The Immortal Highlander

“Let me—”

“Leave it. I’m fine. I rinsed it out in the lake. It’s not deep. Come, Irish. Hand. In mine. Now.”

When she just stood there, frowning worriedly up at him, he said, “I have no intention of expiring before I’m made immortal again. Rest assured, if I say it’s of no consequence, it isn’t.” He paused a moment, then added softly, “And you needn’t fear, Gabrielle. I destroyed them.”

“The Hunters?” she said blankly. “No you didn’t.”

“The pages that name the Sidhe-seers. You shouldn’t make things so easy for my race. They can be without mercy, dangerous.”

“Unlike you, that oh-so-nice-guy-Adam-Black?” The caustic comment slipped from her tongue before she could stop it.

He shot her a look of impatient rebuke. “Try to see past your preconceptions, Irish, would you? Try seeing me.”

Okay, now that messed with her head. Made her feel like she was being judgmental and petty. She wasn’t judgmental, she was merely going by the facts, and the facts were—

Well, the facts were . . . er, that she wasn’t entirely certain what the facts were at the moment.

Damn it! Why couldn’t things just be black and white? Human good, fairy bad. Simple! That was what she’d been raised to believe.

Had he really destroyed those pages betraying all the Sidhe-seers? Why? Why would he even expend the effort?

For that matter, why had he so gently retrieved the flopping tadpole from the ground and returned it? There was no doubt that he had; he’d been freshly drenched again. He could have just lied (after all, lying was supposed to be his second nature) and told her there was no time. She would have believed him; she had no idea what Hunters were capable of.

And he had told her to walk away the minute she’d spotted the lone fairy. Had he truly meant to send her away for her own protection, at his own risk?

What kind of fairy did such things?

A legendary seducer and deceiver?

Or . . . halfway decent fairy? Was there such a thing?

At a complete loss, she slipped her hand into his.

His big hand swallowed hers, making her feel dainty and feminine. She tipped her head back, looking up at his chiseled face. His eyes were dark, his jaw set. And he looked so very . . . human.

As they began to sift, she was ambushed by the realization that, though she knew she wasn’t safe from him, she felt strangely safe with him.

They didn’t stop again until well after nightfall. Actually, she mused muzzily, it felt nearer to dawn. She’d lost track of the passage of time during their discombobulating passage through place.

He sifted them onto a passenger train just outside of Louisville, Kentucky, explaining that they now needed to travel by human means for a while, to ensure the Fae couldn’t track them. Assuring her that the Hunters would be tangled up for quite some time in the net of magic-residue he’d left behind.

She was once again so tired she could barely function. When he guided her through the cars until they found a nearly empty one, then took a seat by the window and pulled her in next to him, she sank limply down. Since Adam Black’s advent into her life, her sleep schedule had become the biggest joke. Judging by the faint streaks of orange and pink on the horizon beyond the glass, it appeared she’d again been up nearly twenty-four hours straight—and again they’d been some of the most traumatic hours she’d ever endured.

Unable to find a single solid point of reference to latch on to in the recent epidemic of otherworldly events, she decided to deal with it all later and yielded to exhaustion, slumping down in the seat, chin nodding toward her chest.

And when he pulled her across the seats, stretched out his long muscular legs and drew her into his arms, she only gave a weary little sigh and curled up against him. Her jeans were still damp, she had no blanket, and could use the body heat.

Still, that was no excuse to press her cheek to his chest and inhale deeply of his spicy masculine scent. She did it anyway.

“You aren’t falling for me, are you, Irish?” he purred, sounding amused.

“Hardly,” she muttered.

“Good. I’d hate to think you were falling for me.”

So would she. Oh, God, so would she.

12

Adam shifted position carefully, trying to take the pressure off his shoulder without disturbing Gabrielle.

She was sleeping in his arms. Had been for hours, easy as could be. Her face, in repose, was sweet, youthful, innocent, and utterly beautiful to him. He traced a finger down her cheek, studying the subtle, soft planes, wondering at what made beauty. In thousands of years he’d still not figured it out. Whatever it was, she had it in spades. She was warm and earthy and vibrant, unlike the coolly flawless females of his race. She was fiery autumn and spring thunder, while Tuatha Dé women were a silvery winter that went on and on. She was just the kind of lass a Highlander might take to wife; laugh with and argue with and make love to for the rest of his life.