He just shook his head. “Sleep first. If I told you now, you would probably forget half of it by the time you woke up anyway. I will explain everything when you wake up.”
“As you like,” Beth said easily. Normally she would have pressed him for details so that she could mentally prepare herself ahead of time. But she was tired enough to think Mortimer was right and she might do better to wait. Heading for the door, she said, “I’ll go sack out on the couch, then.”
“No need. Sam prepared a room for you too,” Mortimer said, ushering her out of the kitchen and into the hall. “The last room on the right upstairs.”
“Thank you,” Beth murmured as they reached the stairs. He left her there and continued down the hall to his office, no doubt so that he could complete paperwork on the rogues they’d brought in. She didn’t wait to see if that was where he went, but moved quickly up the stairs on light feet.
The room on the right at the end of the hall was painted the palest yellow with pale blue accents. Beth glanced around, noting the nightgown laid out on the bed and the new jeans and T-shirt lying over a chair by the window. There was even a pair of brand-new panties with the tags still in place on top, though no bra. Not that it mattered. Beth wore a bra only for propriety’s sake. She hadn’t really needed one since the turn. Her breasts now defied gravity.
The thought made her smile as she checked the tags on the jeans and top. Oh yeah, Mortimer’s life mate, Sam, was thorough. She had the right size and everything. Setting them back on the chair, Beth walked into the bathroom and found a new toothbrush and toothpaste still in the boxes. There were also soap, shampoo, cream rinse, deodorant and even her brand of perfume as well as a few cosmetics.
Beth washed her face, brushed her teeth and then stripped on her way back to the bed, letting the clothes fall as she removed them so that there was a trail of clothing from the bathroom door. By the time she reached the bed she was wearing nothing more than her own pretty lavender panties. She didn’t bother with the nightgown, though. Beth was a restless sleeper, tossing and turning and kicking about. Nightgowns tended to wind up tangled around her waist or even higher, constricting her movement so that she woke up panting and afraid.
The panties were good enough, she thought, and crawled under the covers, only to lie staring at the ceiling and thinking about the often-annoying man down the hall and why he’d appeared in her life again. Scotty was one of those confident, competent, take-charge, manly-type men she always found so damned attractive. And yes, she was attracted to him, but it did her little good. Scotty was kind of a combination of both Lucian and Mortimer in that he sat on the Council in the UK and ruled the hunters there. Although really, that was what Lucian did here. Mortimer was supposed to be in charge of the hunters, but when Lucian was around he gave the orders.
Scotty was also a laird. He’d been born in 1172, the son of the laird of the MacDonald clan. Beth didn’t know much about his life as a mortal, but Dree had once said he’d inherited the title at eighteen and ruled for more than ten years, giving it up only when his being turned prevented his aging and made his remaining with his people risky.
While Scotty might have given up the title, he still had the mindset of a laird, and she was a commoner. Beneath his notice or attention. He’d made that obvious every time they’d met since that first time one hundred twenty-five years ago, usually treating her with cold indifference and looking down his nose at her with a pained grimace as if her very presence offended him. At least, that’s what he’d done every time before this, which made her wonder what he was up to now and why he was bothering to be nice to her. Or maybe she was making too much of the few friendly words that had passed between them at the rogue’s house. That made her frown and wish she could talk to Dree about it. Unfortunately, her friend was down in Venezuela with most of the North American Rogue Hunters, searching for missing immortals and the mad scientist who’d kidnapped them. Beth was on her own this time.
Ah well, she told herself, turning onto her side. She’d fly out in a few hours and leave the confusion of Laird Cullen MacDonald, aka Scotty, far behind. Hopefully the job would keep her out of Toronto for most if not all of the rest of Scotty’s vacation. And she could go back to just fantasizing about him, rather than having to deal with him in the flesh. A gal could hope.
“Hello, Cullen. I hope you slept well.”
Scotty glanced toward the stove at that greeting as he entered the kitchen and smiled crookedly when he saw Mortimer’s wife, Sam, frying strips of bacon. He wasn’t used to people using his true first name. He’d been called Scotty for as long as he’d been involved with the Rogue Hunters. His first partner had insisted on calling him that because of his Scottish accent and it had stuck. Now it seemed more natural to him than the name his father had given him at birth. But Sam had been addressing him as Cullen since Mortimer had introduced him as Laird Cullen MacDonald, despite his adding that his nickname was Scotty.
“Aye, verra well, thank ye, Samantha,” he murmured.
“Well, good,” she said, sounding relieved. “I’d feel bad if neither of you were able to get any sleep today.”
“Beth did no’ sleep well?” he asked mildly, and wasn’t surprised when Sam shook her head. He’d already suspected from his lack of dreams that the woman hadn’t slept at all.
“Not a wink, apparently. She said her mind was just too wound up after the hunt and she would have done better to go for a run or something before going to bed,” Sam told him. “But that’s okay. She can sleep on the plane.”
“Where is she?” Scotty asked, trying not to sound too interested.
“She decided to drive home and pack some clothes for the trip. I told her that she could buy things in BC and the Council would pay for it, but she said she’d be more comfortable with her own things.” Sam’s gaze shifted to the clock on the stove, and she frowned as she saw the time. “I would’ve expected her to be back by now, though. Beth knows what time the plane is supposed to be here, and Mortimer still needs to explain the job to her.”
Scotty glanced at the clock now too, and found himself also frowning. From all he’d learned about her over the decades, Beth was the kind of woman who showed up early for everything, rather than risk being even a minute late for anything.
“Maybe I should call and make sure everything is okay,” Sam said worriedly. She didn’t wait for Scotty to comment, but set down the fork she’d been using to turn the bacon and pulled a cell phone from her pocket. She punched in numbers, placed the phone to her ear and waited . . . and waited . . . and then her eyebrows drew together and she pushed the button to end the call. Setting it down, Sam murmured, “She didn’t answer. She must be driving back, maybe.”