to his hip, but he could protect Helen.
Protect.
That single word ripped through his mind when he witnessed her standing before his family’s enemies with only a dagger to protect herself. When the energy of a time traveling vortex began engulfing her, Simon didn’t hesitate and jumped in.
The Ancients had their way of placing the people in his family directly in harm
’s way, but always for the greater good.
Helen Adams needed his protection and he was honor-bound to deliver it.
The task wasn’t difficult when his charge was as stunning as she was. Simon caught her staring at him several times. He’d catch a surge of desire bouncing off the lass, but she’d pull it back nearly as soon as she released it. Why?
Why did she deny her obvious attraction?
“You’re staring at me.”
He turned his torso toward her and continued his perusal.
Her hand twitched on the steering wheel.
“Didn
’t your mother tell you it was impolite to stare?” Her cheeks started to grow a rosy color.
“Aye.”
“Then why are you doing it?”
“You
’re a bonny lass.”
Her cheeks were full red now.
She opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it. Her lips turned down and her jaw tightened.
“
‘Twas a compliment. Meant to bring a smile to your lips, not a frown.”
“You
’re flirting with me.” She sounded surprised.
“I am.”
Helen took her eyes from the road and shot a dagger from her eyes.
“The problem with that is?”
“Won’t your
wife
have an issue with it?”
“My wife?” he laughed. “Did I marry when I wasn
’t looking?”
Helen
’s knuckles turned white on the wheel, her gaze moved to the road. Now the blush had returned but it was marred with embarrassment.
“I-I assumed when you talked about getting back to your family…I thought….”
Simon leaned forward and placed a hand over hers. The spark he’d felt the first time they’d touched, rekindled, leapt, and ignited with the contact. Helen jumped, assuring him she’d felt the same ember. Perhaps the Ancients were bestowing Helen upon him and there wasn’t evil lurking.
“I
’m not married, love. Far from it.”
“Oh.”
“The family I talk about is the clan MacCoinnich. My mother’s husband, my father by choice, is from a large family. All of us live in MacCoinnich Keep. We live, laugh, fight, and love each other.”
“All of you live in the same house?”
He laughed again. “We call it a Keep. ’Tis the size of a castle.”
“Oh.”
Helen held her questions as they drove the rest of the way in silence.
Mrs. Dawson
’s modest home was behind gates and in a more remote part of the county. Helen announced herself to whoever answered the call and the gates opened.
“How do you know Mrs. Dawson?”
“Her husband was a collector of antiques. She’d commissioned us to sell a few things over the years. She and I hit it off.”
Helen parked the car, and the two of them walked the short path to the front door.
Mrs. Dawson greeted them herself. The older woman had to be in her eighties. The cane in her hand helped her stand to a maximum height of maybe five-foot-three. A pair of kind eyes sparkled when they landed on Helen.
“I thought you were in Scotland,” Mrs. Dawson said.
Helen leaned down and kissed the woman’s cheek and pulled her into an affectionate hug. “I was.”
“But you
’ve only been gone two days.”
Helen slid Simon a glance. “It
’s a strange story.”
Mrs. Dawson turned her attention his way. A corner of her mouth lifted, and she shifted her eyes back to Helen. “Who
’s the hottie?”
Helen
’s face instantly blushed and Simon laughed. He hadn’t expected the older woman’s delightful words.
“He
’s a…. You’re not going to believe—”
Simon stepped up and bent slightly at the waist. “The hottie,” he said winking, “is very pleased to make your acquaintance.” He reached for Mrs. Dawson
’s free hand and lifted her fingers to his lips.
“I like your hottie.” Mrs. Dawson placed the hand he
’d kissed against her chest and smiled.
“He
’s not
my
hottie,” Helen said.
“Well I like him anyway. Where are my manners? Come in. Come in. No need to stand on the porch.”
Helen stood at Mrs. Dawson’s right, and Simon offered her a hand on her left.
“Let
’s go to the day room. Have you eaten?”
“We ate before we left.”
“How about coffee, then? I think Mavis made some chocolate chip cookies yesterday.”
Chocolate wasn
’t something Simon ran across often in the sixteenth century and he wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to taste it now. “That would be wonderful.”
Helen frowned. “But not necessary. We don
’t want to impose.”
“You
’re never an imposition, Helen. You know better than that. Mavis?” Mrs. Dawson called out to the empty hall.
The woman Simon assumed was Mavis stepped into view. “Yes, Mrs. Dawson?”
“Please bring a pot of coffee and your delicious cookies for my guests.”
Mavis nodded and disappeared as Mrs. Dawson led them into her day room.
Once seated, Mrs. Dawson asked. “Tell me what I’m not going to believe.”
Helen ran her hands over her thighs and her spine stiffened.
“’Tis best to just say it,” Simon suggested. He already knew Helen trusted Mrs. Dawson and intended to tell her the truth.
After meeting the woman, he understood a little more about the bond these two had formed. Helen told him Mrs. Dawson and her late husband weren
’t able to have children of their own. Mrs. Dawson treated Helen like a granddaughter. And Helen loved her for it. The woman was the closest thing to family Helen had.
“Okay, here it goes. But keep an open mind.”
“Don’t I always, dear?”
Helen smiled. “This is…Simon McAllister.”
A slow, methodical shift of the old woman’s chin and her eyes met his. Her stare pinned him down. She said nothing while considering Helen’s words.
The clock on the mantel above the fireplace ticked.
Helen held her breath.
Simon waited.
A small ache touched the back of his head. Instead of fighting the ache, he took a deep breath and opened his thoughts. Mrs. Dawson might not be asking one question with her lips, but she was searching for the truth with her mind. Simon felt her inside his head.
Druids had a way of reading other people
’s intent. He couldn’t help wondering if the act was subconscious or intentional.
Mrs. Dawson was Druid.
No wonder she and Helen ‘hit it off’. They were kindred spirits.
Did Mrs. Dawson know of her gift? Or had she walked through life oblivious of her heritage?
“Aren’t you going to say something?” Helen asked.
Mrs. Dawson lifted a hand, quieting Helen.
Mavis stepped into the room and filled the table in front of them with the refreshments. Mrs. Dawson thanked her and asked her to close the door behind her.
“When did you leave Scotland, Helen?” Mrs. Dawson didn
’t move her eyes from his as she spoke.
“Yesterday.”
“If you left Scotland yesterday, and you are Simon McAllister.” She pointed a finger at his chest. “Then every question I have is going to have a magical answer and not a logical one.” Mrs. Dawson finally turned toward Helen. “Start at the beginning and don’t leave a thing out.”
“You believe in magic?” Helen asked.
“There’s a lot about me you don’t yet know. Now from the beginning.”
Helen blew out a sigh and started to talk.
Simon relaxed into the sofa after swiping two cookies from the plate.
* * * *
The events of the past two days rolled off Helen’s tongue in a steady stream of words. Mrs. Dawson kindly folded her hands in her lap and listened. Not once did she scoff or raise an eyebrow in disbelief.
Simon devoured the plate of cookies and didn
’t offer one syllable while Helen told her tale.
“I still have a hard time believing magic is real. But you can
’t argue with living proof.” Helen pointed at Simon.
He awarded her with a wink and heat surged to her face. They really didn
’t have room in all this for flirtation. So what if he wasn’t married. He still lived in a completely different time. A time he wanted to return to. Not that he didn’t appear completely comfortable sprawled on Mrs. Dawson’s sofa sipping coffee as if he had nothing better to do. There was nothing about his demeanor screaming anxiety. He didn’t even seem prepared to defend what Helen was telling Mrs. Dawson.
“I think Mrs. Dawson believes in magic, lass.”
After a half an hour he finally spoke. His tone was a little condescending, and his assumption of Mrs. Dawson’s beliefs niggled at Helen’s nerves.
Simon didn
’t know Mrs. Dawson. Did he?
“We
’ve been here for less than an hour and suddenly you’re the authority on Mrs. Dawson’s emotions?”
Simon sat forward. “Aye.”
Talk about arrogant. Before Helen could protest, Simon directed his next words to Mrs. Dawson. “This lovely woman believes in magic because she’s experienced it herself. Haven’t you?”