Bearing It All (15 page)

“I've put you in a bad situation, haven't I? You wouldn't believe this, but I'm used to taking care of myself. I've gone through hellacious training to achieve my military rank and security clearance. Please believe me when I say, I'm having a hard time leaning on strangers to protect me. I don't like feeling weak or useless.”

“I ken yer emotions. I've also read yer résumé and was bloody well impressed with all the training ye've had.”

She was grateful for his sentiments and his attitude of respect, but she had to hear the words. “Detective Matheson, do you believe I'm a traitor or a terrorist?”

He leaned toward her and took her hand. “Nay, Major Anisa Brosseau, I dinna. I am a mite confused as to why ye chose to fly that drone to Scotland and not Germany or England to turn in yer copied documents there.” His gaze steadied on hers.

“I didn't know if England's MI6 or Germany's BND would believe me.” She scratched an itch on her chin and neck. “I wasn't sure if anyone in Scotland would believe me, either, but I've always been fascinated by the Highlands and studied the area. Odd for a woman raised in Paris, isn't it? I suppose you'd think I was foolish if I also admitted something about the area called to me. If I have to hide for the rest of my life, it might as well be in a region I've always wanted to see.”

He smiled and nodded. “There's no place like our Highlands. But here's the thing. Ye must apply for political asylum here in Scotland, in Glasgow, right away. That will give ye a layer of protection from yer government. I ken ye canna travel right now, but I ken a few people who work there. I've already made inquiries.” He waved his open hand. “Discreet inquiries. Dinna worry. I've enough experience on how to get me point across without divulging too much.”

He opened his briefcase and removed papers and a pen. “I had an old buddy from university, who works in that office, email me a formal application for sanctuary. I need ye to fill it out. I'll have to take a photo of ye to accompany it. Time is of the essence here, Anisa. Some blanks I've filled out already.”

Her gaze shifted from the forms to his face. “But I'm labeled as a criminal, a terrorist.”

“Labeled. Not convicted. Now fill in the blanks where I've made a little check.”

She took the pen he held toward her and as she answered the questions on the forms, she glanced at Kendric. “You know they'll still come after me.”

“Aye, but ye'll have the Scottish and UK governments behind ye. That's verra important, which is why I want to get these filed today. Creighton's holding a meeting of the clan at the lodge. I'll use his scanner and computer to send all this back to the office in Glasgow, which will make ye an official political asylum seeker right away.”

Once she handed him the completed forms, he took a few pictures of her. He glanced at his watch. “I better get me arse in gear if I'm going to get this off to Glasgow and the UK home office before Creigh's meeting. Rest. Ye've done well, lass. I'm keeping two guards outside yer door at all times. Ye ken how slow governments move. It'll be a month at the minimum before all this is official, but yer name will be in the system and that's what we want.”

“Okay. I'm very grateful for all your help. Ronan speaks very highly of you. He told me you were his closest friend, as well as his cousin.”

Kendric gave a shy smile that could charm any woman. “Did he, now? Well, I feel the same about him. You're one of us now, or will be after Creigh's meeting. And we protect what's ours.” He grabbed his case and left.

Anisa wished filing for asylum gave her a feeling of security, but it didn't. By now, she'd be listed on Interpol. Not the best reference for acceptance into another country. Besides, she was military—French military. There was no doubt in her mind they'd come for her and drag her back to French soil for a court-martial. Would she be thrown out of the military and left free to go wherever she wanted? Or jailed? Or worse?

At least by filing for asylum through the proper channels, it would absolve anyone here from getting into legal trouble for helping her. She'd been treated so well by everyone. She needed the reassurance of knowing they'd all be safe.

It was nearing suppertime when a commotion began outside her door. A man—Ronan, if she didn't know better—was cursing his way past her guards. She hadn't expected him to heal enough to regain his strength and shift so soon after surgery, much less make it up to her floor.

“Neilan, ye feckin' bastard, let me in to see me woman. I need to ken if she's all right. Ye'd be the same way with yer wife, ye ken ye would. I need to see her with me own eyes. Dinna make me blacken yers before I get to see hers.”

There was some comical, friendly verbal sparring between Ronan, Neilan, and the other guards before her door flew open and there he stood—or leaned—in the doorway. His wounds were the same as Magnus's, but the half of his long honey-colored hair that remained looked like a flock of geese had nested in it. His dark eyes zeroed in on Anisa as if he were starving for the sight of her.

“Beauty,” he panted. One arm held his stomach where he'd had surgery. The index finger of the other hand, bloodied where he'd torn out the IV stent, rose enough to point. “Frenchy, move…move the bloody hell over!” She could recognize what his coming here had cost him, both physically and emotionally. Spots of blood seeped through his hospital gown. His complexion was pasty white.

Holding her arms out to him, she scooted away from the side where the nurse had left the railing down. Ronan stumbled into her room and leaned against the bed where she'd made room. “Are ye in pain, luv?” She shook her head and he very gingerly crawled in, wrapped her in his arms, and sighed. His warm lips pressed a gentle kiss to the uninjured part of her forehead. Then they opened against the sensitive spot below her ear, and stayed there for quite a while. He was marking her, branding her as his—as if he hadn't already.

“You're bleeding through your bandage. You may have ripped something open.”

He rubbed his whiskered cheek against hers. “Like I give a fook. I had to set me eyes upon me woman. I couldna stand being away from ye another minute. Me heart doesna beat right without ye.”

“Did you come all the way up here with your ass hanging out of the back of your gown?” She smacked one of his buns of flesh and hardened muscle. The man wore no robe and hadn't made any effort to hold the back flaps together.

“Bloody hell, I bet not a soul noticed.” He smacked her bottom in reprisal. “I was finally strong enough to shift and I wanted to see ye.
Needed
to touch ye, luv. Needed to taste ye.” He kissed her as if he were a madman who would die if he didn't devour her lips. Being in his arms again was a precious gift, a confirmation of life.

“I'd have crawled on me hands and knees to get here. I had to ken for meself that ye were okay. Ye mentioned head wounds and a bullet in yer shoulder. Damn that bear for not switching when I ordered him to.”

Anisa cupped his cheek. “His refusing to shift kept you alive. The men in the helicopters would have killed you right away. A bear, like an elk or deer, would have been ignored for a while.” She chuckled. “If only he hadn't been waving that broadaxe, but thank God he was because he saved me. You saved me.” She kissed his cheeks, chin, and neck before grazing her lips upward to cover his again. “I think his stubbornness kept us alive and, in the end, isn't that all that matters? That we have a chance at a future together?”

He grunted as if, God forbid, a man should admit that a woman spoke the truth. His hand slowly skimmed down her spine to cover her butt. “Whose arse is this?”

“Yours.”
Mr. Possessive Scot.

“Aye and 'tis me job to protect it. To safeguard all of ye.”

She cupped his whiskered cheek. “Are you and Magnus one being? Or two?”

“Two different halves of a whole.”

“Then his saving me was the same as you doing it. Didn't you tell him to cut that pilot down with the broadaxe?” Another male grunt. “I bet you even told him what part of the man's body to hit.” She bit his earlobe and his hand firmed its hold on her bottom.

“Aye, I did. I had to keep yelling at him to keep him on track. He wanted to use his claws on the fokin' bastard.” Ronan snorted. “Nay one brings a claw to a gunfight. I knew Brother Bear's natural instincts would be next to useless against the gun the pilot held.”

They rubbed their bare feet together under the blankets. “Then it was a good thing Magnus had you to give him orders. You were able to see the big picture, Ronan, and direct your other half's behavior. I'm glad you were in charge, even if it was from the background. A good general leads his troops from the control room, not the front line.” She trailed her fingers over his pecs. “Seems to me that's what you were doing.”

He pulled her closer. “Ye're good fer me, Frenchy.” He yawned and his eyes drooped. “These powerful drugs are'na. 'Tis hard to stay awake.”

“I know exactly what you mean. Mine mess with my mind. Every so often I thought I was hallucinating about a woman with pink hair, wearing pink pelican slippers. It wasn't until Creighton told me they were baffies and a little about her, I realized I wasn't as doped-up as I thought.”

“Aye. Effie, the woman with the pink hair is real and sweet as can be on one hand and a tad scheming on the other. She's the one who gave me the rubbers.” He yawned again and snuggled in the crook of her neck. “We're both going to have to go bald for a while.”

She pulled back and stared at his long, messy hair on half of his head. “I beg your pardon?”

“We both had large segments of our hair shaved. If we let someone shave the rest off, it'll grow in more even.”

“When? In six months? Eight?” She shook her head. “No, I don't think so. Bald men are sexy. Bald women aren't.”

He chuckled low, deep, and sensual. “Ye let me be the judge of that, me Beauty.” He covered her lips with his and delved in with his tongue. She sighed in his arms as he stroked and tasted and sucked on her mouth.

Dear God, even injured, he's like a live wire of sensual electricity.

The door to the room opened, and Davina marched in with a wheelchair. “I figured this is where I'd find ye. I turned me back fer thirty minutes and ye snuck up here. We've got two auld ladies having a case of the vapors in emergency, after staring at yer bare arse and yer go-ta-hell scowl.” She pointed to the empty chair and arched an eyebrow. “Now, put that arse in this chair.”

“Nay. I'm staying with me woman. Ye ken how it is between a man and his intended.”

“Dinna make me call yer mum. She nearly fainted when she came to see ya and found yer bed empty. She thought ye'd croaked overnight. She's right pissy, so she is.”

“Bloody hell.” He sounded like a petulant boy as he crawled out of the bed and slumped into the seat. “The leather's cold on me bum.”

“Dinna get cheeky with me, ye half-haired rascal.” Davina winked at Anisa. “When was the last time ye had yer temperature taken…rectally?” The last word was spoken loud enough to rattle the window.

Ronan's head whipped around, his eyes narrowed. “Nay one touches me arse but the beauty in the bed in this room.” His scowl deepened. “And fer bloody sure, nay one messes with hers.”

Davina gave a thumbs-up to Anisa before she exited with her patient, who kept a diatribe of warnings bouncing off the walls as his voice faded down the corridor toward the elevator.

Ronan's mother wore a pinched facial expression and narrowed eyes that indicated she was about to blow her Irish temper. As soon as she laid eyes on him, they filled with tears and her hands fisted on her hips in annoyance. “And just where have ye been, I'd like to ken? Rumors say ye and yer nekkid backside were all over this hospital.

“Now, let me get a good look at ye.” His mum straightened and her gaze took a slow trip over him, no doubt noting every scratch and bruise and bandage. “Davina, I'll help ye get him back in bed while ye tell me what all happened to him, exactly, and nay holding back.” She pointed to the bandage over his abdomen. “And why is he bleeding, I'd like to know?”

As both women helped him from the wheelchair onto his bed, Davina gave a nonstop accounting. “Well, Fiona, yer son had two bullet wounds. One to his lower stomach and another to his upper colon. There was a lot of repair work to be done. All I can say is thank God shifters heal faster than plain humans. Bullets nicked him several times in the head and ear. No penetration, just a lot of stitches to close the wounds.”

His mum dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled tissue and leaned closer to examine the bandage on the one side of his head. “They shaved yer beautiful hair.”

“Aye, and I want ye to shave the rest of it so I'm bald as a billiard ball. Me hair will grow back more evenly.” He smiled at her skeptical expression. “We can talk while ye cut the longest of it off and then shave me head.”

“But”—she turned to Davina—“do ye have what I'd need? Would it hurt him in any way?” She glanced back at Ronan, worry in her eyes. “He's been through so much already. What if I nick his scalp?”

He took her hand and kissed it. “Mum, we'll put a Band-Aid over it.”

Davina pointed to the blood seeping through the bandages on his abdomen into his gown. “I'll need to take a good look at his surgical wounds to see if he's ripped any stitches. I might need to call in Dr. Thane.” She leaned over Ronan, a stern look in her eyes. “Ye can be grateful I'm married to a member of the Matheson clan and ken how possessive ye are of yer women or I'd box yer ears.”

“I'd like to see ye try. I've just survived nearly a week with an arse-kicking female. Ye dinna scare me none.”

“Dinna discount a woman going through menopause. Ye'd be surprised what pain we can inflict and the devious ways we can think of to inflict it. Do ye ken we have horse enemas here?”

Ronan's eyes narrowed. “Ye'd have to catch me first.”

The nurse leaned over him. “Nay. I'd just throw a metal bedpan at the back of yer head and knock ye out.” She bustled out of the room.

Ronan laughed. “Davina's a good woman, so she is, threats and all.” He turned toward his mum. “How much did Creighton tell ye about what happened?”

Fiona sighed and shook her head. “More than I can believe. After what Kenzie and Bryce went through, I thought our troubles were over. Now it looks like we'll be battling the CIA and the French secret service. He had a meeting with the clan members and they all agreed we should protect Anisa because of how ye feel about her. Ye're well thought of, ye ken. Protection will be provided. Aye. Acceptance, too.”

He squeezed his mum's hand. “I'm eager fer ye to meet me intended and get to ken her.”

She nodded. “Intended, is it? Have things progressed that far this fast?”

“I ken the minute I saw her. I wasna happy about the attraction. It irritated the hell out of me in one way, yet seemed as natural as breathing in another. She's the strongest woman I've ever met, yet she has her vulnerabilities. I need her like I need air.”

A long sigh escaped her lips. “Ye are more like yer da than ye think.”

While his mum cut and shaved his hair, he told her all that had happened. How he and Anisa had met in Paris when he apprenticed there and how they'd struck up a friendship before the French army called her away. He told her it was Anisa's grandfather he'd worked with. He told her it all—well, except fer the defective condoms and their wild sex. Some things were best kept private, especially to his mum while she dragged a straight-edge razor over his scalp.

Davina unwrapped the bandage on the other side of his head, so his mum could make sure she had all his hair shaved off. The nurse and his mum worked together to make sure she had him completely bald. Davina opened a tube of ointment to apply to his head wounds and the spots where the steel restraining bands had caused Magnus's hide to bleed.

The door swung open and in strolled Thane, a smirk brightening his face. “I'd nay sooner hit the inside of the hospital when throngs of nurses cornered me. Bloody hell, fer a minute I thought I was going to get lucky with a mass fookin'.” He snapped on rubber gloves, removed the bandages from Ronan's abdomen, and studied the stitches. “But, nay, instead of wanting to talk about me fine-looking arse, they wanted to gossip about yers. Well, more than gossip. They downright bragged.”

He pulled over the table Davina had prepared with the items he'd need. “I'll have to repair a couple stitches. Do ye want something fer the pain?”

At this point, Ronan was so tired, pain didna matter to him. “Nay, I'll be fine. Do what needs done and be quick about it.”

Thane prepared to fix the incision. “Cousin, seems ye caused quite a stir on the third floor. Cell-phone pictures were taken that have gone viral.”

Ronan's mother slapped his arm. “Now see what ye've done by insisting on going upstairs to see Anisa?”

Thane dabbed gauze pads over Ronan's incision. “Aunt Fiona, I'm betting he'll increase yer reservations fer the next year. Every woman will want to come see that arse in person.” He shook his head and heaved a huge sigh. “They made me look at those pictures. I had to wash out me bloody eyes with bleach before I could face him.”

Ronan gritted his teeth as the sting and pull of the needle pierced his skin. Damned if he'd utter one feckin' word of complaint.

Thane leaned a hip against the side of the bed and flashed his devilish smile. “And why, pray tell, do the pictures show bite marks on both of yer arse cheeks?”