CHAPTER 8
Malcolm saw her eyes flutter closed moments before she fainted. He managed to catch her, scooping her into his arms and holding her close to him. It was the second time she had ended up in his arms. He was starting to enjoy it far too much.
“We best get her inside,” Angus said.
He and Duncan followed him into the keep where Lady Fiona paced the length of the great hall, her hands clasped in front of her. When they entered, she halted, the worry on her face collapsing into relief.
“Angus Sinclair, where have ye been?” she demanded of her husband. “I was worried all night and now ye turn up—oh! Who’s this?” She halted her tirade when she spotted the lass in Malcolm’s arms. She hurried over and peered down at her. “Where did she come from?”
Malcolm wasn’t sure how to answer. He had seen the flash of light, the rip in space and time with his own eyes. But explaining it? That would be difficult. Thankfully, Angus and Duncan had witnessed the event, too.
“She’s from the future,” Duncan exclaimed, his eyes bright with excitement.
“Och, laddie, ye dinnae ken that,” Angus said, his voice laced with annoyance.
Lady Fiona glanced from her husband to Malcolm, one dark brow raised. “What happened to her?”
“She fainted,” he said.
He couldn’t say why she had fainted, but he assumed everything that had happened to her since her arrival was too much for her to handle.
“I saw it with me own eyes. Ye did, too, Da. She fell through a rip in time.”
Angus grunted is disagreement. “I’m going to bed.”
“Well, from the future or no, she’s a guest here. Let’s get her to a bed so she can recover,” Lady Fiona said. “And then ye can tell me exactly what happened and where she came from.”
She motioned for him to follow her through the keep. Duncan fell in step with him, too. Malcolm glanced down at her as he walked and admired the way her lovely face seemed to be in repose. The resemblance to Evie was unmistakable.
Lady Fiona led him up the stairs and down a long corridor where she pushed open a door to one of the bedchambers. She hurried to the bed and pulled back the blankets.
“Put her here. Duncan, get the fire going in the hearth.”
As Malcolm placed her gently on the bed, Lady Fiona eyed her strange attire. She wore dark blue breeches that hugged every curve from her hips to her thighs to her calves. She wore strange looking white shoes. An oversized tunic in a fuzzy material that also hugged her every curve.
Not that he’d noticed.
“I’ll find her some suitable clothing,” she said. “After ye tell me what happened.”
Duncan finished placing logs in the hearth, then brushed his hands together. “It was incredible, Mam. It was like the world split open for a moment and then, there she was.”
Lady Fiona gave Malcolm a curious but questioning glance, as if she wanted to confirm what her son said. He nodded.
“Aye, ‘tis the truth of it.” It also did not escape his notice that Chloe had the same big emerald eyes as Lady Fiona.
“Da saw it, too, with his own eyes,” Duncan said. “And yet he still doesna believe.”
“I’ll speak to him,” she said waving away the thought, as though her husband’s beliefs didn’t matter. “Do ye ken who she is, Malcolm?”
“She said her name was Chloe. She fainted when she heard the name Angus Sinclair.”
Lady Fiona chuckled. “Most bonnie lassies did when they saw my husband in his younger days. However, I dinnae think that was the case this time.”
She moved closer to the bed to get a good look at her. Chloe’s hair was the same deep auburn as Lady Fiona’s.
“She’s a Sinclair,” she announced, as though she knew this for certain.
“From the future?” Duncan asked from his crouched position in front of the hearth. He finally got the fire going.
“Aye,” she said. “She must be. ’Tis the only explanation.”
“There was also a man who followed her through,” Malcolm said. “He attacked her.”
“And ye saved her,” Lady Fiona said with a faint smile.
He nodded. When the man had jerked her up by her hair, something inside him snapped. But Lady Fiona didn’t grasp how much the strange man had wanted to get his hands on Chloe. There had been fierce determination in his eyes. It was why Malcolm had remained between the two of them with sword drawn.
“Well, ye must be famished. Duncan, run along to the kitchen and fetch Malcolm and his guest some food. I’ll find her something to wear.”
Duncan followed his mother to the door.
“I do thank ye, my lady, for the hospitality,” Malcolm said.
She gave him a nod and a smile as she exited the room, closing the door behind her.
***
When Chloe awoke, she was surrounded by cozy warmth. She burrowed deeper under the blankets and opened her eyes to an unfamiliar place. She blinked, trying to remember where she was and what had happened to her.
The last thing she remembered was her savior introducing her to Angus Sinclair.
Sinclair.
Had she fallen into an alternate dimension? Was she in some strange twilight zone? Or had she truly been transported back in time?
She didn’t know the answer.
She took inventory of her aching body. Her bandaged arm still throbbed from the gunshot wound. Her elbow hurt from when she had bashed it on the floor in her flat. Generally, her whole body ached from head to toe.
Now, looking around, she realized she was in a stranger’s bed.
Likely in a stranger’s home. She managed to sit up to take in her surroundings.
Her pulse thundered as her gaze darted about the room, dimly lit stone walls covered in tapestries, wooden beams overhead, and a fire flickering in the hearth.
The strange room was as alien to her as the earthy scent of the fire.
A horrible thought pounded through her. This wasn’t home. This wasn’t even her century. Reality settled over her as her chest tightened.
Sitting by the fire in a chair was her savior. His chin was on his chest as he dozed. In front of him, a table with a tray of food—bread and cheese. Upon seeing the food, her stomach rumbled.
She slid from the bed, her sock feet landing on the cool stone flooring.
She paused there a moment, keeping her eyes on her savior who hadn’t moved and continued to snooze.
Then she pushed the rest of the blankets away and rose, walking on wobbly legs toward the tray.
As she reached it, he inhaled a deep breath and lifted his head.
He pinned her with his sharp, assessing gaze that was definitely like a stormy sea. She froze where she was, staring back at him with her heart in her throat. She reminded herself she didn’t need to fear him. He had rescued her from Bruce, after all.
“Och, awake, I see. Hungry?” He waved to the tray.
He was a man of few words. She nodded and moved toward it, unsure what her voice sounded like. Her throat felt better, but she was still thirsty and didn’t trust that she wouldn’t sound like she’d been in a bar all night drinking shots and smoking cigarettes.
The bread and cheese were sliced into thin strips. There was even a bit of dried meat. Like jerky. She picked up a piece of bread, deciding to start with that. A tankard of what looked like ale sat next to the bread.
“Have some ale,” he said, motioning to the tankard.
She picked it up and sniffed. It smelled like a weak version of beer. She took a sip. It tasted awful. She scowled, dropping the tankard back to the tray. He chuckled.
“Is it no to yer liking?” he asked, a smile on his lips.
“Sorry, no,” she said and was glad to hear her voice was almost normal. She munched on the bread as she gave him a wary look. “You know my name. What’s yours?”
“Malcolm,” he said.
She picked up a piece of hard cheese next. “Are you a Sinclair, too?”
“Och, no. I’m a MacLeod.”
She froze, holding the cheese halfway to her mouth as she leveled him with her gaze. “MacLeod?”
He nodded.
“Not MacDonald?”
His brows drew together as he shook his head. “MacDonald is our sworn enemy.”
Relief flooded her. “Oh, thank God,” she whispered.
“Why do ye thank God for that, lass?”
She popped the cheese in her mouth, chewed. “Because the man who attacked me is a MacDonald. I didn’t want to be in enemy hands.” She picked up another piece of bread and considered it. “So, Malcolm MacLeod, what are you doing here with the Sinclairs?”
He stared at her a long moment in consideration, as if he were deciding how to answer. “I think the real question is, what are ye doing here, lass?”
She flushed and turned away as she held the piece of bread in one hand. She glanced down at her hand with the burned image of the stone. How was she to answer that? Finally, she turned back to him and held up her hand.
“I suspect it has something to do with this.”
He stared at her hand, running his over his bearded chin, the coarse hair bristling against his palm. She wondered what it would be like to kiss a man with a full beard. And then she quickly shoved away that silly thought.
She wasn’t interested in him.
Even though he was gorgeous, especially with those sea-green eyes that pierced her soul.
He reached into his sporran and brought out the stone, holding it up between his thumb and forefinger. “This did that to ye, didn’t it?”
Chloe closed her hand and dropped it to her side. “Yes, I imagine it did. It was humming and the lines were glowing at the time.”
There was little she understood about the small piece of stone. One thing was clear though—it appeared to be a time traveling device and Bruce MacDonald wanted it.
To her surprise, Malcolm held it out to her. “Ye’ll be wanting this back then.”
After a moment of hesitation, she reached for it. Their fingers brushed. His left a tingling sensation in his wake. She flushed again, her cheeks burning as she stuck the stone in the front pocket of her jeans.
“Thank you for keeping it safe,” she said.
He regarded her with a curious glint in his eye. She finally popped the piece of hard cheese into her mouth and looked away, feeling self-conscious under his expressive gaze.
“What do ye remember? Anything?” he asked.
“I remember everything.”
She shuddered and leaned against the mantel, soaking up the warmth of the fire.
There was a chill in the room. Despite her sweater, goosebumps rose on her arms. She expected him to ask more questions, to press her for details about what had happened and how she had ended up here, but he didn’t.
She appreciated that. She wasn’t ready to talk about it.
But then he said, as if he knew the answer already, “He attacked ye because he wanted the stone, aye?”
She nodded, aware of his presence so close to her. “And the stone brought me here.” She cut him a quick glance before turning back to the fire to watch the flames flicker. “Where is here?”
“I thought that was clear. We’re in the keep of the Laird Sinclair.”
She understood that, of course, but… “Which is where, exactly?”
Malcolm leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Lass, do ye believe ye time traveled?”
It was an odd question and one that made her look at him. “Why do you ask that?”
He kept his gaze focused on her face, searching it as though looking for the future in her expression. Finally, he leaned back into his chair.
“Ye are in the Scottish Highlands in the year of our lord thirteen hundred fifty-seven.”
Every muscle in her body clenched as she stiffened while staring at the fire. She didn’t want to believe she had time traveled. She thought this was all merely a strange dream or a weird figment of her imagination. But, no. Her savior—Malcolm MacLeod—confirmed otherwise.
He pushed up from the chair. “I’ll fetch Lady Fiona. She’ll bring ye…” He paused, looked her up and down. “Proper clothing. Then, we’ll be on our way back to Dundale.”
Dundale? She recognized that. It was the name of the castle Moira had mentioned. The woman’s words came floating back to her.
You’ll see it soon enough. Once the seat of Clan MacLeod.
“Dundale?” she repeated.
“Aye. My brother, Callum, will be wanting to meet ye. And so will his bride, I should think.”
He gave her a knowing grin. What was so special about meeting his brother’s wife? There was something unspoken in his words that seemed to give an edge of significance.
Before she could press him further, he strode to the door and pulled it open. “Rest while ye can. We’ll leave soon.”
He opened the door and left, leaving her alone with whirling thoughts.