Woken By The Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance-Highlander Forever Book 7 by Preston Rebecca

Author:Preston, Rebecca
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-12-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 33

Galen joined her for breakfast the next morning. That was strange in and of itself – he was usually fast asleep around this time, being the kind of man who always volunteered for the latest and most dangerous patrols, so she'd gotten used to seeing him at lunch or dinner at the earliest. But here he was, looking surprisingly well-rested… or at least, a little less utterly exhausted than he had been the last few weeks.

"Good morning, Galen," she said, pleasantly surprised. "You look like you've actually had some sleep."

"I have, in fact." He smiled, tipping her an uncharacteristic wink that made her giggle. "Good eye."

"Best in the business," she said archly, shifting down on the pew to allow him to sit beside her. He had a bundle of cloth in his hands, and she gave it a curious look. He smiled at her, an odd, mischievous look on his face… then lifted the bundle and set it formally down on the table beside her. The cloth was wrapped around something long and vaguely cylindrical, and she blinked down at it then up at him, confused.

"What's this?"

"A gift," he said, still smiling.

She thought back to what Maeve had said in the kitchen and felt her heart do a strange little backflip in her chest. But what was it? It certainly didn't look like flowers, and if it was a scarf, it was made of rather rough material…

"Well? Open it."

"I'm taken aback, that's all," she said, raising an eyebrow. "You don't seem the gift-giving type."

"Well, that's where you're wrong," he said, clicking his tongue.

She pulled back the fabric that was wrapped around whatever the object was, and her eyes widened at what fell from the folds of the cloth. Two gifts, not just one – one was a blade maybe the length of her forearm, highly polished and sleekly beautiful. Beside it was a shorter knife about the size of her hand, less shiny – and she realized with a chill that it was made of iron.

"It's a dirk," he explained, tapping on the longer blade with one finger. "Every man of the Watch has one of these – they're excellent in close quarters."

"It's very shiny," she observed, taking the weapon by the handle and lifting it experimentally. It was surprisingly light, and it seemed to balance in her hand pleasantly.

"Aye, I gave it a good polish once the smith was done with it."

"And this –"

"A sock knife." She set down the dirk and lifted the smaller blade, which was cool to the touch and surprisingly heavy for its size.

"Is it called that because I'm meant to hide it in my socks?"

He chuckled. "No, but I suppose you could. It's cold iron," he added, giving her a meaningful look. "It'll keep you safe."

"From the Fae?" she asked, tilting her head. "Are you preparing for me to go charging off into the woods again?"

"I trust that you won't," he said firmly, reaching out unexpectedly to put his hand on hers.

She shivered

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