Stone Guardian (11 page)

Emma’s eyes widened. “I…um…see.” Two patches of red flamed across Emma’s cheeks as she pushed her tousled curls away from her face. “Thank you, Torin. I think we were both probably just very tired and frustrated earlier. But I do appreciate your apology.”

Ye have no idea just how frustrated.
Torin’s nostrils flared as he forced in a deep breath while his glance wandered one last time across her body. Forcing his gaze back to her face, Torin backed toward the door. “I’ll leave ye to your sleep now. Rest well, little Emma.”

Emma stared at the door as it slowly closed and the latch clicked into place. No one had ever called her
little Emma.
Straightening her legs beneath the cloying sheets, she pushed the bedclothes away from her body. The room suddenly seemed overly warm. How long had Torin been in the room, watching over her while she slept? She rubbed her arms, remembering the strength of his embrace and the cloak of warmth and safety she’d felt while cradled against his chest. Plucking the exploded case files off the bed, Emma forced the memory from her mind. It didn’t matter how good he’d felt. Tomorrow, he’d be gone.

Chapter Fourteen

Emma stared at the coffeemaker. She drummed her fingers atop the cracked tiling of the countertop, willing the black liquid dripping at an irritatingly slow drizzle to flow into the pot a little faster. Massaging the corners of her burning eyes, she leaned against the counter. It had been a long night and sleep had been elusive. Thoughts of Torin lying in the next room had tensed her into a frustrated ball of pent-up emotions. By the time morning finally dawned, her emotional energy had reduced to a weary flicker.

Prying open her puffy eyes, she glanced into the sitting area of the croft. Where was he anyway? The worn leather couch sat empty and cold in front of the hearth. Unused blankets lay folded across the pile of pillows stacked against one sagging armrest.

Emma stole a cup of coffee before the pot finished brewing with a sweeping balancing act she’d perfected in med school. She grinned as she pulled back a filled cup of coffee without spilling a drop. She still had the gift.

As she sucked in a sip of the rich dark brew, Emma closed her eyes as the burning liquid swirled inside her mouth.
Ahh…that hit the spot.
It was times like these she understood the elusive bliss a drug addict sought when fighting for the burn of that long awaited fix. Another gallon or two of this stuff and she just might make it through the day.

Her eyes flew open as the creaking hinges of the heavy oak door groaned in protest at being disturbed. Torin stomped into the croft, shaking water from the plaid he’d draped above his head. “The gale wind still blows. The rain shows no sign of stopping.”

Emma cupped her hands tighter around the scalding hot mug, hoping the heated ceramic baking her palms would take her mind off the glistening expanse of Torin’s damp chest. Her thoughts whirled, addled by a sudden flash of heat below her waist that begged for immediate attention. “D-Do you want a cup of coffee while you dry out by the fire? You look soaked to the skin.” She swallowed hard and spun to face the still gurgling coffeepot. She’d never come across a man built like Torin. Her palms itched to touch that shimmering wet torso and smooth the moisture away.

Water spattered against the wood flooring as Torin shook it from his body. Stealing another glance over one shoulder, Emma caught her breath at the sight of the damp kilt clinging to the corded muscles of his thighs.
Lord have mercy. Please don’t let him bend over any farther. No. Change that request. Please
let
him bend over just a little farther.
Emma caught her lower lip between her teeth as Torin draped his plaid across the low-slung drying rack standing beside the fire.

“Coffee? What is coffee?” Torin turned from the hearth, slaking the remaining water off the bulging planes of his muscled arms.

Emma peered closer at the confusion registered on Torin’s face. He wasn’t joking about the coffee either. From the curious expression on his face, the man really didn’t know what it was. Pulling another cup off the hook by the sink, Emma filled it half full. Should she add sugar or give it to him black? Sometimes coffee could be an acquired taste.
Nah.
She wouldn’t dilute the flavor. Either he’d like it or he wouldn’t. “Here you go. Be careful. It’s very hot.”

Torin watched Emma over the rim of the white ceramic mug as he slurped in a hesitant sip of the steaming black liquid.

Emma hadn’t seen such a disgusted look on someone’s face since Laynie gagged on the meal of fried beef liver and onions Emma had attempted to prepare.

Torin most definitely did
not
like coffee. His mouth pulled down into a repulsed sneer as he spit the liquid back in the cup. Wrinkling his nose as though he smelled a detestable odor, Torin shoved the mug back toward her. “It tastes as foul as dank bog water. Why would ye drink such wretched swill?” Torin swiped his mouth with the back of his hand, scowling at the cup as though it held poison.

“Well, for one thing, the caffeine gives me a jump start when I’m kind of draggy from lack of sleep.” Emma rescued the cup from his outstretched hand while she took another appreciative sip of her own robust-flavored brew. “I take it they didn’t serve coffee wherever you’re from?”

“No.” Torin shook his head and licked his lips. “They knew better than to bring such swill into the hall. Mead, ale, or something stronger was ever at the ready when the weather was particularly bitter. If any in the keep happened to be unwell, old Graena brewed up a vile-tasting herbal tea. But even one of the old woman’s tisanes couldna rival the taste of that poison.” Torin swiped his hand across his mouth again, still eyeing the cup as though it held something evil. “Douse that mess and give me back the cup. I’ll manifest a drink of my own.”

Manifest? What the heck did he mean by that? Emma glanced down into the steaming cup then raised her gaze to Torin’s. Had she truly brought an insane man into her house? She splashed the contents into the sink then cradled the cup against her chest. “What exactly do you mean by ‘manifest’?”

Holding out his hand, Torin nodded toward the cup. Dark brows knotted over his intense stare while he flicked his fingers in a summoning motion. “Hand me the cup, little Emma, and I’ll show ye what I mean.”

Emma slid the cup onto the counter between them. If he wanted the cup, he could come and get it.

“Fine.” Torin rolled his eyes and exhaled an irritated huff. “I can fill the cup from here just as well.” Fixing the cup with a focused stare, Torin nodded once in the direction of the mug and his blind eye narrowed for a brief moment.

Emma gasped as steaming red liquid rose to the rim of the white ceramic mug. Her skin tingled as the eeriness of the unknown suddenly filled the room with a cloying, threatening presence. She rubbed against the gooseflesh puckering across her arms. How had he done that?

Leaning over the cup, Emma gingerly sniffed at the steam swirling above the ruby colored contents. The spicy sweetness of cinnamon and cloves blended with the tang of fermented apple. More spices, some she couldn’t quite place, tickled across her senses. Pulling in a deeper breath, Emma picked up the faintest nuance of the ripest grapes. “How did you do that?” Emma raised her head and locked eyes with Torin’s watchful gaze.

“I am a stone guardian. I am one with the planes of all energy. I can do many things.”

Emma’s voice died in her throat. Her tongue felt dry as a cotton ball as she clamped her lips together. “I don’t believe in magic,” she finally choked out. “I only believe what I can see and touch.” She swallowed against the uneasiness pounding through her chest. Her heart battered a panicked rhythm against her ribs. Falling back against the solidity of the counter, she went slack-jawed as Torin lifted the mug to his lips and drained it of its contents.

As the empty cup clattered against the marble of the counter, Torin riveted his gaze toward the amulet resting on Emma’s chest. “If ye troubled yourself to learn to connect with the energies, magic would answer your commands as well.”

No. It couldn’t be true. There was no such thing as magic. Only science existed—made everything she knew
explainable.
“I am not like you—whatever it is you said you are.” Emma clenched the stone of her necklace tighter in her hand until the engraved edges of the disc bit into her flesh. Something had to be done about Torin. Things had just gotten more
unexplainable
than she was prepared to handle. “I think you need help, Torin, but I don’t know how to give it. It would be best if you found a place to go while I’m at the clinic today. You can’t stay here anymore.”

Tensing against the solid edge of the countertop, Emma fought against the pain and loneliness flashing across Torin’s face. This entire situation had escalated beyond strange. As far as she was concerned, the skin-tingling weirdness of the morning rescinded any obligatory hospitality Emma might owe the strange man. She wanted him gone and wanted the rest of her stay on the Isle of Lewis to settle into the frustrating simplicity of twenty-four hours ago.

“Where am I to go, little Emma?
Cailleach na Mointeach
ended my stasis and brought us together. Hear me when I tell ye, she willna be denied.” Torin folded his arms across his chest, the dark tattooed muscles of his forearms rippled as he clenched his hands against his arms.

Emma knew she’d regret asking but she just had to know. “Who is this
Cailleach na Mointeach
? What do you mean she brought us together?”

“
Cailleach na Mointeach
. The old woman of the moor. Mistress of the Stones and half-sister to the goddess Brid.” Torin’s face darkened as he spoke. He flinched against what must’ve been unpleasant memories. “She is the one who awakened me from my cursed sleep and joined our paths at the stones.”

What he said didn’t make sense. But then, nothing about Torin made any sense. Emma pushed herself away from the counter.
Dammit!
Torin needed help. Badly. Emma pushed the memory of the strangely filling cup to the back of her mind and focused her attention on Torin’s troubled face. Aside from the scars, he seemed so…healthy. What a shame his mind was gone. “Maybe you should come to the clinic with me and let Dr. Mackenzie check you out.” That had to be it.

Maybe MacKenzie could arrange a trip to the mainland for a CAT scan or MRI. Torin had to be suffering from some weird psychosis. Could be some sort of syndrome linked to the terrible scars he wore. Uneasiness stirred the coffee in her stomach into a nauseating slosh. A psychosis wouldn’t explain the magic coffee cup that refilled on his command. She just wouldn’t worry about that part right now.

“Why do ye fight what ye’ve seen with your own eyes? Why do ye no’ accept what your senses tell ye?” Torin took a step closer, his hands flexing open and closed with a jerking, irritated rhythm.

“Because nothing you say ever makes any sense. Nothing about you could possibly be true.” Why wouldn’t he listen to her? Emma gave up on the mug of coffee clenched between her hands. With an irritated jerk, she threw the now tepid liquid into the sink. If Torin wouldn’t get the help he needed, there wasn’t anything more she could do. He had to go. She had important work to do and she hadn’t traveled all this way just to get waylaid by a muscle-bound mystery in a kilt.

“Look. I’ve got to get to the clinic. By the time I get home this evening, I’d like for you to be gone. I let you stay here last night because of the storm but that’s it. There’s got to be some sort of shelter around here where you can stay until you get your bearings or figure out wherever it is you belong.” Emma inhaled a shaking breath. “If you won’t agree to getting some help, then I can’t allow you to stay here any longer.”

Torin’s lips curled into a frustrated sneer. “The only help I can use, Emma, must be given by you.” His expression shut down as though a protective shield shuttered into place. “But I willna stay where I am no’ welcome. But ye must know this: our fates are intertwined. Ye canna be free of my existence so easily. Nor can I be free of you.” With a dismissive jerk of his head in her direction, Torin yanked his still dripping plaid off the rack beside the hearth and headed back out into the storm.

Chapter Fifteen

The rain pelted against the tight weave of the plaid bunched about his shoulders. The water beaded and rolled in tiny rivulets down the water-resistant wool. The damp cold of the endless gusts of wind seeped into his bones and stung against his skin.
Damn the woman and twice damn the infuriating
Cailleach
for shoving that frustrating female into my life.
Maybe now, the spirit woman would agree to return him to the memory-free peace of the shadows. His conscience nudged him as Emma’s tear-streaked face blotted all other thoughts from his mind. She’d been so helpless when she’d thrashed with terror against the evils of her dreams. A brewing darkness troubled the little stone guardian and it was plain she had no idea whatsoever in how to fight it.

Aye—well, she’d ousted
him
easily enough. Torin snorted as muddy water splashed over his soaked boots as he slogged through the flooded path. Squinting through the gray sheets of water sleeting down from black, sagging clouds, Torin spotted an outcropping of rain-slicked boulders wedged into the hillside.
At last. A bit of shelter.
Out of the cold, body-numbing rain, he could gather his bearings and plan his next move.

Stomping into the cave created by the massive stones, Torin shook the water from his body. With a snap of his plaid, water flew from the heavy weave and splattered across the damp sandy ground of the cave floor.

And now for a fire.
Torin glanced around the perimeter of the small grotto. Bits of driftwood wedged around the base of the rear wall. Gray fingers of broken branches poked from between outcroppings of jagged stone scattered the length of the cave. The relentless tide had deposited all manner of debris throughout the dank interior. He pried the smooth, bleached branches from the grip of the rocks and stacked them near the entrance. ’Twould have been so much easier to manifest the wood but the tenet regarding abuse of the energies nagged at the back of his mind. Torin stared at the cold lifeless pile of debris.
Well. Perhaps a bit of magic wouldn’t hurt.
He waved his hand over the miniature pyre, stepping closer to the yellow flames as they greeted him with welcomed heat.