The Highlander's Touch
Page 50

“Suit yerself, lassie. I’ll be seeing ye before anon, I’m fair certain.” Eirren flashed her a grin and left as quickly and silently as he’d arrived.
“Wait—Eirren!” she called after him, hoping to set a time to meet with him later. The lad needed a bath, and she had a dozen questions to ask. She suspected his cheerful demeanor was much as hers—a façade shielding a lonely heart—and she believed he would welcome her mothering once he grew accustomed to it.
She would track him down in a few hours, she decided, but for now it was back to the business at hand: Where would Circenn hide the flask? She had no doubt he’d secreted it away as soon as they’d arrived. She had tried to watch what he did with his pack when they’d entered the castle, and had last seen it lying beside the door, but it had been gone the next morning when she’d sneaked down to begin her search. Whatever was in the silvery container must be extraordinarily valuable for him to be so careful with it. Was it indeed a potion to manipulate time? Was he blatantly lying to her about whether he could return her? She might consider drinking whatever it contained once she found it; perhaps the contents were magic.
She rummaged through the chest, sorting past ledgers. A few lumpy cushions, throws, and balls of thick thread had been casually tossed in with the mix. Nearing the bottom, she uncovered a sheaf of papers filled with slanted scrawl. The words looked angry, as had the words carved on top of the chest in the museum.
“Have you found what you seek, Lisa?” Circenn Brodie asked quietly.
Lisa dropped the papers back into the chest, closed her eyes, and sighed. With a gazillion rooms in this castle, everyone seemed hell-bent on joining her in this one. “I was getting a blanket out of the chest”—she snatched up a plaid that had been folded near the top—“when one of my earring backs came off,” she lied splendidly.
“You are not wearing ear rings, lass,” he said, breaking it into two distinct words, eyeing her ears. “On either ear,” he said impassively.
Lisa clutched at her ears, then nearly assaulted the chest in a frenzied search. “Oh heavens, they both fell off,” she cried. “Can you believe that?”
She flinched when his strong hands settled upon her waist as she bent over the chest. “No,” he said quietly. “I cannot. Why doona you simply tell me what you are looking for, lass? Perhaps I can help you. I know the castle well. It is mine, after all.”
Lisa straightened slowly; she hadn’t fooled him for a moment. She was excruciatingly aware of his presence behind her, could feel the brush of his chest against her back. His hands were hot through the fabric of her gown. She glanced down, and the sight of his elegant fingers curving around her waist quickened her breath. “You don’t need to touch me to talk to me,” she said softly. She wasn’t in full command of her mental faculties when Circenn touched her, and she needed every ounce of her wits to deal with him.
He removed his hands, and she exhaled a sigh of relief that served also to calm her erratic heartbeat, but then he gripped her by the shoulders and turned her about to face him. She tilted back her head to look at him. He regarded her in silence until she was too nervous to hold her tongue any longer.
“I was merely snooping. I’m curious about this place. It’s my history—”
“Had you been strolling about the castle studying portraits, examining the weapons, or looking at furniture, you might have convinced me, but rummaging through my chest strikes me as somewhat odd. My servants tell me they’ve seen you in every wing of my castle.”
Lisa swallowed, daunted by the cool expression on his face. A muscle jumped in his jaw and she realized she had upset him more than he was letting on. Danger, her mind cautioned. This man is a warrior, Lisa.
“Were you looking for battle plans, lass?” he asked tightly.
“No!” she assured him hastily. “I’m not interested in that.”
Circenn stepped past her, bent over the chest, and poked through it. Apparently he found little to warrant concern, but he removed the sheaf of papers she’d discovered, folded them, and placed them in his sporran. He pivoted behind her and angled his body so that his chest brushed her shoulder.
She could smell him—that faint spicy scent that lured, befuddled, and seduced her. He was much too close for comfort. Lisa stolidly refused to budge an inch; she would not turn to meet his gaze again. Let him talk to my cheek, she thought defiantly. She was not going to let him use his body to intimidate her, although she had no doubt he’d used it effectively to that purpose for most of his life.