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He promised himself he wouldn’t touch her again until she asked for it. Begging would be ideal, but he wasn’t a fool. He didn’t think Emma begged for anything.

And though he tried not to, he couldn’t help but hold her hand. It was a simple pleasure, one he refused to deny himself. She didn’t pull away, nor did she seem averse to it, so he continued to hold it, embracing the little bolt of electricity each time they made contact.

Never before had a lass so undone him with a look, or a laugh, or—the saints preserve him—a happy sigh.

“So where are we going? And are we taking the Mercedes?”

He chuckled. Her love of that automobile had been obvious from the moment she slid into it. “Aye, we can take that beast. I’d like to show you my home.”

“You mean the place you’re renovating?”

He nodded, clearing their dishes from the table.

“Reilly told me it has a thatched roof, like this one.”

“That it does.”

“And that it’s bigger than this house, although I think this is charming.” She looked around her and smiled. “Though she be but little, she is fierce.”

He laughed. “You’re sounding more Irish every day.”

She flushed. “Shakespeare was English.”

“’Tis a bloody shame, but it explains why he never caught on,” Aidan replied with a straight face.

She snorted. “Oh, yeah. He barely made an impression.”

Aidan glanced out the window, and his gaze locked on the lone figure with a sword resting against his shoulder and his boots strapped with knives, loping across the garden.

A movement further out caught his eye, and he squinted at the second person in the distance, who melted back into the trees almost as suddenly as he had appeared.

“Change in plans,” he murmured. Louder, he said to Emma, “Would you mind checking the car for my jacket while I finish up in here?”

“Sure.” She headed out the front door, swiping the keys off the table in the living room. The moment the door clicked shut behind her, Aidan stepped out the back door and gave Reilly the signal that all wasn’t yet clear for him to return .

Aidan scanned the tree line once more, but he saw nothing. He headed back inside as Reilly made himself scarce, and rubbed his jaw.

Reilly was back. But who the hell had followed him home?

Aidan distracted Emma by insisting she shower before they left. Bemused, she finally agreed, though she clearly knew something was up.

As soon as she disappeared up the stairs, Aidan rushed to the living room and pulled his sword out from under the sofa.

He checked his person - all four dirks strapped to his body in easily-accessible places.

He twisted the lock in the front door, then quickly checked each of the downstairs window locks.

He skidded back into the kitchen, where Reilly sat at the table, his expression troubled. “No one followed me back from the past. I’m certain of it.”

“And I’m certain I saw someone behind you,” Aidan retorted. He drew his hand down his face. “We’ve kept a very low profile. There’s no way MacDermott could have tracked us down.”

“Did you drain his accounts? Leave him without means to get over here?” Reilly demanded.

Aidan shrugged. “The man had nothing to drain. He owes too much money to too many people for there to be anything left. He doesn’t have the resources to find us.”

Reilly glanced at the sword clutched in Aidan’s hand. “Yet somehow, I believe he has.”

“Only a suspicion, one I don’t want to share with Emma if I don’t have to yet. If it turns out to be merely a wanderer, I care not to alarm her.”

Reilly sat back in his chair and sighed. “What’s been done to stop him? ”

Aidan shot another glance out the window. “Colin pressed charges and got him a 30 day jail sentence for aggravated assault, though how he did it, I don’t know. We left MacDermott out cold on the sidewalk.”

“Colin’s a clever lad. I’m sure he made a compelling case against the vermin, if he landed in jail for a month.”

“Aye, but he got out and we traced him back to New York City. I haven’t had any reports of his whereabouts for the last week,” Aidan replied tersely.

“Perhaps we now know why,” Reilly mused, his eyes searching the trees. He turned back to Aidan. “What’s the plan now?”

“I would appreciate your aid for tonight,” Aidan replied slowly. “I don’t want to scare her.”

Reilly nodded once. “Aye. She’s safe with us.”

“Thank you. I’ll sleep outside her door tonight, and in the morning, we’ll leave for my home. Cian will watch if we’re followed and alert me. I’ll need you to take to the forest in the morning for another look.”

Aidan pushed back from the table, his belly pleasantly full. Flagging the server, he ordered another glass of wine for Emma and whiskeys for him and Reilly.

“Are you trying to liquor me up?” Emma asked, placing her napkin on the table next to her dish.

Which, he noted smugly, was nearly licked clean.

He had a lot of pride in this restaurant.

It had been his first foray into the unknown world of food and food service; Colin and Colin’s brother, James, had pushed him to take a risk with it.

At the time, he needed to do something more than land ownership (which in modern times had a completely different meaning than it did in his own).

After he sold most of his belongings for coin (people paid a lot of money for things he used in everyday life), he figured the next step was to become a landowner.

He thought he’d be managing a clan, or at the very least allowing people to live a comfortable life under his lairdship when he purchased a large parcel of land on the coastline of the North Atlantic.

He didn’t realize that, in modern-day Ireland, a landowner was not a laird. It merely meant unpopulated acreage and an overpriced tax bill.

James understood Aidan’s need to do something important.

Growing up, Aidan’s own brother had regularly placed him in charge of obtaining food for their clan.

Aidan would ride out, see what he could do to rope a beast or steal cattle, and help feed his people.

James thought it might be a good idea for him to invest in a failing restaurant, as it would save jobs, giving employees financial stability.

It would also feed others, giving them nourishment.

James was right. It was perfect for him. He managed people well, and was careful with coin. In a strange way, his upbringing gave him what Colin called “people skills” to make this modern business work, and work well.

The restaurant they currently sat in was the original Colcannon.

It too was decorated in medieval Irish style, but the decor was not as upscale as his New York location.

It had a cozier feel; tables and chairs were mismatched, a fire roared in the much smaller hearth, and the bar stools weren’t rooted to the floor.

People stood, sat, and milled about, comfortably interacting with each other.

“The food here is delicious,” Emma said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Aye. Liam knows his way about a kitchen,” Aidan agreed, referring to his head chef.

“He certainly does,” Emma agreed. “Welcome back, Reilly. Thanks for letting me crash at your house.”

“I’m happy it was of use to you. I hear you’re headed to Aidan’s home tomorrow? ”

“Yes! I can’t wait to see it.”

“Sorry I derailed those plans today. But his house—you’ll enjoy it, to be sure. He secured himself a prime bit of land on the coast. It’s his ancestral holding.”

“A real estate deal gone well,” Aidan corrected.

“Whatever you want to call it,” Reilly said mildly, “his family’s owned that spot for hundreds of years.”

“Family history is fascinating,” Emma responded, her eyes shining. “I traced mine back to England in the 1600s, but that’s as far as I went with it.”

“There must be some Irish in your blood,” Reilly mused.

She raised an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

He shrugged. “No reason.”

Aidan drained what was left in his glass. “Ry, no politics. Especially old news politics. Not today.”

“Fair enough,” Reilly agreed easily. “It’s not really politics, though. Merely a bit of discussion.”

“Here we go,” Aidan muttered.

Emma laughed. “While you two start squabbling again, I’m going to head to the ladies’ room.”

After pointing her in the general direction, Aidan watched her until she was out of sight.

Reilly let out a low whistle. “Try not to be quite so obvious in your affections, MacWilliam. I’ve heard it turns the lassies off.”

Aidan raised an eyebrow. “You would know best about turning lassies off, O’Malley.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I suggest you leave it alone.”

Reilly ignored him. “She’s seen your suave side, your business side. She thinks she’s seen the worst you have to offer. But she hasn’t seen your true side. The uncivilized side. Am I right?”

“Enough,” Aidan growled. There was no way in hell she would ever need to know about his uncivilized side. She’d think him daft at best, deranged at worst .

A medieval man, living in the twenty-first century? Oh, aye. She’d laugh herself all the way to the airport.

“It’s a hard tale to believe,” Reilly continued, ignoring him.

Aidan counted to ten, concentrating on his breathing. Sitting in the same room as Reilly O’Malley and not blowing up every time the man opened his mouth was one of his proudest accomplishments. It had taken him almost five years to master the urge to throttle him.

“I honestly thought,” Aidan managed to bite out, “that you and I had come to some sort of peace agreement. Pity. I hate being wrong.”

“Takes a man to admit it,” Reilly offered. “That will serve you well once you marry.”

“I don’t plan to marry,” Aidan grumbled. “Laird’s younger brother. No need.”

“Need. A strong term,” Reilly mused. “If you’ve found your mate, then why fight destiny?”

“Why, indeed?” Switching subjects, he asked, “Care to tell me about your latest escapade into the past?”

Reilly’s face shuttered. “Believe me when I say you’d best not ask.”