Rogue on the Rollaway. Shannon MacLeod

time, it had worn away to almost nothing.

      Faolan grinned. “Of course they’re real. There should be enough there to buy aught which ye require.”

      She stared at the gold silently for a long moment then raised a worried gaze to him. “I need for you to tell me who you are, where you came from, and what I’m supposed to do with you now that you’re here,” she said, her voice quavering. “And I need for you to do it now–no bullshit. That bag was empty, sport.”

      He blew out a gusty sigh. “My name is Faolan MacIntyre,” he began. “I was born in the year 1216…”

      Colleen slammed her hands down on the table. “I said no bullshit.”

      “And I’m giving ye none,” he snapped, slamming his own large hands down. “’Tis truth. Now do ye want the whole of it, or will ye continue to interrupt?”

      She jumped at the sharp noise and nodded once. “I’ll be quiet,” she assured him in a tiny voice. He swallowed hard and she responded immediately by jumping up and fetching him a glass of ice water from the refrigerator.

      He drained the glass in one swallow. Taking the glass from him, she refilled it then settled back into her chair. “Thank ye,” he said, his tone cordial again. “As I was sayin’, I was born the youngest of six in a small village a day and a half ride south of Inverness. I was sent to foster with my father’s clan near Edinburgh when I was old enough to learn to fight.”

      Colleen leaned forward and rested her chin on her hands. “How old was that?” she asked, getting caught up in his story.

      “Hard to remember, mayhap six, seven. My brother Sawney was already there.” Faolan said. “My mother–Beatrix was her name–insisted we be taught our letters as well. I learned…other skills…later on.” He paused to take another long drink of water and gave a low chuckle. “I had a normal boyhood, I reckon. Lifting cattle, warring with neighboring clans. In time, I was placed in charge of our clan’s garrison, training the men and leading them when the need arose.”

      Colleen pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Beatrix is a pretty name, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard Sawney before.”

      “It’s a nickname, ye might say. Short for Alexander.” He paused for another drink before continuing. “I married when I was but a lad of seventeen. Our union had been arranged, of course, but she was a pretty enough lass. We got on well together for being all but strangers when we wed and over time we grew to love each other. Had three bairns by the time I was twenty four, with another on the way.”

      He fell silent and a shadow passed over his face. “In the early autumn I lost my wife and unborn daughter in childbirth, two of my sons the following winter to fever. My oldest lad Walter had already been sent to foster. I was devastated, my whole family gone in the space of a few months. I left my home and for years sold my sword to any willing to pay my price. On the eve of my birthday, I found myself alone in a tavern in Eire. I saw the most beautiful woman…I was drunk, ye see, and she made certain to catch my eye.”

      His eyes were unfocused as they stared across the centuries. “She lured me to a field, and we…passed the night together. After that, she followed me from village to village until I grew angry and told her I had no use for a wife.” He sighed again. “’Twas then I found out she was no woman at all, but one of the sidhe, the Tuatha De Danann. Hell hath no fury like a scorned fae,” he laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “She placed an enchantment upon me.”

      Colleen sat up. “Fairies? You were enchanted…by fairies?” She shook her head in disbelief and laughed. “Are you on medication for this?” When she saw the raw hurt from her ill-timed laughter flicker in his eyes, she was immediately ashamed of herself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” she mumbled. “Please…go on.”

      “Her name was Aobhnait,” Faolan said, his mouth twisting into a bitter smile. “She told me if I couldna find love with her, I’d find it with no one. What ye carry around yer neck, Princess, is nothing less than a piece of my immortal soul. In the attempt to bind me to her, she stole it from me while I slept and imprisoned it within that stone. Without it, I canna die. I’ve lived for hundreds of years, and watched everyone I ever cared about grow old and die. I canna even remember the faces of my wife and children.” His face contorted in anger. “She took everything from me to force me to return to her, and I refused. So now I am bound to the necklace, and therefore to ye, Princess.” He lifted his glass in toast. “It’s been missing for more years than I can recall. Truly, I thought never to see it again. How did yer grandmother come to have it in her possession?”

      “I have no idea,” Colleen confessed. “She passed away six months ago, and asked that it be sent to me.” She watched her own hand in amazement as it reached out and gripped his larger one all by itself. “How can the curse be broken?”

      His lips pressed together in a firm line, his face grew shuttered. Abruptly he pulled his hand away, pushed back from the table and stood. “The hour is late and I grow weary. Where may I take my rest?”

      “Uh…yes,” Colleen said, rising in response. Waving for him to follow her, she led him across the living room and into the guest bedroom. “In here,” she called. Tugging the louver closet doors open, she dragged out the folded rollaway she used for company–or would have, if she had ever had company. Her hands flew as she made up the makeshift bed with floral cotton sheets and a down comforter. “It’s not fancy, but it will give you some privacy until we can figure out what to do with you,” she said, more to herself than to him.

      Faolan stood in the doorway behind her and glanced around, his gaze landing on the narrow cot. He sighed. “And here’s me thinkin’ I’d be sharing that grand, inviting bed with ye.”

      She whirled to face him, and he treated her to a devilish wink and grin.

      “Out of the question,” she replied tartly. “I’m sure my husband wouldn’t appreciate that.”

      Faolan tsked at her. “There’s no man living here with ye, Princess,” he said, his voice gently reproving. When she opened her mouth to protest, he gestured to the front door. “There are five locks on yer door and ye carry a club. Had ye a man, ye’d have no need of such protection. A woman as beautiful as ye alone. The men of yer time must be clot heided fools.” He pressed his hand down on the rollaway to test the softness. “This will do me just fine, Colleen O’Brien.”

      She shivered at the way her name rolled off his tongue. Offering him a shy smile she said, “There are more blankets in the closet if you get cold.”

      Faolan bowed graciously. “Thank ye, milady, and I bid ye a good night.”

      “And just help yourself if you get thirsty; there are glasses in the cabinet right next to the fridge, and there’s water and ice in the door dispenser. Do you remember how it works?”

      “Aye. Yer very kind, thank ye.”

      Nervously twisting a strand of hair, Colleen knew inane babbling was imminent but to her complete mortification was powerless to stop it. She pointed to the wall switch and said, “You turn the lights on and off here and if you can’t sleep and want something to read there are books in the living room…” her voice broke off. “Wait. Can you read?”

      His chin took a slight tilt upward. “Aye,” Faolan replied, his voice cool, “in English, Gaelic, Latin, or French. My Welsh is a bit rusty, and I doona remember any of the Greek I was taught except for words not fit for a lady’s ears. I can also count all the way up to…” He looked down and wiggled his large bare toes, “…twenty.”

      Colleen was mortified at speaking her thoughts aloud. From his tone, she suspected that he may have been a teensy bit offended by the unkind assumption. Her heart sank again at her unintentional rudeness. “I’m…sorry. I didn’t mean…”

      The twinkle in his eyes told her he was teasing. “Doona fash yerself; ’twas a fair enough question. I’ll be fine, Princess,”