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arrived here?

    She recalled a shadowy dream that had entwined itself like a velvet ribbon around the onslaught of pain. There‟d been a voice, a deep male voice with a lilting accent she‟d found soothing. Strong arms that had held her tenderly. She‟d thought it naught but wishful imaginings.
    No human could touch her without dying.

    But someone, or something, had brought her to this dark place. Most likely not one of the Heavenly Host, not when she‟d been banished from them. They’re not the only angels . Her skin prickled with a terrible thought. What if she was considered a fallen angel now? What if one of Lucifer‟s servants had collected her?

    Terror struck her so hard, she forgot the pain. She looked frantically about the dark room.
    Looming shadows of unknown objects surrounded her. A sudden creaking noise made her jump and strain her ears. There was someone nearby. Just outside the room. Footfalls moving back and forth, occasionally striking a board that creaked. Heavy footfalls, most likely a male.

    Who was he? Was he guarding her so she couldn‟t escape? She dragged the sheet up to her chin as if she could hide from whoever was outside.

    Her gaze wandered about the room. She gasped when she spotted a pair of glassy eyes staring down at her. Unblinking. Inhuman. Her gaze inched higher, and her heart lurched. The horns of the Beast!

    She screamed.

    The door flung open, and a man burst into the room, flipped on the lights, and slammed the door shut. She froze in shock at the fierce look on his face and the gleaming dagger in his hand. Was she to be murdered for the pleasure of the Beast?

    She turned back to the glassy inhuman eyes, and a grateful squeak escaped her mouth. It was naught but the head of a deer mounted on the wall. There were several hunter trophies: a moose head over the fireplace and a tusked boar on another wall, close to a rocking chair and bookcase. She sent up a quick prayer on their behalf and winced when it was met with silence.

    Still, she could feel some relief that the poor beasts were no threat to her. Unlike the man with the dagger. With the sheet still clutched tightly under her chin, she glanced in his direction.

    He scanned the room quickly, then focused on her. “Are ye all right?”

    She nodded although she felt far from all right. She was hurting, frightened, confused, and strangely unnerved by this man‟s presence. He was regarding her with an odd look. Cautious and alert. Curious, perhaps, though the intensity of his gaze hinted at something stronger, something she couldn‟t place.

    He had the look of a warrior, but not a God Warrior. There was nothing angelic about him. Whether from heaven or hell, both angels and demons tended to assume a flawless human form with spotless, rich apparel.

    This man had to be human. A Scotsman, perhaps, since he was wearing a plaid kilt. His shirt was torn and stained, his kilt old and faded. Dirt and mud coated his knee socks and shoes.
    He was large with a raw and rugged edginess to him as if he‟d just done battle. Earthy. His long hair was a tangled mess, blown by the wind, a beautiful fiery red. His eyes, they still watched her, the grayish-blue irises reminding her of the sky just before a storm unleashed its raging winds. Earth, fire, and wind—three elements fused together in one gloriously fierce creation.

    Her gaze shifted to his dagger. Did he mean to harm her or protect her?

    “Och.” He reversed the dagger with a fluid movement. “I dinna mean to frighten you. I thought ye were in danger.”

    His voice . It was his voice she‟d heard while slipping in and out of consciousness. The lilting accent reminded her of the music she was accustomed to hearing in her mind.

    She watched closely as he leaned over to slide the dagger into a sheath beneath a knee sock. Apparently, he‟d rushed into the room, ready to do battle in her defense. God might not have answered her prayer, but He‟d provided her with a