During none of Lucan’s attempted probings had Cian ever felt anything touch his mind. Trevayne hadn’t been able to get even that far inside his skull.
But just now he’d felt a distinct push against his mind. A distinct presence, though he hesitated to say a single presence, for what had pushed at him possessed such complexity of character, such ancientness—older even than he—that he was unable to call it . . . well . . . exactly human. Or if it was, ’twas unlike any human he’d ever encountered.
Focusing his mind, he pushed back in the general direction from which it had come, trying to isolate it.
The man at the counter suddenly whipped around, gaze seeking restlessly, scanning the store.
Unusual golden eyes met Cian’s and locked over racks of clothing and aisles of camping equipment. They were old eyes, aware eyes, eyes full of fierce intelligence.
They were the eyes of more than a mere Druid.
Cian shoved past the glassy-eyed salesman and stalked toward him, pushing racks of clothing out of his way. “Who the hell are you?”
“Who the hell are you?” the man flung back coolly. Softly. Arrogantly. The man moved toward him as swiftly and surely as Cian stalked the man; there wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in him.
They met in an aisle, stopped half a dozen paces apart, and began circling each other, sizing each other up, like two dark, wild beasts, preparing to battle over territory and mating rights.
Cian felt a rapid battery of hammer blows against the mental walls he’d erected. He permitted them, analyzing them, assessing his foe’s strength.
Then he lashed back savagely. Just once.
It should have nigh split the prick’s head.
If his opponent felt anything, he betrayed naught. Who was this man? “Where is my woman?” Cian snarled.
“I haven’t seen your woman.”
“If you’ve so much as touched a hair—”
“I have my own woman. Yours couldn’t hold a candle to her.”
“You have a death wish, Highlander.”
“Nay.” The man laughed. “Laid that to rest some time ago. On an icy ledge outside a Manhattan penthouse.”
The man spoke nonsense. “Leave now and I won’t kill you.”
“Can’t. I’m picking up hiking boots for my wife. She wants them today and ’tis her good graces that signify.” His tone was lightly mocking, his smile a hundred-proof testosterone, spiked with dark irreverence.
Just the kind of smile Cian usually wore.
Och, aye, the man had a death wish.
There was no telling what Cian might have done next had a hand not closed over his forearm at that moment. He glanced down, his muscles instantly sliding smoother beneath his skin. Jessica was gazing up at him, lovely as ever, and unharmed.
“Woman, where have you been? I instructed you not to move from that counter.”
“I stood there for half an hour,” she replied crossly. “I went to the bathroom. I’m starving. Can we eat soon? I need coffee. And I want a shower. I took a little towel bath in the ladies’ room, but I’m starting to feel like the wild animal that woman at the airport accused me of being. Cian, why is that man staring at you like that? Do you know him?”
“ ‘Cian’?” the man demanded. “Your name is ‘Cian’?”
“Aye. What of it?”
The man stared at him a long moment. Then he laughed, a darkly amused sound, and shook his head as if he’d been pondering an absurdity. “Nay. ’Tis not possible,” he murmured.
“What?” Cian snapped.
“Nothing. ’Tis nothing.”
“What’s with all these ’tis’s? I didn’t think Scottish people still talked like that,” Jessica said, sounding puzzled, as she stood looking from one to the other. Suddenly, she sucked in a breath and cocked her head, staring back and forth again.
“You have my name. Give me yours,” Cian said sharply.
“Dageus.”
Cian looked down at Jessica. “Did this ‘Dageus’ say aught untoward to you, lass?”
She shook herself, as if jarred from thought. “How could he? This is the first I’ve seen of him. Do you know—”
“He was standing at the counter where I left you. You were gone when next I looked for you, and he was there.”
She shrugged. “He must have gotten there after I’d already left. Cian, do you know that the two of you—”
Cian turned his attention back to Dageus. “You may go. But doona cross paths with me again, Highlander. ’Twill result in bloodshed. I doona care for you.”
“I doona care for you, either,” the man replied coolly. “But I’m not going anywhere until you release that salesman from your spell.” He nodded past Cian, where the salesman waited. Where he would wait dazedly until Cian was through with him.