She closed her eyes and shook until she finally fell into an uneasy sleep.
Chapter 18
Nathanielthought he just might have reached the end of his tether. Considering how many times he had clutched what he’d thought was the end of that rope, that was indeed saying something. Perhaps what he needed was more than three hours’ sleep at a stretch, more than twenty-four hours between trips to the past, and a few answers. A vacation would have served as well, but he didn’t see that happening any time soon.
All he knew was that he never again wanted to watch a man leap out of the shadows and manage to get his dagger that close to Emma Baxter’s chest before he could be stopped.
Some of it might have had to do with how little he cared to think about that element of his life in the past. He fought to defend his clan, such as it was, and he had now fought the same man twice to defend his woman. He did both knowing that the damage he inflicted on his attackers was permanent and generally fatal. He did it because he had to.
He shook his head. He was starting to sound like a medieval clansman in his head. It was only a matter of time before he started spouting that kind of rubbish aloud and to men in the current day. That was something he could deal with, he supposed. Reliving what felt like the same day in the past more than once was something he was still trying to digest.
It had been the same day, hadn’t it?
He didn’t know, but he’d already texted the man he thought might be able to help him determine that. He’d been granted an audience, in just those words. He’d been reminded to bringalong the appropriate gear. He hadn’t had to ask what that gear might be, because he’d already had it clarified for him several days earlier. He suspected a morning facing Patrick MacLeod over blades wasn’t going to be very pleasant, but he was backed into a corner and needed answers.
The same day repeating. As if time traveling itself wasn’t gobsmacking enough on its own...
He steadfastly refused to think about the fact that if he’d tried to sort things a year earlier with Patrick’s help, perhaps even a pair of months earlier, he wouldn’t have had to save Emma’s life twice, nor watch her fall apart in front of him the same number of times.
He would have shaken his head over the state of affairs in his life, but he’d done that so much that he’d gotten a crackle in his neck that took noisy flight every time he turned to look at something.
He pulled to a stop in front of Emma’s cottage, then simply sat there and thought about her for a moment or two. The woman owned spy clothes. How extensive that wardrobe might have been was definitely something to investigate before he took her shopping. Depending on what he found, he would no doubt have an opinion on what she purchased. He suspected she would pay as much heed to that as she’d paid to anything else he’d said to that point, which was exactly none.
Damn her to hell, he thought he might never get her out of his heart or his head.
He crawled out of his car, stood on her porch, and gave one last thought to the wisdom of what he was planning. He didn’t want to talk to her about what had become a shared experience in a different lifetime, he just wanted it to stop. Unfortunately, he was afraid if he just left her alone, she would go off and do something again that he might have considered ill-advised.
And he might not be able to reach her in time.
He sighed and lifted his hand to knock, then jumped a bit when the door opened before he could. Mistress Emmaline Baxter stood there, dressed in jeans and holding a pair of high-heeled shoes in one hand and plaid muck boots in the other. He blinked, then smiled. She did not smile in return.
“I’m out of clothes,” she said with a scowl.
“There’s a mercy there.”
“And shoes.”
“So I see,” he noted. “We’ll go to Inverness tomorrow and see what can be found. I don’t think I’ll be buying you any useful shoes, though. Don’t want you scampering off.”
“You won’t need to worry about that, because you’re not going to be buying me anything, buster,” she said. “I was planning on running into the village this morning to buy my own footwear.”
“Why don’t you opt for boots and come with me for a morning of adventure at Patrick MacLeod’s hall?”
She hesitated. “It sounds better than what I had planned.”
“And what was that?”
“I was considering driving to that old Fergusson castle—”
“Don’t,” he interrupted before he thought better of it.
She studied him. “Any reason why not?”
The list was very long and he imagined she could supply at least a handful of items for it. He looked at her, but couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Damn it to hell, he wasnotgoing to concede to anything as barking as time travel. He simply refused.
She sighed. She put her shoes inside, put her boots on, then pulled the door closed behind her. She locked it, then looked at him. He didn’t want to feel any undue pleasure that she was wearing the jacket he’d bought her—she likely didn’t have anything else—but there it was.
He was lost.
