CHAPTER FIVE
Emily stepped past Archie and entered the indicated room—a near medieval version of Patrick’s study in Anderson Creek. A large parchment-strewn desk sat before a high window faced by two wooden chairs. A hearth—
A young man rose from one of the two chairs facing said hearth, and slowly turned toward her. She stumbled, almost losing her footing. Oh my Lordy. The long-haired guy she’d zeroed in on earlier from the bedroom window faced her. His intelligent gaze was piercing in its intensity.
He was even more breathtaking in person. Would his light brown hair feel silky to the touch? She flexed tingling fingers with the thought. She took a step toward him.
“Good day, mistress,” he said.
Dear God! She melted on the spot, loving his yummy Scottish accent, getting lost in the dark pools that were his eyes. Eyes such a dark chocolate color they almost appeared black.
Isobell cleared her throat, bringing Emily back to her senses. Somewhat.
“U-um. Good day,” Emily managed to sputter.
His full—very kissable—lips curved into a gorgeous smile.
Her stomach did a slow jiggle.
“Glad I am to finally meet you properly,” he said in that sinful deep voice. “I hope you can forgive me. I feared the worst after my—”
“’Twas hardly a proper introduction, lad.” Archie laid a hand on his shoulder.
Emily frowned. There was something familiar about the long-haired guy. From before she’d seen him in the castle yard.
Ohmygod. In the woods. This is the guy who shot at me. With an arrow.
The certain memory surfaced in a rush. She jerked a hand to her ear. The fleshy edge stung like a minor burn. She stared at the clean fingers she withdrew, having half-expected them to be stained by blood.
“Let me make formal introductions,” Archie continued, unaware of her mounting distress. “Emily, our lad here is Gregor. He—”
“You shot me with a frigging arrow,” she sniped, ignoring Archie, her glare directed at the arrow-shooting idiot. Heat flushed her chest and face. She planted fisted hands on hips. “You could’ve killed me.”
“I am truly sorry. ’Twas an accident, I assure you.” He moved to step forward, but stopped as Archie held him in place.
“This is not a verra good start for a wedded union,” the older man said.
“What?” She jerked her gaze to her host. “What union? What wedding?”
“Isobell, did you not inform Emily what is required of her?”
“I had nary a chance to explain the intrigues of this time before you summoned us to your side, husband.”
Did they expect…
“Whoa. I’m not marrying anyone. Especially not him.” Emily couldn’t keep her lips from curling into a scowl. He’d shot at her as if she were a hunted animal, for God’s sake. “You can send me and Tevin back to Anderson Creek. Right?”
“’Tis not as easy as you might think.” Isobell chewed on her bottom lip and exchanged a long glance with her husband. “The magic of the Sithichean Sluaigh only works on full moons—sometimes not even then—unless one of the Fae escorts a soul through.”
“Which seems unlikely,” Archie added. “Perhaps you should sit, lass, and hear what we have to say.” He grasped her elbow and guided her to the chair next to the one the idiot who’d shot her had vacated. “Both of you should sit.”
As she plopped onto the offered chair, the jerk dropped back into the seat to her right. His proximity was too close. The warmth of his presence pressed on her, making her jittery.
“I truly didn’t mean to shoot at you,” he said. “’Twas a pixie who interrupted my shot. Caused the arrow to release.”
“Pixie? Are you for real?” He had to be nuts.
“Aye. A pixie.” He held his hands about five inches apart. “A wee lass with wings.”
“You expect me to believe a miniature woman with wings exists?”
“Several, to be sure,” he added with a firm nod.
“And caused you to shoot me?” She tilted her head and frowned up at him.
His hair fell into his face with his vigorous nod, covering the ruddy color infusing his cheeks. She’d caught the deep blush before he turned away. She raised a hand to her mouth to hide an unexpected smile.
The guy was just so damn cute. Crazy. But cute.
Archibald dragged a chair over for Isobell, and the woman sat to Emily’s left. “He speaks the truth,” she said. “The wee creatures are known as the Pixie Clan.”
Emily blinked. “You’ve seen them?”
“Nae.” Isobell reached up and clasped her husband’s hand, which rested on her shoulder.
The man sighed heavily. “You must understand, Emily, Scotland is rife with magic and those who wield its power. As your Tevin tells the tale, the pixies have taken an interest in you and the lad.”
“He’s a little boy. He makes up stories.” She hastened a glance at the guy at her side. Sometimes, so did big boys.
“Not this time,” Archie said.
Emily shook her head. “Even if I believed pixies existed—which I don’t—why would they find me interesting enough to bother with?
I lead a rather dull, quiet life in Anderson Creek.
I spend my time working in the restaurant at the inn and taking care of the children.
I ride my horse.” And mourn Kim’s death.
Archie ran a hand through his thick chestnut hair. “The pixies escorted you back in time for a purpose.”
“Nefarious, I’m sure.” She snorted. Could she really believe any of this bullshit?
“I wouldn’t believe in them either if I had not seen them with my own eyes,” Gregor said.
Emily jerked her gaze to the bow-wielding maniac. She needed to remember he’d shot at her. “Pixies?”
“Aye.” He nodded. His honest gaze held hers. He believed he told the truth.
“Wow. You’re blowing my mind.” Emily massaged the ache building at her temples.
They each looked at her with furrowed brows as if she didn’t make sense.
Maybe she didn’t. “I mean…” She swallowed uneasily, a whisper of acceptance taking hold.
The evidence around her seemed to affirm she and Tevin were in the past and that some sort of pixie magic was the catalyst. “You’ve given me a lot to consider. ”
“There is more,” Isobell said, her voice gentle as if cajoling a skittish colt. “You must wed Gregor. Sooner than later.”
Emily’s mouth fell open. Snapped shut. She glanced from face to face. “I’m sorry. I must have misheard. You don’t really mean for me to marry a perfect stranger.”
A grinding sound came from deep within Archie’s throat.
His firm gaze slid over her. “For your safety, you need to wed our lad here. Tales of magic shroud this clan. The Sheriff of Bute has embarked on a crusade against Clan MacLachlan and watches for new rumors to surface. He would be more than happy to accuse you of delving into the dark arts.”
“Witchcraft?”
“Aye. Although many folk fear the magic surrounding us, the sheriff’s motives are purely political. He will use any whispering of odd occurrences against us. Against you. But if you are wed to a Highlander… Ach, well, you and Tevin will be safer with Gregor claiming you as wife and Tevin as son.”
“And you have agreed?” She pinned Gregor with a surprised stare. The guy could probably have any woman he wanted. Why would he want me?
He held a closed fist over his heart. “I would be honored to be your champion.”
His declaration was rather sweet. Heroic. But still…
“How will being married to…” She gulped. “Gregor. How will being married protect us?”
“We need you to blend in. Not attract attention,” Archie said.
“You ken a beautiful maiden such as yourself will stir interest amongst the single lads. Your modern ways are different. Fascinating. Enticing. The lads will compete for your favor. Rumors will circulate and reach the sheriff’s ears.
He is far too interested in the comings and goings of our keep.
He accused Jillian of witchcraft and arrested her when she visited several years ago.
She managed to escape with Stephen’s help and that of the Fae. But it was a near thing.”
Emily shook her head, overwhelmed by the insane circumstances. “Fae? Pixies? Witchcraft? This is madness.”
Archie leaned forward. “I dinnae ken if I can protect you if the sheriff decides—”
“Please, lass,” Gregor implored. “Let me help you and the wee lad.”
“I can’t marry you. I can’t marry anyone.” She couldn’t betray Kim’s memory with another man. Especially one as handsome as Gregor. She snapped her gaze to Archie. “I won’t.”
Emily ran from the room.
“Wait!” Gregor’s voice trailed her.
She hoped they—he—wouldn’t follow. Could she be any more upset?
More embarrassed? They had planned to force the guy to marry her.
It wasn’t as if he was attracted to her.
They’d just met. She skidded across the great hall’s stone floor and rushed down a flight of stairs and out of the keep chased by overwhelming panic.
How was she to get out of this insane nightmare?