He would go back and he would solve things himself.
He had no other choice.
Chapter 27
Emmastood with Nathaniel while they took their leave of James MacLeod and tried not to think about the fact that she’d just spent an evening in the castle of a medieval laird.
Or, perhaps more to the point, crammed behind a sofa in a medieval laird’s private study.
Getting herself downstairs after Nathaniel and Jamie had decamped had been something of a trick, but she wasn’t beyond thinking on her feet. She’d waited until she’d heard male voices fade, then quickly slipped out into the hallway and made it sound as if she’d just hurried out from the laird’s room of swords. It was simply amazing, she had told them breathlessly, how quickly time had passed while she’d been lingering over that incredible collection of historic weapons.
If Jamie had reached out and casually plucked a dust bunny from off her shoulder, she’d pretended not to notice.
Never admit anythinghad been Bertie’s favorite axiom, and she clung to it with both hands. She had been cheerfully polite, thanked Jamie profusely for his hospitality, and waved as she and Nathaniel had left the hall and walked to her car.
She didn’t comment when Nathaniel put his sword in the car, wedging it between their seats. If he took her hand and put it on his leg as they were driving so he could cover it with his own except when he was shifting gears, she didn’t argue with it. When he came inside her house and built up her fire, she only thanked him. But when he headed toward her door, she stopped him.
He wasn’t going to get away that easily.
“It’s early,” she said before he reached for the doorknob. “Interested in some of our usual fare of crap telly?”
He stopped with his back half to her and his head bowed. He sighed, then turned and pulled her into his arms. He held her in silence until she half wondered if he ever intended to let her go. Perhaps he would simply stand there forever, unmoving and unspeaking.
“You could stay,” she whispered.
He cursed. She thought that she might want to make a list of those Gaelic curses at some point, though she had to admit she was starting to recognize a few things she’d heard before. She held on to him tightly.
“How do you sayI love youin Gaelic?”
“Tha gaol— Wait, why?”
“No reason.”
He sighed deeply. “Tha gaol agam ort. And it sounds nothing like ’tis spelled.”
“How did you learn all this?”
“My mother, for the most part. The rest? On the job, darling. On the job.”
She pulled back. “Stay. At least for a while.”
He sighed, released her, and took her face in his hands. He shook his head, then kissed her.
“Telly,” he said, “then I’m locking you in your house.” He looked at her seriously. “Don’t go anywhere without me, Emma.”
She nodded, though she had absolutely no intention of paying any attention to that.
She’d obviously heard what he and Jamie had discussed and she had the feeling he’d come to a serious decision in James MacLeod’s hall. Given what she knew of Nathaniel MacLeod, she had no doubt what that decision was. If he followed through, he would never encounter her across time’s boundary, then he would likely simply keep out of her sights until she unthinkingly left Benmore behind to pursue her original reason for coming to Scotland.
To turn dreams into reality.
She didn’t want to think about the cosmic ramifications of that.
She considered several ways to get around Nathaniel’s likely plan. She could write herself a note to remind herself that she was terribly in love with the man holding her in his arms, or send herself something to an email account she could bury under other accounts, or, as a last resort, she could text Bertie a secret code that would lead her down a trail to a certain recluse in the Benmore forest.
She put her jammies on because she thought it might throw him off guard to see some MacLeod plaid on display, then sat down on the couch with him and the cups of tea he’d made. She put her head on his shoulder, her arm around his waist, and closed her eyes.
She hadn’t wanted to agree with Jamie that Nathaniel should try to fix things by making sure she never met him, though she had to admit that it was the most straightforward and sensible solution of all those available. It was hard, unyielding chivalry.
