Chapter Six
She swallowed hard, about to choke on the knot of sheer terror lodged in her throat.
What would his people do to her if they discovered she’d come from the future?
Burn her at the stake? Boil her in oil? Hang her in the village square and leave her for the birds to snack on?
What punishment would he order done to her?
She didn’t know enough about this time or even about Scotland to fake her way through this. She had to get back to that spiral hill, and if she ever saw Morganna or Callum again, she was going to punch them both in their noses and spit on their shoes.
Worst of all, at this particular moment in time, she needed to pee so badly that she swore she could taste it.
Her bladder roared with every bump and sway of the horse’s gait.
This trip had turned out to be a lot longer than she expected.
Half a day’s ride through ancient Scotland felt more like a week.
Shifting in the saddle again, she swiped at the icy rain streaming down her face, then laughed at herself. Why bother trying to get the water out of her eyes? It was pouring, and she’d never be dry again—not even if they roasted her on a stake.
After crossing a particularly rough patch of terrain where her bladder almost said, What the hell, and turned loose its gallons, she patted Drummond’s arm. “I really need some time behind a bush…like now, please.”
He immediately reined in the horse. “There’s not much here for privacy, lass, but Murdoch and I will keep our backs turned whilst ye tend to yer needs.”
“I appreciate that.” Right now, she needed to go so badly, she really didn’t care if they saw her bare butt or not.
After he dismounted, he turned and planted his large hands around her waist and swept her down from the saddle.
Holy moly, that chivalrous move made her a little breathless.
If circumstances weren’t so crazy, she’d enjoy this fairytale with the handsome, dark-haired Highlander carrying her off to his castle.
Then a gust of wind hit her in the face with more cold rain, and reality reminded her that this was no fairytale.
This was an unbelievably impossible life-or-death situation.
The way he looked at her as he steadied her on her feet—with genuine concern and something else, something that seemed really good but she didn’t quite know for sure—made her bite the inside of her cheek. Why couldn’t this be in her time? Why couldn’t this be 2026?
“Are ye all right, lass?” he asked so softly that she wanted to melt into him and pretend everything else would work out okay.
She blinked and silently warned herself to stop with the dangerous daydreaming. If she expected to survive and find a way out of this, she needed to stay on her toes. “I’m fine. Thank you.” She tossed a nod at a nearby pile of rocks. “I’ll just go over there. Won’t be but a minute.”
He nodded, then turned to Murdoch. “Avert yer eyes, man. We must give the lady her privacy.”
The bearlike Murdoch tipped his head in agreement, or at least, she thought he did.
It was hard to tell with the bushiness of that full beard.
Then he turned his sturdy mount, which looked as if it liked to eat as much as its master did.
Of course, the man needed a good-sized animal to pack him.
Anything less would never survive the trip.
As soon as she unwound herself from Drummond’s wool cloak, she missed its warmth and protection from the driving rain. But she didn’t want to pee on it. “Here.” She pushed it into his arms and hurried over to the outcropping of boulders that turned out to be a lot larger than she realized.
Peeling off wet jeans and underwear was easier in theory than in practice, but she finally achieved the objective and relieved herself.
Getting her clothes back in place proved just as challenging, but at least she no longer felt as though she were about to explode.
It was amazing how much a comfortable bladder helped a person’s frame of mind.
She rejoined the men and reached for the woolly plaid.
“Allow me, lass.” Drummond shook it out, then wrapped it around her, hooding it to shield her head as much as possible from the weather. “We’ll soon be in front of a roaring fire and a good meal,” he promised as he lifted her back into the saddle and settled in behind her.
She gathered the folds of the damp wool blanket closer.
Well, she supposed it wasn’t really a blanket, because he’d removed it from around his shoulders.
It was some sort of wrap that kept her amazingly shielded from the weather, considering the steadiness of the downpour.
It smelled all outdoorsy, a combination of pine trees, grassy meadows, and fresh rain, kind of like Granddaddy’s chore jacket.
She’d loved breathing in Granddaddy’s scent during hugs whenever he’d come for a visit to the city.
Of course, Granddaddy’s jacket had also possessed the pungent stench of cigarette smoke, but it was Granddaddy’s smell, so she hadn’t cared.
Tears stung her eyes, and she hated it because she never cried. She had to get back to Nashville. She might not have any close family left alive, but she had friends. A life. She had her identity.
She tried to commit the landscape to memory, picking out rocky crags for landmarks, so she could find her way back to the forest and the fairy hill.
Everything was gray and hazy in the driving rain.
It all looked the same. Wherever they were, the wind blew harder here, howling even louder than before.
If not for Drummond’s arms around her, it surely would’ve gusted her off the horse’s back by now.
A towering black mountain rose in the distance straight ahead.
Tall and jagged, it came to a point like a church spire, but it was thick and somehow layered around the base.
The longer she studied it, the more she realized it wasn’t a mountain at all.
It was a building. No, not a building. That thing was a fortress built into the side of a cliff, the sort of castle you’d expect to see while watching an epic fantasy movie.
“Dubh Tower,” Drummond shouted over the storm. Pride rang in his voice, and why wouldn’t it? The place was impressive—and chilling, considering it would be full of people wondering where she came from and why she was dressed the way she was.
“It’s amazing,” she shouted back, not wanting to hurt his feelings. After all, he’d been pretty nice, all things considered. She hadn’t appreciated the fireman’s carry over his shoulder or being thrown over the horse like a carcass, but even so, she’d not sensed any malicious intent behind it.
Drummond MacMuirrow came from a different time and place than the males she was accustomed to.
Granddaddy would’ve loved him. Grandmama would’ve loved him, too.
Even on her deathbed, Grandmama had an eye for a good-looking man, flirting unapologetically with the young preacher who’d come to offer her comfort.
As they rode across an honest-to-goodness drawbridge that looked like it came straight off a movie set, men, young boys, and even a few women, all of them oblivious to the rain and mud, gathered closer, eyeing her as if she were some sort of prized game for their supper.
She sank deeper into the cloak and shrank against Drummond.
His hard, muscular warmth comforted her until she remembered these were his people, and he’d probably be more inclined to take care of them than her.
She was a stranger. An outsider. No matter what he’d said about swearing to protect her, politics were politics.
She’d seen enough period movies to know that since he was the leader, he’d do whatever was best for himself and his people.
She had to get back to that fairy hill as soon as possible.
But even so, the thought of leaving unsettled her.
Made her unreasonably sad. Why? Because there would be no him in her future.
She huffed at that ridiculous thought. They’d just met.
Love at first sight in movies and books might be believable, but in real life?
Not so much. And this real life was already unbelievable.
Halting close to a set of massive, arched doors that looked like they belonged in a cathedral, Drummond dismounted and helped her down.
“Keep the brat fast about ye until we get to our private chambers, aye?” He helped her pull it more snugly around her shoulders, ensuring the large wool covering completely cloaked her.
The caution in his eyes wasn’t lost on her.
She clutched the blanket at her throat and waist to make sure it didn’t flap open and reveal her favorite pair of jeans.
As they crossed the muddy area, a pair of burly guards stared at her. She bowed her head and avoided making eye contact. Usually good at reading the room, she wasn’t sure if she’d be as good at reading the fourteenth century. She’d better get good at it, though. Here, her survival depended on it.
The guards opened both the double doors and held them as if she and Drummond were royalty or honored guests. Stands to reason, she reminded herself. Drummond was an earl and the next chief.
She halted in the entryway and glanced down.
She needed to wipe her muddy feet before she went any farther.
But the impressive gray flagstones, which fit together like a jigsaw puzzle to create the floor, appeared to be covered in either hay or straw.
Was she supposed to clean her feet somewhere or just walk on top of the grass and let the mud fall wherever?
“What is it, lass?” With a curt nod, Drummond dismissed the guards. The men went back outside and closed the heavy wooden doors fortified with thick iron bands and hammered hardware. The deep thud upon their closing echoed through the high-ceilinged chamber. “Now, lass. What troubles ye?”