TWILIGHT'S KISS
by Marly Mathews ©

“Why are you being so stubborn? If you want to research Scotland, you could do that in another highland village, or lowland for that matter.”

“Let's just say that someone has told me this village needs me.”

He grunted. “Needs you I would say like a hole in the head.”

“How very civilized of you,” she muttered. Shivering again, she reached inside of her purse for her digital camera. Positioning it correctly, she was about to snap a picture of the man in front of her when he disappeared.

“Shit!” She muttered, tossing her camera back into her purse. She'd had him just where she wanted him, and he'd played the part of mouse to her cat. “I know you're still here,” she called out, hoping to bring him back into the open. Moving forward, she nearly slid in the sticky mud that was on the ground. Two sets of footprints were on the wood floor. One set was hers, and the other was his.

A cool breeze buffeted past her, causing her to shiver. “I know you are here. Stop hiding from me!” She thumped her foot against the floor, and then was rewarded when he emerged from the shadows.

“Why do you persist in torturing me?” His voice held a dangerous edge.

She shivered. “I've done nothing,” She murmured innocently, moving toward him. She could see a muscle twitching in his cleanly shaven cheek.

“You did everything when you came to this village. Must I ask you again to leave?”

“I've told you already that I won't leave.” Her voice held conviction, and she tilted her head as he let out a hollow sigh. “Even though almost every door in the village has turned me away, I will not be turned off. I flew across the Atlantic for this, and a pleading, sniveling man like you, isn't going to stop me.”

“What did you say?” He raged. He jumped over the short distance to her, and grabbed her by the shoulders. His eyes filled with a reckless abandon. His hood fell back, and she saw for the first time that he was young. Startled, her head whipped back.

“Let me go.” She stared bravely at him, waiting for something that even she couldn't explain. His grip softened, as something changed within him. It was almost as if another force had entered his body for a few seconds.

“Get out,” he growled.

“Get out, yourself,” she retorted hotly. “In case you haven't noticed this is a church. You don't own it.” He took his hands off of her, and wiped them on his cloak. “Since you seem to know so much, why did a woman scream when I knocked on the pub door?”

“She did what?” His voice was hoarse, and his breath was shallow. He clenched his hands tightly at his sides.

“She screamed. Howled like a banshee, actually.”

She was unprepared for his stoic visage to break into a smile. Smiling, he was actually handsome, but when he looked the other way, he almost seemed gruesome and threatening.

“That's Mary for you,” he murmured. “What do you expect? It's nearly midnight, or the witching hour, as it's thought of around here. The people here are quite a superstitious lot.”

“To the point of being loony,” she muttered, dropping her eyes to the floor. “So since you've already had your hands on me, are you going to tell me who you are?”

He stiffened. “The thought of having my hands all over you is not repulsive. But until then, you will not learn of my name. Not from me anyway.” He lifted his hands off of her shoulders, and dropped them to his side. It was then that she saw something slung across his shoulder. It was a backpack.

“What do you have that for?” Her question caught him off guard. He perused her intently, and then shrugged.

“None of your damn business.” He strode away from her toward the door.

“You are the most impossible man I've ever met.”

“And you are the most idiotic woman I've ever met.” With that, he left the church, and closed the door quietly behind him.