“Do you have to change?” he asked, eyeing the glob of food on her jeans.

“I’m wearing jelly,” she said panting. “Can you slow down?”

He did, but not much. “Has this place been in your family long?”

“For generations,” she said, looking at the house coming into view, faded, yet grand, like an old woman who’d once been a beauty, and now only character remained. Like Grandma Emily. “My great-great-grandmother’s family owned the land. Her father gave it to her and Frederick, her husband, as a wedding gift. Frederick built the house for Isabel when she was only eighteen. The chapel was already here. A lot of my ancestors are buried in the graveyard. There was a village through the woods. This path was the road back then. My great-great-great-grandfather had a farmhouse not far from here. It burned down a long time ago.”

For a man whose movements were so smooth, the hesitation in his stride struck her as extraordinarily clumsy.

“What was his name?”

“Samuel Wood. Does that ring a bell?”

He didn’t answer, just watched the trees as if he expected them to attack. They hurried past the orchard her grandmother had planted near the house. “Look out!” Faelan said, as Bree’s shoe caught the edge of a log Jared’s men had carried over from a tree they’d cut near the dig.

She felt herself falling, and then she was in Faelan’s arms, her breasts plastered to his chest. His heart hitched. Or was it hers?

“Are you okay?” he asked, untangling their legs. He didn’t let go. He searched her face, blinked a few times, and jumped back as something poked her stomach. She didn’t have the courage to look down and see if it was his sporran or something else.

“I think so. Thanks. You’re fast.”

His lips twitched. “Now I understand how you fell in that wee hole.”

Let him fall in one and see how little it was, she thought, checking to see if she’d torn one of her favorite shoes. “I meant to split the wood a few days ago but never got around to it.” She’d gotten sidetracked by McGowan’s map. “I love a fire in the winter. I may have to hire someone.”

Faelan scooped up an apple, cleaned it off on his kilt, and took a bite.

“Take all you want,” she said, looking at the fruit wasting on the ground. “Grandma used to make applesauce, but I never got the hang of it. All I can manage is a pie.”

“Apple pie?” he asked, wiping a drop of juice from his chin.

“I’m not the most graceful person alive, but I make a pretty good pie. I suppose I could bake one for dessert tonight.” Maybe a full belly would loosen his tongue.

“Hurry and get what you need,” he said as they reached the back porch. He hurled the apple core into the trees so far it would’ve put a major-league baseball pitcher to shame, and posted himself at the door like a guard.

What did he think was out there? She changed into a print skirt and grabbed her tote bag before meeting him outside. His eyes roved over her legs, looking as shocked as if she’d slapped him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

She led him toward the azaleas and pines hiding her red 1968 Fastback from view, dropping back a few steps when he kept glancing at her legs. “There’s my Mustang—”

He stopped so fast, she plowed into him. “I thought you meant a horse,” he said, finally looking at something besides her knees. He approached the car like she would Noah’s Ark, running his hands over the hood, smudging her wax job, pressing his nose to the window like a kid who’d crash-landed in the North Pole.

More proof he wasn’t a demon. All human males were as fascinated with cars as they were with breasts. Faelan appeared to be no exception.

“It’s yours?”

“It was my dad’s. He died when I was a kid.” One day the car would be hers, he’d promised. One day he’d teach her to drive. He hadn’t.

“You loved him,” Faelan said.

Bree heard sympathy in his voice. Did he miss his father as much as Bree missed hers? She and her dad had done everything together, Civil War re-enactments, metal detecting, exploring caves. The only time he’d let her out of his sight was to visit her grandmother. Bree had never understood why she wasn’t allowed to attend summer camps and have sleepovers like the other girls. She asked him about it once. He’d smiled a little sadly and said fair damsels had to be protected. That was before she found out about her dead twin.

There was a rustling in the trees, followed by a shriek, and something white flew overhead. Faelan grabbed Bree’s arm. “Let’s go.”

She opened the car door, and he shoved her inside. What was he so afraid of? “Was that an owl?” she asked after he moved around to the other side. “I’ve seen a huge one hanging around. That could be what we heard earlier.”

“Maybe.”

She showed him how to work the seat belt, then started the car. The engine roared to life, and Faelan’s eyebrows rose. At the end of her long driveway, she pulled onto the road and hit the gas. Faelan’s shoulders were thrown back as he gripped the seat. Bree played tour guide as they drove, but he wasn’t listening. His gaze was everywhere—on the car, the scenery, the traffic—but his hand never strayed from the bump where the necklace lay under his shirt. They passed a massive rock sticking out of the ground, and he twisted around. Bree saw the look on his face. Recognition.

“Is that a talisman you’re wearing?”

He clamped his hand over the necklace, as if she might leap across the seat and rip the thing from his neck. “How do you know about talismans?”

“I have all sorts of useless knowledge floating up here,” she said, tapping her temple. “Who gave it to you?”

“Mi… my family.”

“The one you can’t remember?” Touché. She saw a muscle in his jaw twitch. “If you knew your last name, we could search for them on the computer.”

“Computer?”

She could tell by the way he formed the word that it was the first time he’d uttered it. “You can find anything you want on a computer, and some things you don’t, but I need a name first.”

“Hopefully I’ll remember it soon. I have nothing. No home, no horse, no food.”

She was pretty certain he’d remember when he wanted to. “I wanted to talk to you about that. Since you can’t remember anything, you’re welcome to stay here until we figure out who you are.”

He looked at her as if she’d offered him cyanide. “You’d do all this for a stranger after…” He shook his head. “Why?”

“You have an odd way of showing appreciation.”

“You’re too trusting. I could be dangerous.”

She knew he was dangerous, but he was also the key to a mystery. “I woke you. It seems the right thing to do, in here.” Bree patted her heart, and Faelan stared at her breasts. With Russell calling every day, it wouldn’t hurt to have a strong man around, even one she’d found in a crypt. Russell would think twice before coming after her with Faelan here.

“I’m becoming more and more indebted to you,” he said, not sounding pleased about it. “I can take care of the farming and chores until your brother gets here, then I’ll leave.”

Leave? She’d just found him. “I don’t have chickens or cows, but there’s work to be done, that’s for sure.” Isabel’s journal had distracted Bree from remodeling.

“I’m surprised you don’t have someone to help you with the place.” His tone gave away what he didn’t say. That she was too old not to have a husband. Unmarried at twenty-six would have been a spinster in his time.

“I don’t have much luck with men.” She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until he lifted one sexy eyebrow in disbelief.

“You can’t be serious?”

“I can’t find a good one.” With those ears of his, she’d have to be more careful what she said. She had a tendency to talk to herself, something Jared teased her about. Jared. “You know, the archeologists will be back in a few days. You’ll have to stay hidden.”

“Aye. We can’t have your reputation sullied.”

Her reputation sullied? “I was thinking of someone asking questions.” She glanced at his kilt. “You said no one could know about you. I could say you’re Cousin Reggie. He owes me.” She pictured the crypt rising from the weathered gravestones, the old tree hanging over the top like a shroud, and remembered the crippling fear. Screams. And blood. The memory stopped there, as it always did.

“What in tarnation is that?” Faelan asked, looking out the window at a silver glint in the sky.

“An airplane.”

“Airplane?” The word sounded as strange on his tongue as computer had. He watched the white line cut through the clouds, and she could see a thousand questions in his eyes. His astonishment erased any lingering doubts. She took pity on him, knowing he must be dying of curiosity, too.

“It’s remarkable how much travel has changed in the last century. We’ve gone from carriages and hot air balloons to airplanes that can carry hundreds of people anywhere in the world in less than a day.”

“You jest?” he murmured, obviously forgetting his amnesia as he watched the plane disappear, his expression a mixture of fascination and alarm.

If he wasn’t the demon, why didn’t he admit who he was?

***

When the last of the policemen had gone, the tall man slipped from the woods, carrying the shovel he’d taken from the dig. He hurried through the graveyard, stopping at the back of the crypt. Counting off five paces from the corner, he approached the third grave. Just as the paper had said, a headstone with no name. He heard a cry and something white swooped overhead. A huge owl settled in the gnarled tree, tucked in its wings, and watched with steady, round eyes. Was this a bad omen? Swallowing, he raised the shovel and drove it deep into the earth.



Chapter 6