had tears streaming down her face now. Damn him, but his stomach wrenched, and his chest ached. He could take a sword to the arm or a punch to the face, but he had no idea how to deal with her tears.
Louisa patted Agatha’s back, trying to calm her, and spoke in soothing tones.
Ciaran decided right then and there that he liked Louisa. He gave her what he hoped was a thankful look, though he wasn’t sure he managed.
“I…. Och!” Agatha hiccupped. “God Almighty, but this is my fault,” Agatha wailed, almost hysterical now.
Red gave him a sympathetic look that only another male faced with female tears could understand, then stepped forward and grabbed Agatha’s hands. “Hush now. We’ll fix this. I promise, but you have to calm down. Can you do that?”
Miraculously, Agatha stopped and nodded.
Ciaran was astonished. His aunt was not an easy woman to stop once she got going, and it really didn’t matter what the emotion. She was… well… emotional.
Red looked at Louisa. “Louie, go with Agatha and stall this Maggie person. We’ll get the boar out of here.”
Thank ye. God help Ciaran, he owed Red. “Aye, we’ll fix this, but ye have tae keep Maggie away.” He touched his aunt’s cheek and met her gaze to make certain this was sinking in.
She nodded and gave him a wavering smile, then leaned forward and kissed him, and then Red, on the cheek. She grabbed their hands and placed them together. “Guid, guid. Ye lads handle this, and we’ll stop Maggie.” Then she grabbed Louisa’s hand and turned to leave. When she got to Hamish, she grabbed his arm. “Come along, Hamish, ye can help us.”
As the three of them disappeared around the corner of the castle wall, it got very quiet, except for the boar grunting.
Ciaran stared down at Red’s hand in his, then looked up into bright green eyes appearing as stunned as he felt.
“Hunh. She knows you don’t like it when she cries, doesn’t she?” Red asked.
“Aye.” Something told him they’d just been played.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Little old ladies just might pose a bigger threat than ruggedly handsome men.”
—Timothy on geriatric deviousness.
Bannon stared down at the warm hand still holding his, and a tingle raced through him. That connection he’d thought he’d felt yesterday was no illusion. It was back full-force—and so was his memory. He jerked his hand away and headed toward the gate. “Why didn’t you tell me you retrieved a com-pad from the crash site?”
There was a rough sigh from behind him that sounded more like exasperation than anger. “I was going tae tell ye about the slate.” Ciaran sounded earnest, and some of Bannon’s anger evaporated.
He turned back around.
Ciaran stood exactly where Bannon had left him, staring down at the hand Bannon had just held. As if sensing Bannon’s attention, Ciaran looked up and met his gaze. “I wanted tae see if it would tell me what ye are hiding.” There was no apology in his firm, matter-of-fact words, but there was no malice in them either.
“Did it?”
“Nae, it told me tae give it a voice command or type in the password.” The corner of Ciaran’s lip lifted.
Bannon grinned, and just like that, they came to some silent understanding. Neither of them completely trusted the other, but they liked and respected each other. It wasn’t much, but Bannon decided he could work with that. If he was going to find a way home, he was going to need all the help he could get. “Unfortunately I suspect it will tell me the same thing, and I don’t know the password either.”
“Then it is useless tae both of us?”
“More than likely, but at least my enemies don’t have access to it.” He’d destroy it the first chance he got.
Ciaran came forward, stopping only a foot away, and Bannon could not seem to draw his gaze from the wide, muscular chest coming toward him or the purposeful stride. A man should look silly with his knees showing, but someone forgot to inform Ciaran, because he looked anything but silly. He tipped Bannon’s chin up with his index finger. “Mayhap before ye leave, ye will tell me about this enemy of yers.”
Zooks, but his throat was dry all of a sudden. Bannon swallowed the lump in his throat and stared into dark, sensual eyes. “Perhaps.”
Forget Lieutenant Taylor; maybe he will pose nude for me?
Bannon started to nod at Timothy’s suggestion, but quickly caught himself and stepped out of reach.