Chapter 9
Heat rose to Abby’s cheeks each time her eyes met Iain’s deep, dark orbs.
He was as impressive as he was handsome, and she guessed his confidence came from being a laird of a large clan.
Having people listen to him and follow his every order had to build character, and it was obvious he didn’t lack self-assurance.
Although she imagined some leaders grew power hungry, she suspected Iain was a considerate chief of his clan. He was, after all, cooking them a meal.
“It’s ready,” Iain said.
His voice filled the room and Abby gave a little start. “Good, I’m starving.”
A frown creased Iain’s forehead, and Abby wondered what she had said to make him irritable. It seemed to her every time she spoke, he became annoyed, angry, or exasperated. She couldn’t quite tell which emotion his present expression showed.
The way he had looked at her when she’d reached to pick up the stinging nettles with bare hands nearly made her recoil in surprise. His furious eyes would have made someone less confident than her cower.
She glanced at him. Maybe he was just worried.
If she’d touched the nettles, she would have been in pain for sure.
She quickly looked away and hid a small smile.
It was a stupid thing to do. She’d forgotten about the sting those plants would give, but only for a second.
She suspected she would have caught herself before she actually touched them.
Her smile grew. If she wanted to keep him from changing his mind about going after her lost orb, she should just shut up. He was decidedly more relaxed when she kept quiet, so she accepted the bowl of stew and ate in silence as the darkness of a moonless night crept into the room.
Abby had to bite her tongue more than once during the meal.
She had to be careful with what she said, and if she relaxed too much, who knew what would come out of her mouth?
She took another mouthful of food. She had to admit she enjoyed the stew if she didn’t think about what it contained too much.
However, she hated the awkward silence. She always felt as if she should say something in those situations, but she was proud of herself for controlling that side of her and not speaking one word.
Iain ate his food without so much as a glance in her direction.
He was obviously glad she’d kept quiet, and she got the distinct feeling if he didn’t think he was in her debt for saving him, he wouldn’t be taking her with him.
She gazed at him through her lashes. No.
He wouldn’t have left her. He wasn’t that type of man.
Not like Peter, running away and leaving her to the muggers.
Thankfully, they soon finished with their meal.
Having already packed earlier, it took no time at all for Iain to collect the partly dried rabbit meat. Abby raised her brows as he tied the strips to his sword before he secured the blade in the scabbard on his back.
She guessed he saw her quizzical look, because he said, “The cold of the night will keep it from spoiling until I can finish drying it in the sun tomorrow.”
Abby wondered again if the sun ever came out in Scotland but kept her thoughts to herself and nodded.
He held out his hand and she stared at it. “Take it,” he said.
Her fingers trembled at the thought of placing her hand in his rough, massive one. She made a fist. “That’s okay, I’ll just follow you.”
“It’s dark and I don’t want us to be separated.” He waggled his fingers. “Take it.” When she didn’t immediately do so, he said, “We’re nae going anywhere until ye do.”
She shrugged and held her breath as she placed her hand in his.
She was right; her fingers tingled, and a jolt of electricity speared up her arm.
Watching her with his piercing gaze, he tightened his clasp, which only accentuated the effect.
Not knowing what else to do, she nodded, letting him know she was ready to go.
All the way back to the moor, Abby prayed the orb was still there.
Please be there. Please be there. It kept her mind off the weird feeling her hand in Iain’s elicited within her.
If she stopped concentrating on the device for more than a few seconds, her fingers prickled at the warm glow that spread through her body.
His skin wasn’t rough exactly, but thick, like tanned hide.
She sensed the strength in his hand and was thankful for his company in the cold night.
She had pulled her skirt over her other hand to keep her fingers out of the cold air and hastened her steps to keep up with his massive strides. They kept quiet as they approached the windblown trees they had hidden under just three days before.
Iain pulled her hand down as he stooped low, and then withdrew his hand from hers.
Abby bent over, trying to make herself as small as she could, although she doubted anyone would see them.
The night was darker than she’d ever experienced.
She looked up at the sky. Not one star, let alone the moon.
She shivered, surprised at just how cold it had become without his hand holding hers.
He knelt behind a clump of grass and tugged her skirt to indicate she should do the same. She did and pointed to the lone tree ahead of them. “I think I dropped it around there,” she whispered close to his ear.
As she spoke, the clouds parted ways and the moon’s light shone over the field. Abby ducked lower. Large shadows of people moved about, and two men in uniform walked toward her and Iain. Abby held her breath. They were going to get caught.
Iain placed his hand on her shoulder as if for reassurance.
The soldiers stopped, and one bent down and picked something up, something from near the tree where Abby first arrived on that dreaded moor.
It glinted in the moonlight and Abby gasped.
She clapped her hand over her mouth before the sound fully escaped, but Iain pushed her down into the earth.
She had to use both hands to stop her face from being buried.
She wriggled around and tried to stop him from crushing her further.
His hot breath made the little hairs around her ears stand on end. “Stay there,” he growled deep and low in his throat.
Her eyes narrowed, but she did as she was told.
A man shouted, “Sir.”
“What is it?” another man answered.
“We found something.”
“What?”
Boots sloshed in the still-wet ground, but Abby couldn’t tell if they were coming or going.
Iain’s hand moved from her back and Abby lifted her head to peer over the bush. Her hand covered her mouth before she let out a sound.
“What have they got?” she whispered to Iain as the two men walked back to the group of soldiers. A tall, thin soldier met them before they joined the group and took whatever it was from one of the men.
“I don’t know, but it is white and shiny.”
Abby didn’t have to see it to know it was her orb, her time device, her only way home.
The soldiers spoke, but Abby couldn’t make out what they said.
As the tall soldier turned away, the orb shone proudly in the moon’s light.
Abby’s heart sank as her one and only way of getting home was taken away from her.
She couldn’t let that happen. She had already worked out that when she turned the orb, so the gold leaves became whole, it took her back in time.
All she had to do was tackle the soldier and take the orb, twist it to break the leaves’ connections, and she would return to her own time.
She was sure it would happen too quickly for anyone to hurt her.
She moved to get up, but Iain’s hand pressed down on her back, pushing her into the dirt.
She quickly turned her face so only the side of her head was buried. “I have to get it back. Please let me go,” she pleaded.
“Don’t be an eejit. That man with the ornament is Sir Thomas, one of the duke of Cumberland’s knights. He will not care that ye are a lass. He will kill ye.”
Abby’s shoulders slumped, and she stopped fighting. Butcher Cumberland, that was what the duke would be called in history books. If the man who had her device was one of his knights, then he, too, was a sadistic butcher working to rid the land of Scotland of all his enemies.
Iain must have noticed her give in, because he took his hand off her again. She sat up and wiped the side of her face, first with her hand and then with part of the skirt she hoped wasn’t also sodden with mud.
The one Iain called Thomas mounted his horse and called the men to follow him. Some on horses and the rest walking, they headed toward the other end of the moor.
“I need it,” Abby said, nearly choking on a lump in her throat. She didn’t even try to stop the hot tears falling down her cheeks. She was never going to see home, never going to see Garrett, Max, Izzy, or Bree again.
She dropped her head into her fabric-covered hands and sobbed her heart out.
After a minute, Iain scooped her up into his arms and held her close to his chest. “Shh, lass. All will be well.”
He stroked her head, trailing his fingers along her braid. “All will be well.”
In another time and place, Abby would have enjoyed his ministrations, his every touch, his voice. His strong arms comforted her, and his voice was so gentle, she almost believed that all would be well, but she had to be realistic. She was stuck in eighteenth-century Scotland.
Abby wept quietly at the loss of her family.
“I will get it back for ye,” Iain soothed.
She sniffled noisily but kept her head pressed to his chest, strangely drawn to the beat of his heart, loud and strong, in her ear.
Iain patted her on her back, and Abby pushed away. She couldn’t get too comfortable in the man’s arms. She had to keep her distance. There was no way she could get close to an eighteenth-century Scotsman. The very idea was just too ludicrous.