Ian smiled obligingly and paused for the man to take several shots. He spoke over his shoulder to his companions, a blond man and a small dark-haired woman. “Hey, this is the sword fighting guy,” he said, pointing to the blade at Ian’s side. “That was some fancy fighting y’all were doing. Missed the end, though. Did you win?”
“Aye, sir, I was fortunate. Sir Renaud is a very worthy opponent,” Ian said.
“Bet you didn’t learn how to do that around here. Where’re you from?” the man asked.
Ian beamed and gave them a short bow. “Ireland, sir, lately come to your beautiful shores.”
The second man said nothing, his lips pressed together into a firm line. Their gazes locked for the briefest moment and Ian was taken aback at the sudden blaze of hatred in the man’s eyes. Ian’s gaze darted to the woman in time to catch her staring back, but she looked away quickly. His sixth sense went into instant overdrive and the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Something is wrong here, he realized with a jolt.
The office door swung open and Dan stuck his head out. “Ian, can you come in for a minute?”
“I’m glad you enjoyed the show. Please excuse me,” Ian said, inclining his head politely. Scanning the woman again, he felt conflicting emotions of fear and anger rolling off her in waves. Forcing a smile, he turned away and followed Dan inside.
* * * *
The three park guests watched him disappear behind the closing door. “Ian. Foreign bastard,” Lucas said, spitting out the words as if they left a bitter taste in his mouth. They turned and walked quickly through the crowded street, heading for the parking lot. Once safely out of sight, their pace slowed. “I want everything you can get of the two of them together,” he said to the cameraman.
He snorted with disgust as Renaud strolled past with a giggling park visitor on each arm. “Wonder how much of that was real? Probably none of it.”
The woman glanced furtively over her shoulder, a gesture not lost on Lucas.
“Did you like watching him, honey?” he asked with deceptive calmness. “Did he make you all hot and wet?”
She waved the notion away with a nervous laugh. “No way, baby, not my type.”
“Good,” Lucas said, “because I’ve got something special I’ve been saving up just for you. C’mon, we’re out of here.”
* * * *
Once inside the office, Ian bolted to the window. “Those people I was talking to, Dan– something’s not right with them, least not with the woman, anyway.”
“Should we have security follow them?” Dan asked.
Ian searched the crowd again and shrugged. “They’re gone now. Maybe it was just my imagination.” Turning away from the window, he sprawled out on the leather couch, his long frame covering its length.
“What a great show. The crowd loved it. Although it would have been nice to have a bit of warning about the kiss,” Dan said, chuckling. “I’m rather surprised Lily agreed to that.” When there was no response to that observation, he turned to face the younger man lying there with a mischievous grin lighting his face. “You didn’t plan this with her? What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded. “What if she’d said no?”
The office was filled with Ian’s rolling laughter. “In front of all those cheering people?” he gasped, clutching his sides. “We went out to dinner last Thursday. I had a feeling she wouldn’t be too adverse to the idea.”
“Oh, she’s the one,” Dan said. “Should have put two and two together. Well, that’s what Meg is for. And speaking of my dearest wife…”
Meg stalked into the large room and stood in front of Ian, who was still giggling and more than a little pleased with himself over the evening’s events. She gave him a hard glare then aimed a vicious kick at his booted foot, smiling at the ensuing howl of pain.
“Christ Almighty, Meghan. What the feckin’ hell was that for?” Ian complained, rubbing his injury.
Meg shook a menacing finger. “Proud of yourself, are you? That poor girl could barely stand when you finished with her. And you,” she demanded, whirling on Dan, “you promise this rakehell I’ll cook dinner for him–Irish stew which takes all day to make properly, mind– without so much as a by your leave?”
Dan glanced at Ian, who looked as guilty as he felt, and lowered his head. Ian ducked his chin. “Sorry, Meg,” they mumbled in unison.
“That’s more like it, but I’m not after believing either of you. You’ll be bringing Lily, I expect?”
Ian sat up and scratched his head. “I hadn’t thought about it, I suppose I could ask…”
Meg dropped an affectionate kiss on top of Ian’s head. “Then it’s all settled. Let me know when. You, I’ll deal with later,” she purred to Dan, which brightened his spirits.
* * * *
Ian had trouble sleeping that night but for a confirmed insomniac, it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. This afternoon, watching Dan and Meg, who were a perfect match, he’d suddenly felt very alone for the first time in his life. Something had stirred inside him, something new and unfamiliar that now made him feel almost…restless, but the reason for his unease danced just at the edge of his consciousness. Holding his nose in deference to the pungent herb smell, he choked down a couple of valerian root capsules then lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the night’s events. With Lily’s purloined scarf pressed to his face, he closed his eyes and inhaled the intoxicating scent of her lavender, remembering the softness of her skin, her lips. More, he thought when sleep finally overtook him, her scarf still entwined in his fingers.
* * * *
He stood in an open field, hanging heavy wet sheets on a clothesline with hands red and chapped. The long farm dress hung shapeless on his slight frame, patched and worn but clean. He glanced down into the metal wash tub–the unfamiliar face peering back was female and young, but aged beyond her years. Faded blond hair was pulled back into a tight bun, the tiny escaped wisps framing his own green eyes.
His scrutiny was broken by shouting in the distance. Two young boys looking to be no more than six or eight came running and clutched at his skirts. “Ma– soldiers!”
Following their wildly pointing fingers, he squinted into the distance. Wearing the drab gray uniform of the Confederacy, three men limped into the field, their bandages bloody and feet dragging with bone deep exhaustion. One man lifted his hand in an unsure wave. The subsequent blood rush was a dizzying combination of love, happiness and relief. “It’s your daddy come home,” he cried, lifting his skirt to run to him. They met midfield in a frantic embrace, but when the returning soldier bent his head to kiss his wife the only thing Ian saw were Lily’s beautiful blue gray eyes smiling back at him.
…do you remember me…
* * * *
Lily had her own restless troubles, tossing and turning, unable to get Ian and the amazing kiss out of her mind. “That’s it,” she said, rousting the grumpy cat out of a sound sleep. “I’m just not tired. I need…” Another kiss like that one, please. She shook her head to dispel the image. “Maybe a snack to help me sleep.” Padding barefoot to the kitchen, she grabbed a bagel and flopped down on the couch for some video valium. She absently ran through the channels, stopping on the local news headlines.
“…a body was recovered from the Alafia River early this morning,” the announcer intoned. “The unidentified victim is a young woman…”
What a terrible way to die, thought Lily. How many is that now, three, four? Surfing a little longer and finding nothing of interest, she