understand Sam, who had never been friends with a lover and didn’t seem to ever want friendship from a lover. “That is a relief.” Tabby ran to their building’s door, ripping off her gloves to find her keys. Her sister simply stood behind her, so she said, “Call me the moment you hear something.”
“Yeah. Any news about your Highlander, I’ll call.”
Tabby hesitated, aware of how Sam had used the word your. She almost sounded unhappy. Something was wrong, and for the first time in her life, she simply couldn’t deal with it. She hugged her sister. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” Sam said, and when Tabby was safely inside, she strode off.
S HIVERING , T ABBY hurried into the elevator. A moment later, she was safely inside her loft.
She was chilled to the bone and before she even took her coat off, she put on a pot of water to boil. Then she began to tremble, partly in exhaustion, partly from the cold, and partly because she was worried about the Highlander. Her mind knew better, but her heart wouldn’t listen. It never had.
The fire in the classroom had raised all those feelings related to An Tùir-Tara. She did not like that. She had never had any odd reaction to the sight of fire before. Even thinking about it now made her stomach churn. Was she picking up on his emotions? She was doubtful. She was certain he was not capable of the love she’d felt.
The kettle began to sing and as it did, someone knocked on her living-area window.
Tabby started and cried out. He was standing on her fire escape!
She froze. In the night, through the glass pane, their gazes locked.
He knocked again. Tabby came to her senses. He was wearing a thin linen tunic and a wool plaid; he was bare-legged in his boots. She rushed across the room, unlocked and opened the window. He climbed inside and with him came a frigid burst of air. She slammed it closed and turned, stunned. “You followed me home?” she cried breathlessly.
He towered over her. His face was hard and set, his shockingly intense blue eyes unwavering upon her. “Ye summoned me. Why?”
He was angry—and he reeked of male power. And they were alone in her loft. She was alone with a medieval warrior, one capable of beheading a man in a single second. Worse, she was suddenly aware of his huge, muscular body and his proximity to her. She didn’t like it! “What? What are you talkingabout?” She backed up. She looked at his arm and the blood crusted there. “Are you hurt?”
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, not allowing her to escape. “No one commands me, Tabitha.”
She felt dread. “I still don’t know what you are talking about!”
“Your power,” he snapped. “Ye brought me to ye…Why?”
Tabby went still, dazed by his powerful presence and trying to make sense of what he was telling her. “My spell worked?”
“Aye. I ken ye’re a witch. I felt yer powers strongly in the school, an’ now. Why did ye bring me here?” he demanded.
Tabby began shaking her head. It was really hard to speak. “To help you,” she managed to say, a hoarse whisper. “I wanted to help you!”
He cursed and strode away.
Tabby felt her knees buckle. He made every recollection of every bad romance novel she’d ever read about the Vikings and other conquerors return, full force. She could picture him dragging women off to his bed by their hair!
Then she went still. Her spell had worked?
He turned, hands fisted on his hips. “Aye, yer magic brought me here.”
She was amazed and even excited. He stood across the loft from her, and damn it, as daunting as he was, the distance between them allowed her to really look at those high cheekbones, that square jaw and those stunningly dark blue eyes.
Her pulse escalated wildly. He was pure male.
His hard expression eased fractionally. Tabby had the unhappy notion that he was aware of her interest—except, she wasn’t interested, not that way. But how could she not notice that face and that
“Yeah. Any news about your Highlander, I’ll call.”
Tabby hesitated, aware of how Sam had used the word your. She almost sounded unhappy. Something was wrong, and for the first time in her life, she simply couldn’t deal with it. She hugged her sister. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” Sam said, and when Tabby was safely inside, she strode off.
S HIVERING , T ABBY hurried into the elevator. A moment later, she was safely inside her loft.
She was chilled to the bone and before she even took her coat off, she put on a pot of water to boil. Then she began to tremble, partly in exhaustion, partly from the cold, and partly because she was worried about the Highlander. Her mind knew better, but her heart wouldn’t listen. It never had.
The fire in the classroom had raised all those feelings related to An Tùir-Tara. She did not like that. She had never had any odd reaction to the sight of fire before. Even thinking about it now made her stomach churn. Was she picking up on his emotions? She was doubtful. She was certain he was not capable of the love she’d felt.
The kettle began to sing and as it did, someone knocked on her living-area window.
Tabby started and cried out. He was standing on her fire escape!
She froze. In the night, through the glass pane, their gazes locked.
He knocked again. Tabby came to her senses. He was wearing a thin linen tunic and a wool plaid; he was bare-legged in his boots. She rushed across the room, unlocked and opened the window. He climbed inside and with him came a frigid burst of air. She slammed it closed and turned, stunned. “You followed me home?” she cried breathlessly.
He towered over her. His face was hard and set, his shockingly intense blue eyes unwavering upon her. “Ye summoned me. Why?”
He was angry—and he reeked of male power. And they were alone in her loft. She was alone with a medieval warrior, one capable of beheading a man in a single second. Worse, she was suddenly aware of his huge, muscular body and his proximity to her. She didn’t like it! “What? What are you talkingabout?” She backed up. She looked at his arm and the blood crusted there. “Are you hurt?”
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, not allowing her to escape. “No one commands me, Tabitha.”
She felt dread. “I still don’t know what you are talking about!”
“Your power,” he snapped. “Ye brought me to ye…Why?”
Tabby went still, dazed by his powerful presence and trying to make sense of what he was telling her. “My spell worked?”
“Aye. I ken ye’re a witch. I felt yer powers strongly in the school, an’ now. Why did ye bring me here?” he demanded.
Tabby began shaking her head. It was really hard to speak. “To help you,” she managed to say, a hoarse whisper. “I wanted to help you!”
He cursed and strode away.
Tabby felt her knees buckle. He made every recollection of every bad romance novel she’d ever read about the Vikings and other conquerors return, full force. She could picture him dragging women off to his bed by their hair!
Then she went still. Her spell had worked?
He turned, hands fisted on his hips. “Aye, yer magic brought me here.”
She was amazed and even excited. He stood across the loft from her, and damn it, as daunting as he was, the distance between them allowed her to really look at those high cheekbones, that square jaw and those stunningly dark blue eyes.
Her pulse escalated wildly. He was pure male.
His hard expression eased fractionally. Tabby had the unhappy notion that he was aware of her interest—except, she wasn’t interested, not that way. But how could she not notice that face and that
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