CHAPTER 7
“Who is she?” Angus asked. “Where did she come from?”
“She’s from the future,” Duncan declared, a hint of excitement in his voice.
“Och, lad. I told ye no to believe in those falsehoods,” Angus snapped.
But Malcolm held the woman who resembled Evie, his brother’s wife, and was certain she had fallen through time.
When she had fainted, her fist relaxed and her fingers half opened.
An object nestled against her palm. Gently, he pushed open her fingers and saw the jagged little stone.
The stone that had similar markings to the one Evie possessed.
His heart clawed its way to his throat as he plucked the stone from her hand and held it up in the firelight of the torch.
“What’s that?” Duncan asked, moving closer with his torch, which was what Malcolm needed to see the stone clearer. Duncan leaned down to get a closer look.
“It’s a stone,” Malcolm said.
“’Tis nothing but a jagged piece of rock,” Angus said with a snort.
Malcolm lifted his gaze to Duncan, who shook his head, dismissing his da’s explanation. Knowledge twinkled in the depths of his eyes.
“We best get back to the keep,” Malcolm said. He pocketed the stone in his sporran, then lifted her into his arms, cradling her against his chest.
“What about the lass?” Duncan asked.
“She’s going with me.” There was no way he was going to let her out of his sight. He suspected he knew who she was and what she held. “We’ll stay the night at yer keep, if ye permit it, my lord. And then be on our way to Dundale in the morn or as soon as she’s ready to travel.”
Angus lifted a brow as he eyed the lass in his arms. “Aye, I permit it.”
He stepped a little closer, eyeing her as the light from the torch played along her features.
She was a bonnie lass, to be sure. High cheekbones, much like Evie.
Porcelain skin, smooth and perfect. Emerald eyes fringed in dark lashes.
Freckles dotted her nose and cheeks. Thick auburn hair fell over Malcolm’s arm as he held her.
A flicker of recognition went over the laird’s face as he gazed at her.
“She…seems familiar, though I cannae say where I’ve seen her.”
“She looks like Evie, Callum’s wife,” he said.
“Aye, that must be it.” He brushed away the thought as he headed for his horse. “We best be on our way if we’re to make it back to the keep before morn. We have a long night of riding yet.”
Knowing he was right, Malcolm followed Angus. Duncan fell in step beside him.
“I think we ken where she came from, don’t we?” he asked, his voice low. He had a knowing grin on his face.
“Aye,” was all Malcolm said.
Wouldn’t Callum and Evie be surprised when he arrived at Dundale with her?
***
When Chloe came to her senses, the first thing she noticed was the pungent animal smell accosting her nose. The second the thing she noticed was the warm, solid body next to her. And the third thing she noticed was the soft rocking to and fro as though she were on a…horse.
That must be the animal smell.
She cracked one eye open to see that she was cradled against a man who smelled a lot like leather and musk. He held her in his lap. His hands clutched what appeared to be reins.
The first signs of panic pounded through her. Where was she? Who was he? What the devil was going on?
She had to think to keep her wits about her. What was the last thing she remembered?
She was in her flat. Bruce was…oh, God, Bruce! He had attacked her, tried to take the stone from her. But she had held onto it and the thing was humming and the lines were glowing. He had clawed at her hand, trying to get her to release it but she wouldn’t. He had gripped her so hard, he hurt her.
Deep desperation pounded through her as she hung onto the stone. Then… what…what had happened? She swiped her thumb over it and—
Oh. Oh! There had been a terrible free-fall feeling as the ground collapsed under her.
The breath had been sucked out of her. Her lungs burned with the pain of it as it had hit her hard.
Bruce was still near her as they had tumbled through the bright light together.
He had tried to grab her but she managed to kick him away.
The world had split open in the strangest way. As though there were a rip in space. And she had fallen through it and he fell with her.
And then she had landed on the ground, her bones rattling with the force of it. Bruce had been right behind her, grabbing her by the hair—yes, that was it. Her scalp was sore from how hard he had jerked. He had pulled her to her feet, still trying to claim the stone and then…
And then he had released her and she had fallen forward. She had been on the ground when she looked back to see the broad-shouldered man with a beard standing between her and Bruce. He had held a sword, firelight glittering along the edge.
But firelight didn’t make sense. She had climbed to her feet, her legs wobbly and her muscles quivering from the intense fight. She had still clutched the strange little stone in her fist and met Bruce’s terrible eyes. Eyes that were once full of love now gleamed with hate.
When her savior had spoken, he had sounded…Scottish. He was protecting her? Then there were two more men moving to stand between her and Bruce. One held a torch. And the man, the first man, had told Bruce to leave. Bruce had said it wasn’t over and she believed him.
The man who had saved her turned toward her and she met his sea-green eyes.
In that moment, the recognition had hit her.
She’d seen him before in her vision when she was in the antique shop.
Or was her mind playing tricks on her? Her legs had been no longer able to hold her up and she collapsed to the ground.
He had been there in a flash, pulling her into his arms. Such strong arms. As she’d looked at him, she confirmed he was not a figment of her imagination. He was real and he was holding her. All she had thought to do was say thank you.
Now, she jerked upright in his arms, her eyes wild and her heart pounding as she looked around. She was indeed perched in the lap of the man who had scooped her off the ground. He chuckled, a sound rumbling deep in his chest, his gloriously broad chest.
“Awake, I see.” There was a smile in his voice.
The morning light glinted across his face, illuminating it in a pale-yellow glow.
His features were hard, chiseled. His cheeks and chin were covered in a beard.
His mouth was thin and unforgiving even though his lips held a smile.
His eyes…oh, those eyes. They were a sea- green—or were they?
In the morning light, they changed color from bluish to greenish, like a stormy sea churned by gales of wind.
He was fierce looking and yet, she was not afraid of him.
“Who—” Her voice cracked. Her throat ached. Her mouth was parched.
“Och, lass, dinnae try to speak. Ye’ve had a bit of shock, I’d wager. We’re almost to the keep.”
That voice. It was dark and deep and thrummed through her, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Not in a bad way. In a way she had never experienced. In a way that told her he was not to be trifled with and yet he would fight to protect her with everything he had in him.
She glanced around again, trying to get her bearings. They were, in fact, riding a horse. The two men she had seen earlier were ahead. In the distance, a castle. Dawn glinted off the ancient stone, the high turrets, the wide curtain wall. The portcullis was up.
But, no, this was no ancient castle. This was someone’s home. The man’s? She didn’t know.
Her hand throbbed. She looked down to see the lines from the stone burned into her palm. Her skin was red and angry.
“The stone!” she gasped.
“Safe, lass,” he said, his tone reassuring.
She looked at him, but his eyes were straight ahead, never wavering. “And Bruce?”
His gaze flickered to hers. “He was the one who attacked ye?”
She nodded, afraid to say it aloud for fear she would break into sobs. Bruce was the man she had thought she loved. The one she had told Evie she thought was the one. But he wasn’t, was he? He had betrayed her. He had tried to take the stone from her.
Her savior’s gaze hardened as though the mention made him angry. “He willna bother ye again.”
Hot tears pricked her eyes. Emotion clotted in her throat.
She trusted Bruce. She had been sure it was love at first sight with him.
He was charming and witty and handsome and she had envisioned spending the rest of her days with him.
And now…now he had tried to hurt her. Had he tried to hurt Evie?
Did he…no, she shoved that thought away.
She had to believe Evie was alive and well somewhere. But where? Where was she? Why was Chloe unable to find her? And why did Bruce steal the blue velvet bag?
The blue velvet bag like the one Moira had given her.
With the stone.
Oh, God. Did Evie have a stone like hers?
“Are ye well, lass? Yer shaking.” Concern edged his features.
“Am I?” Her voice was still rough. It hurt to talk.
His arms tightened around her. “I swear to ye, by my sword, he willna touch ye again.”
Chloe melted a little against him as she met his gaze. The way he looked at her told her he meant every word.
But she had trusted a man before. She had trusted Bruce. He had betrayed her. He had attacked her.
“Ye have my word,” he added, his voice low and rumbling and delicious.
She said nothing as they rode toward the castle and the sun rose higher into the sky.
The castle was nestled among a rugged and weathered landscape.
The wind was cold and sharp with a hint of dampness in it.
It reminded her of Edinburgh on a brisk fall day and she wondered where—no, when—she had landed.
It was clear she was no longer in Edinburgh. In the year she had lived there, she had ventured out of the city only once and that was to visit Inverness.
Now, she was certain she was in the Highlands. And she was no longer in her own time. The historian in her wanted to pause and take in all the sights, the sounds, the everything. The woman in her, though, wanted to remain nestled in her savior’s arms.
They trotted through the portcullis and halted behind the thick, tall curtain wall.
Before her was the most magnificent castle she had ever seen.
Not that she had seen many. She hadn’t. It sat on a cliff with the azure sea glistening in the morning sun behind it.
The castle itself was a tall, square building of at least three stories with rectangular windows and two chimneys rising up on either side like bookends.
Two young boys ran out to greet them as the older man stepped down out of his saddle. He handed the reins off to one of the boys. The second man did the same. As he handed off his reins to the boy, he turned to the two of them.
Her savior had come to a halt as the second man headed toward them.
“This here is Duncan,” her savior said. “He’ll help ye down.”
She cut him a glance and he gave her a wink and a nod of encouragement. Duncan held his arms up to her. She slid out of the saddle. He caught her and helped steady her feet as her savior dismounted. The older man made his way over to them, eyes the color of a wintery morning piercing her.
Eyes that reminded her of her older sister, Brianna.
He had a shock of red hair, graying at the temples.
But that shock of red hair reminded her of her fraternal twin sister, Evie.
If she were truly in the past, she had the strangest feeling she was looking into the face of one of her ancestors. That couldn’t be right. Could it?
His face was covered in a faded red beard. There were crinkles at the corners his eyes. He assessed her as he approached.
“Well? Have ye learned who she is?” the older man asked, his hands fisted on his hips.
Her savior moved closer to her, the warmth of his big body radiating over her as he gazed down at her. His sea-green eyes softened. She moved closer to absorb his warmth. Her hand slipped into his. Surprise flickered through his gaze for a moment, then it was replaced by delight.
“What’s yer name, lassie?”
“Chloe,” she said, and her voice was a little stronger this time.
“Well, Chloe, this is Angus Sinclair, laird of this castle.”
Upon hearing the man’s full name, she sucked in a sharp breath. “Sinclair? You’re…”
Her stomach lurched and her knees gave out, her hand slipping from her savior’s. The next thing she knew, she was crumpling to the ground as blackness overtook her.