Simon nodded. “It runs nearly everything.”
“Hmm. The home is warm but no fire burns.”
“A heater. Probably run by gas. A different fuel source.”
Cian moved to a wall and rapped the end of a knuckle against it. “How does the wood get so smooth?”
“It’s not wood. I think it’s plaster. You’ll have to ask Helen or Mrs. Dawson. I was too young to care about how the walls were built when I lived in this time. There’s a lot to take in.” The aroma of coffee filtered in from the kitchen. “I’ll get us some coffee.”
“There are no servants?”
Simon laughed. “Actually, Mrs. Dawson has help, but they leave at night.”
Simon left Cian alone and rummaged through the kitchen to find cups. He poured two and brought one in for Cian. Cian sipped the brew and nodded approval.
“Before the women return, I have something to tell you.”
Simon glanced to the empty doorway. “What is it?”
“My knife is gone.”
“Did you drop it outside?”
“I secured it inside my pack. Now ’tis gone.”
Simon put his cup aside. “What does that mean?”
Cian’s gaze moved to the floor. “I do not know. ’Tis safe to say Helen will be the one to take us all home when the time comes. Risking the loss of more stones would be too great.”
Simon agreed, yet as he watched Cian move about the room, the loss of the knife didn’t seem to alter his behavior. It was almost as if Cian had expected the knife to disappear.
Chapter Twenty-One
Helen found Simon sitting in front of a warm fire in Mrs. Dawson’s library. Everyone was safely tucked in bed. Some were two to a bed, but the kids didn’t care. They buzzed with excitement and questions that Liz and Myra answered until they were too tired to speak.
“There you are,” Helen said as she walked into the room and closed the door behind her. She’d found a pair of jeans and T-shirt among the small stash of clothes in the room Mrs. Dawson said was hers. The dress may have made her feel the part of a lady, but to be out from under all those layers of material felt liberating.
Simon swirled a glass half filled with amber liquid and offered her a smile. He patted the space to the side of him on the sofa. Once seated, he wrapped a hand around her shoulders, tucked her into his side, and sighed. “I’ve missed you.”
She wanted to remind him that they’d seen each other more than not, but knew exactly what he meant. “There isn’t an army of men, or a clan of family telling us to stay apart now.”
“No, no there isn’t.” He kissed her temple before taking a sip of his drink.
“What’s in there?”
“Whisky, I think.”
Helen removed the glass from his hand and took a drink. “It’s smooth.”
“I thought ladies didn’t like the taste of whisky.”
She tucked her feet up on the sofa and rested her hand on his kilted thigh. “I grew up with whisky and beer, not wine and sherry.”
He smiled and said, “It’s nice to enjoy this and not worry about an attack.”
Helen blew out a breath. “I didn’t realize how stressed I was about the war until we arrived here and the threat was gone. I don’t know how you live like that every day.”
Simon stroked her shoulder as he spoke. Waves of pleasure tingled down her arm. “Before last year, everything was peaceful in Scotland. After Grainna that is. The MacCoinnich’s trained me for war, trained me to be a protector. I wasn’t sure I’d ever have to use those skills.”
The distant look in Simon’s eyes caused Helen to ask, “H-Have you ever killed a man?”
His eyes met hers. “Would it concern you if I had?”
“No, I guess not. Seems inevitable where you’re from.”
He moved his gaze back to the fire. “I’ve killed.”
Helen swallowed. “Does it haunt you?”
“I think about it, but I don’t dwell.”
Their lives were so different. How they managed to find common ground was a miracle in itself. Helen watched smoke lift above the fire and leaned onto Simon’s shoulder.
“I suppose we should find our beds. Tomorrow will bring new tasks to master.”
Helen sat forward and frowned. “Beds? I thought we’d…” She clamped her mouth shut. There was no need to tell him she assumed they’d share a bed now that they were back in her time. In fact, Cian now occupied the room Simon had taken when they’d stayed at Mrs. Dawson’s before.
“You thought what, lass?” His expression was stoic, but his right eye sparked a bit too brightly.
“Nothing,” she said as she stood. “I guess I’ll just have to find Mrs. Dawson’s cat to snuggle against if you want to sleep in separate rooms.”
“Are you asking me to join you?”
Oh, he was not going to get in so easily. “No, no. I’ll find the cat. Goodnight, Simon.”
Pivoting on her heel, she started for the door, ignoring Simon’s indrawn breath and the grunt he made after she’d taken a half a dozen steps. But when a deep, rumbling purr filled the room, Helen couldn’t control herself any longer and glanced over her shoulder.
In the middle of Simon’s kilt and discarded shirt, stood a two hundred pound black panther.
Helen’s heart raced to her throat. Even though she knew Simon and the animal were one and the same, a shiver of anxiety snaked down her neck. Reflected in the eyes of the predator was an untamed and unpredictable animal.
Simon lowered his panther head and let a low roar emit from his elongated jaw.
Helen couldn’t stop from backing away. “Simon? What are you doing?”
He shook his head and took another step toward her.
She backed up again, found the doorknob, and turned it. “I said I’d snuggle up to a house cat.”
His whole body shook with denial as he prowled closer.
Without thought, Helen turned and ran. She squealed with laughter as she found the stairs and fled.
Behind her, Simon gave chase.
She ran into her room, Simon close behind. Once inside, Simon nudged the door closed with his behind. His tail swished side to side. His cat eyes squared on her, and he licked his lips.
“Simon?” She stepped backward, her eyes never leaving his. “You’re not playing fair.”
He growled and Helen’s knees hit the bed. She scrambled up onto the mattress, her heart kicked strong in her chest.