Stone Guardian Page 7

  Torin’s massive arms mesmerized her as he folded them across a smooth bronzed chest glistening with jagged scars. Strange tattoos, mysterious black stains of swirling glyphs, encircled his bulging biceps.

  Tearing her gaze away from the well-formed package of hardened muscle, Emma edged her shoulders tighter against the stone. “What do you mean I should know the risks?” Irritation replaced the fear blooming in her chest. Did this guy, who’d just appeared out of thin air and scared the crap out of her, actually have the audacity to stand there and lecture her? What was he talking about, saying she should be aware of the dangers? Emma lowered the rock but kept it clenched in tightly curled fingers; the sharp-edged shard brought a strange sense of comfort to a very primitive part of her. If this guy kept up his current tone, she might still peg him right between the eyes. She used to be pretty good with a softball.

  “Your amulet.” Torin jerked his chin toward her throat again. “Your stone of focus. Do ye have no idea of its—” Torin paused as though searching for the right words. With an irritated wave of his hand, he pointed toward her throat. “Where did you get that?” Torin half turned into the sunlight revealing only the left side of his face. He spread his feet in a defensive stance as though preparing for a battle.

  “That’s none of your damn business.” Emma forced the words through gritted teeth, as thoughts of her past flickered across her mind. She wasn’t about to share any of her private memories with some bare-chested Neanderthal who’d appeared out of thin air. Besides, there wasn’t much to tell about her lucky necklace. It had more or less come with her as part of a “packaged deal.” At least that’s what Mother had told her. When her parents had adopted her, the obsidian stone necklace came tucked in with what few belongings came with her and instructions that Emma should always wear it.

  The crooked smile returned; this time accompanied by a lifted brow separated by a thin silver scar over an eye the same color as the standing stones. Torin stepped from the shadows and fully faced her. “Ah, ye dinna know your legacy then. The Cailleach said she’d sheltered some from the knowledge of the magic. In fact…” Torin stroked his chin as he studied her. “She did say ye had no knowledge of the magics at all. It seems the old woman spoke the truth. The depth of your powers has been kept from ye.”

  Emma’s clenched fingers slowly relaxed, dropping the rock with a thud into the dust at her feet. Emma caught her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from blurting out the myriad thoughts racing through her mind. Swallowing hard, she resorted to the motion she’d consoled herself with all her life. The smooth, warm stone of the amulet soothed her. It nestled into her cupped palm with silent reassurance. Her lifelong talisman never failed to sort through any type of confusion strangle-holding her mind. She curled the lucky stone in her hand while studying the badly scarred man in front of her.

  His kilt was a plaid of the deepest green and it settled low about tight, narrow hips. Her gaze traveled up the laddered muscles of his abs to a widening expanse of well-made chest. Those massive biceps, pulsating with the dark swirling tattoos, rippled and tensed across his chest. Prominent veins running atop the well cut muscles throbbed as he waited for her to speak. Sleek, dark hair, almost a bluish black, brushed the tops of his wide shoulders. Tight braids twisted at the sides of his face, holding back the strands from his eyes. Emma’s heart lurched at the jagged, shining scar marring the perfection of his angular face. The torn silver line sliced through the plane of smooth weathered skin, marking an unmistakable path down the curve of his cheek. The stark reminder of a more painful time started at the outer corner of Torin’s cloudy right eye and ripped a tattered course to the base of his tanned throat. What sort of accident could’ve caused such an injury, robbed the man of half his sight and left such a scar?

  “It no longer pains me. If that’s what yer wondering.” Torin’s smile disappeared. His face tensed as both eyes narrowed into defensive slits.

  A flash of embarrassment flooded through her. What the hell was her problem? Emma cleared her throat and looked away. Rubbing her amulet with her thumb, she sent a wish into it for guidance. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just that I’m a physician and I’ve assisted with several reconstructive surgeries.” Emma grimaced. Could she possibly sound more cold or insensitive? “What I mean—”

  Torin’s face darkened into a thunderous scowl. The muscles of his jaw twitched. “I have no idea what reconstructive surgeries are. But I dinna find shame in the reminders of my service to my clan or the protection of this realm. I find only honor in the marks of my battles. I earned each one while defending this place against certain chaos and destruction. My scars prove I did my part in protecting the gateway. There are no’ many stone guardians who have lived long enough to make such a claim.”

  Emma wished the ground beneath the stone would open up and swallow her. She’d succeeded in putting both of her oversized feet ankle-deep into her mouth. “Look. I’m sorry. I don’t see anything wrong with the way you look. I only meant…oh, just forget it.” Clamping her mouth shut, she threw both hands up in the air and turned away from the glowering man. She’d never learn. If it popped into her mind, it more than likely flew out of her mouth. The best thing she could do was just shut up and go back to the cottage.

  Gingerly fingering the bump on the side of her head, Emma closed her eyes and pulled in a deep cleansing breath. Maybe this was all a terrible hallucination caused by the blow to her skull. Peeking through barely opened eyelids, frustration settled like an iron lump in her stomach. Nope. He was still there. A disgruntled sigh escaped her chest. She might as well get this over with and grab the proverbial bull by the horns.

  “Look.” Wincing as she palpated the most tender portion of the knot, Emma rubbed at the throbbing goose egg swelling above her ear. “I don’t know why you’re here, what brought you here, or where you came from. All I know is that I’ve whacked my head, it’s been one hellaciously long day, and I’m ready to go home and go to bed.”

  Torin’s ferocious scowl paled a bit as he glanced down the hill toward the car. “Aye, well. Ye called me forth. So, I’m ready to begin this journey. I’ve faced more fearsome demons than that beast that brought ye here.”

  Emma’s probing fingers stilled against her skull. “What do you mean you’re ready to begin this journey?” She hadn’t whacked her head that hard. He wasn’t coming home with her.

  Torin didn’t reply, just spun on the heel of the worn leather boot laced midway up his muscular calf and plodded down the path. When he reached the car, he circled the squatting red auto as though trying to figure how best to attack it. Scowling at the machine, he unsheathed his blade from the scabbard strapped beneath his arm. After passing the haft back and forth between his palms several times, Torin inhaled a deep breath and wedged the tip into the passenger door at the level of the latch. With a mighty twist and a determined frown, he leaned into the sword and shoved.

  “Hey, there’s an easier way to do that.” Emma pounded down the hard dirt path just as Torin bared his teeth in an irritated grimace and glared up from the door. Latching onto the silver handle, she yanked down and swung the door open. “See? You just pull the lever down and it opens right up. That’s all you’ve got to do.” What kind of car doors had this guy been using all his life? Was he acting out some sort of theatrical joke to match the part of his ancient attire?

  “Hmpf.” Torin bent and peered inside the vehicle. His face darkened with a look that said he feared the metal beast would suck him inside if he risked standing too close. “Pray tell me. What is this thing?”

  Emma peered closer at Torin’s face. Was he serious? He’d never seen a car? Where had this guy been? Surely, he was pulling her leg. Emma took a step nearer and studied Torin’s strained expression. Nothing but apprehension blazed from the icy depths of his steel-gray eye. Unease coiled a tighter knot in her chest. Something wasn’t right about this strange man. Perhaps he’d escaped from an institution. Maybe he was ment
ally off?

  Emma cleared her throat and shifted her gaze to the dreaded gearshift sprouting up from between the seats. “It’s called a car or an automobile but if I can’t get the blasted thing running so that I don’t have to call for a tow, I’m going to call it a few special names of my own choosing.”

  “Ye’ve damaged it?” Torin straightened from inspecting the interior of the car and returned his blade to its sheath.

  “I did not damage it,” Emma snapped. “The thing is a piece of crap.”

  “Piece of crap?” Torin wrinkled his nose and stepped back from the vehicle. With a hesitant sniff into the air, he glared with a perplexed expression of disbelief first at Emma and then at the metal monstrosity sitting in front of them.

  Irritation won out over the unease stirring her emotions and the man’s confused parroting of everything she said was getting extremely old. Emma slammed the door shut. This conversation was getting them both nowhere fast. “Look. I don’t know why or how you managed to appear out of the shadows. But don’t you think it’s time you went back to where ever it is you came from? You’re not coming home with me.” There. She’d said it. And she’d gone past the point of caring if she sounded rude or hurt his feelings. Her head hurt, she’d had a crappy day, and her body ached with the weariness of jetlag. She’d had all she could take.

  With nostrils flared, Torin tightened the leather strap belting the dagger to his side. “Tell me how to leave this place and I’ll gladly oblige ye. I didna ask to be awakened into this mess of confusion.”

  A chilling breeze strengthened into an angry swirl, pulling clots of dust into chaotic spires as roiling clouds blotted the sun from the sky. Thunder rumbled from the angry gray masses as lightning flickered from deep within. The nose-tingling scent of an impending deluge rode high on the racing wind. Emma glared up at the building storm, her conscience gnawing at the back of her mind. Great. She couldn’t very well leave him stranded in the middle of a storm, especially when he seemed so damn confused. Could he need professional help? If he’d wandered away from some sort of institution, wasn’t it her duty to get him back? “Get in the car. Surely, there’s someplace I can take you.”

  With a sweeping glance at the auto and then a nod toward Emma’s denim shorts, Torin shook his head. “I doubt verra much if anything I ever knew of the world remains in this time. What year is this?”

  “Two-thousand twelve.”

  “Damnaigh ye, Cailleach. Ye kept me sleeping well over a thousand years.” Torin bent his head, muttering the curse toward his feet while scrubbing his palms against the dark stubble sprouting along his jaw.

  “What did you just say?”

  “Never mind.” Torin shot an irritated glance up into the clouds and white-knuckled the worn knob topping the haft of his sword.

  Huge raindrops splattered into the dust, first a sparse plopping from the blackening clouds then a faster pelting cut through the dirt as the stewing billows overflowed. Emma darted around the vehicle to the driver’s side and yanked open the door. “Just get in the car.” She rapped her knuckles against the top of the car. Torin stood rooted to the spot with a deer-in-the-headlight expression. The drops of rain mutated into a steady shower, increasing in force by the minute. Lord have mercy, am I going to have to shove the man into the seat? “Get in the car, Torin! I can’t very well leave you out here to drown. We’ll figure something out once we get on the road.”

  Torin blinked slowly as though waking from a trance. His jaw muscles rippled as slightly parted lips revealed a set of clenched teeth. Torin touched the amulet on his chest and jerked his way into the passenger seat. He yanked the door shut and bent his head against the sagging roof. With a stifled grunt, he folded his long legs up into the small space until his knees nearly touched his chest. Staring straight ahead, Torin swallowed hard, then coughed as though gasping for the next breath. After swallowing at least twice more, his voice rasped out in a strained whisper. “The beast appears much larger from the outside.”

  Poor Torin. Emma didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The man was absolutely terrified about being inside the car. Reaching across him, she pointed down beside the door. “You can adjust the seat with that little lever near the floor. If you push it back and shove a bit, you’ll have more room for your legs.” Emma swallowed hard to keep from giggling. The poor man looked as though he was about to be sacrificed to the fearsome automobile gods. And to make matters worse, in his current position, he reminded Emma of a trussed turkey ready for the oven.

  Torin’s lips flattened into an irritated line and his eyes narrowed into a defensive glare. Unwinding one arm from around his knees, he fished along the side of the seat where Emma had pointed. With a sudden grinding crunch, the seat shot backward, sliding as far back as it would go. “Damnaigh!”

  Emma clamped her lips tightly together to keep from giggling aloud. She had a pretty good idea what Damnaigh meant and didn’t figure it was very nice. “There. Now you’ve got more leg room. Isn’t that better?”

  His answering glare rivaled the darkness of the thunderclouds releasing the deluge pounding against the car.

  Chapter Twelve

  Emma coaxed the car onto the thin patch of gravel scattered beside the cottage. The gusting wind lashed sheets of rain across the windshield. The storm laughed at the erratic swishing of the dilapidated wipers attempting to sweep away the torrential water. Glaring at the red maintenance light still flashing on the dashboard, Emma blew out a relieved sigh as she shut the engine down. Thank goodness, the infernal thing had finally started and at least made it all the way home. Risking a glance at her silent companion, Emma’s heart lurched at the pale terror registered on his face. “Are you all right?”

  “Have we arrived?” Torin spoke through a tight-lipped grimace as he cut a sideways glance in her direction without risking a turn of his head.

  A blast of wind hammered against the side of the car, rocking the vehicle with the force of the impact. Rain thundered atop the roof and sluiced down the windows. Emma raised her voice against the din. “Yes. This is my place and we can either sit here in the car for a bit to see if the storm lets up or we can make a dash for the door.” With a glance at Torin’s white-knuckled grip on the door handle, Emma waited for him to launch himself out of the auto. Torin’s tensed body language shouted his need to be free of the car.

  Yanking down on the latch, Torin threw open the door and bolted into the arms of the storm. Emma caught her breath as the devilish wind flipped up his kilt, revealing all of Torin’s hidden glory.

  “Wow. Wait ’til I tell Laynie.” Long ignored heat stirred beneath her belly, pouring a burst of liquid fire down the insides of both thighs. Emma gulped in a strangled breath and stretched to gather her bag and jacket from the back floorboard of the car. How long had it been since she’d been with a man? Emma nearly choked. She’d never been with a man built like Torin.

  As she dashed for the door, Emma groped through the conglomeration of items crammed in her purse. Where the hell are those keys?

  Torin stood with water streaming down the sides of his face, glaring up at the sky.

  Emma shook her head and pawed deeper into the abyss. “I’m sorry, Torin. I know my keys are in here somewhere. This bag is like a black hole in the universe. Everything disappears into this bottomless void as soon as I drop something in it.”

  Torin shifted his gaze from the dismal horizon to scowl closer at the bag. “The pouch doesna appear enchanted. I dinna sense any dangerous aura around it.”

  Emma stopped digging in the depths of the purse and glanced up at the drenched man. Torin’s worried expression just didn’t register. Was he serious? Her gaze traveled across his ramrod straight body. His fingers clenched and relaxed into flexing fists while he scowled furiously at the bag between them. He was serious. An uneasy feeling settled into her being, heavier than the pelting rain stinging against her flesh. “I was kidding, Torin. It’s just a purse and it’s hard to find little things in i
t because I cram so much stuff into it. It’s just a figure of speech.”

  “I see.” Torin stiffened, standing taller with a defiant lift to his chin. His worried scowl smoothed into a tight-lipped mask as he edged closer to the door.

  Great. She’d wounded his pride again. Emma caught her lower lip between her teeth as she unlocked the door. Apparently, she needed to choose her words with care until she figured out Torin’s story. She pushed the door open to a warm welcoming peat fire burning in the hearth and a delightful scent coming from the stove. Maybe this weird situation would improve once they were both dry and had their bellies filled with what smelled to be a wonderful supper. “Moira and Alfred must’ve stopped by.” Sniffing the air, the mouth-watering aroma of something savory pulled her deeper into the room. “It smells like they brought supper too.”

  “Are Moira and Alfred your servants?” Torin eased around the sofa like a wary animal expecting a predator to jump from the shadows.

  “What? No.” What a strange question. Servants? Emma watched Torin circle the room, his uneasiness tainting the air. “I don’t have servants. Moira and Alfred are my friends.” Tossing her keys on the counter, she draped her soaked jacket across the back of a chair.

  “Are ye certain your man willna mind my staying here in his croft?” Torin glanced around the room with an examining scowl. “This place is verra small.”

  Emma raised the lid of the steaming pot bubbling on the back of the stove. Closing her eyes as an expectant growl rumbled up from her stomach, she breathed in the inviting scent of the thick simmering stew. “I’m the only person staying in this croft. There’s no one else to worry about.” She slid the heavy lid back on the cast iron pot. Her man. For some odd reason, she didn’t much care for that term. Why did everyone think she needed a man? Did she look that helpless? Or old?