Chapter Five
Brianna awoke with a raging headache and a bone-chilling cold. The last thing she remembered was falling and the frigid wind sucking the breath out of her lungs. She did a mental inspection. It didn’t feel like she had any broken bones. Mostly she was cold and sore.
Her eyes blinked open to a wintery sky overhead. Groaning, she rolled to her side and sat up. The moment she did, pain exploded through her. She winced, placing a hand to her head, and groaned.
“Good morrow, lass. ’Tis good to see ye awake.”
Her eyes flew open at the sound of the man’s voice.
He stood across from her, leaning against his horse with his arms folded over his chest and a tartan pulled up to cover his head and shoulders.
He wore brown breeches and scuffed black boots.
He was young and handsome and smiled at her as though he knew her and stood there waiting for her to wake up.
His chiseled face was rugged with hard angles. His eyes, a deep doe-brown, twinkled.
Her breath pooled in her chest as a sense of familiarity drifted through her. It was a strong sense of déjà vu, as though she had seen him before—not in passing, but in some distant, half-forgotten dream lingering out of reach, teasing the edges of her memory.
A quick glance at her surroundings and she realized she was no longer on the museum terrace. She was no longer in the city. She was surrounded by mountains and ridges with a beautiful untouched landscape.
“Oh, God.”
Her voice was raw and raspy. Her hand flew to her throat as she looked up at the man standing across from her, still smiling.
“Where am I?”
“Och, lass, I think the question ye should be asking is when are ye.” There was a sparkle of mirth deep in his eyes.
Panic shifted through her as her heart picked up speed. She didn’t like where this was going. Her mind was a frenzy of questions as her brows drew together. What did he mean by when instead of where?
“James Alexander MacLeod,” he said. “But ye can call me Jamie. And ye are?”
MacLeod. The familiar name flickered through her mind. Where had she heard it before?
“Brianna,” she managed.
“Sinclair, I’d wager.”
“How did you know that?” Her heart skipped a beat as panic swelled.
“I ken a lot more about ye than ye think.” He winked in a charming sort of way that made her want to swoon.
Confusion shoved aside the panic.
He pushed off the side of the horse and stepped over to her, holding a hand down to her. She hesitated, staring at his hand with suspicion. She had trusted John MacDonald and he’d tried to attack her and take the—
Frantic, she glanced around searching for the piece of stone Moira had told her not to let out of her sight. When she did, she noticed her hand was burned with the imprint of the stone’s lines.
“Looking for this?” Jamie held the silent stone out to her. It rested against his palm, the lines no longer glowing. The stone no longer humming.
She snatched it from him, closing it in her fist and holding it against her chest protectively. She glared at him.
“Ye dropped it,” he said. “Ye’ll be wanting to keep that safe, aye?”
“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice stronger, though it still felt raw. She placed the small piece of stone in the front pocket of her jeans.
“I told ye my name.” Again, he held his hand down to her. “Come with me, lass. I can take ye to someone who can answer all yer questions.”
Still, she was wary of her rescuer. “Why should I trust you?”
“’Tis a good question. But I can tell ye, on my honor, I willna hurt ye. I only want to help. I dinnae think ye wish to remain here, alone, in the wild, do ye?”
That was enough to spur her into action.
She reached for his hand, allowing him to help her to her feet.
His palm was calloused, as though he were a working man.
Yet his hand was warm as his fingers closed around hers.
When she stood, she fell forward, her legs weak as a dizziness swept through her.
He caught her, held her close in his strong arms. He smelled of leather and heather, which was quite the opposite of what she was used to in the men who had held her as close. They usually smelled of ocean breezes.
Their eyes met, his soft and wonderous as he held her. His body was rock hard, yet soft enough to make her want to sink against him. It was a dangerous thing to want.
“Careful, lass. Ye’ve had a bit of a shock, aye?”
The deep timbre of his voice rumbled through his chest against her. For a moment, she wanted to close her eyes and allow the feelings of need and want to overtake her. But she quickly shoved all that away. What was wrong with her?
A smile tipped the corner of his mouth. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her to the horse. She noticed he walked with a slight limp, favoring one of his legs.
“Can ye ride?”
“Yes,” she said.
It had been ages since she sat a horse—the last time she rode was with one of her rich boyfriends who stabled horses and liked to ride on the beach. She used to be quite the horsewoman, but she was a bit out of practice. At least then she was able to ride with confidence.
Jamie stepped into the stirrup and settled in the saddle first. Then he held his hand down to her. She took it, hoisting herself up and onto the horse behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist as he took up the reins.
It was hard not notice the solid feel of him against her. More solid than any of the soft, rich bachelors she tended to pick.
He kicked the horse into a gallop. As they rode away, the wind whipped through her.
She ducked her head, pressing the side of her face against the soft material of his tartan.
She was grateful she still wore the coat she’d acquired in Edinburgh, but she shivered nonetheless.
It was a far cry from the beach paradise she had come to love.
Certainly she was still in Scotland? At least, it seemed that way. Jamie had a lovely Scottish brogue, much thicker than John MacDonald, who had tried to take the stone from her. Jamie had taken the stone from her while she was unconscious but willingly handed it over when she demanded it.
Who was he? Why was he so willing to help her? Why would he want to help her?
It did occur to her that his manner of dress was far different from any modern man. She hadn’t come across any man in Edinburgh wearing a kilt or a tartan.
He’d said she should ask when she was, not where, which didn’t make any sense to her at all. What did that mean?
She lifted her head long enough to see a castle rising up in the distance perched on a craggy cliff. Its towers rose up behind the curtainwall, reaching for the sky. Behind it, a glistening loch reflected the sunbeams that managed to break through the clouds.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
He turned his head to reply. “Dundale.”
Another bell of recognition clanged in her mind. “Dundale Castle?”
“Aye, that’s it.”
She chewed on her lower lip, trying to recall where she’d heard about Dundale.
And then it struck her.
Dundale Castle in the Highlands. Home of Clan MacLeod.
She’d seen this castle in a painting behind the counter—in the antique shop. It was Moira who told her it was home of Clan MacLeod. And here she was, riding a horse, clinging to a man named Jamie MacLeod heading right for that castle.
It confirmed one thing for her—she was still in Scotland. But she had somehow traveled to the Highlands.
When she was, he had said.
Those words trickled through her mind again. Hot pinpricks erupted through her as understanding dawned.
Jamie was right. It wasn’t about where she was. But when. And she had a distinct feeling she had somehow traveled back in time. But how? Why?
The closer they got to the castle, the more apprehension shifted through her. He rode through the portcullis and trotted toward a building that looked like a stable. A young man ran out to meet him, reaching for the reins as he came to a halt.
“Fergus,” he greeted. “Is my brother about?”
“He’s with Dougal, my lord.”
Nodding, Jamie dismounted. She didn’t wait for him to help her. She swung her leg over and jumped down from the saddle. He looked impressed.
Fergus took the horse and led it away into the stable.
“Come, lass. Ye’ll want to meet the laird and his wife.”
“The laird?” she repeated.
“Aye.”
He motioned her to follow. Clutching her elbows, she fell in step behind him.
They entered through a heavy oak door with iron hinges that groaned, announcing their arrival.
She stepped into a grand, imposing room with a soaring, intricately carved beamed ceiling.
The massive stone walls were draped with tapestries and heraldry showcasing Clan MacLeod.
Tall, narrow-arched windows fitted with stained glass windows filtered the faint sunlight, giving it a warm glow.
All around the room, candelabras blazed.
A massive, ornate fireplace was on one end hosting a roaring fire to warm the room.
In the center was a long, wooden table big enough to host twenty with chairs on either side.
Sitting at the table were two men. Both looked up when they entered.
One rose to his full height. He had sharp, bright-blue eyes and long dark hair with two plaits on either side.
He peered at her with interest and curiosity and then his eyes widened as though he recognized her.
The other man gave her a curious glance.
“Dougal,” the taller one said. “Would ye fetch my lady wife?”
“Aye, of course.”
Dougal hurried off to do his bidding while she and Jamie paused in front of the imposing Highlander who looked her over.
“I was checking the perimeter like ye asked,” Jamie said.
“Aye,” the man said. A dark brow lifted toward his hairline as he waited for Jamie to explain her presence.
“I found her,” he said, then turned to her. “This is my brother, Callum and laird of Dundale.”
“And ye are, lass?” Callum asked.
She opened her mouth to answer when a feminine gasp erupted to her left. Her head snapped in that direction. The young woman stood inside the doorway, her hands pressed to her lips and her eyes wide—familiar soft brown eyes—as she stared at her. For a moment Brianna thought she was seeing things.
The young woman staring back at her was Evie.