She sighed and looked at Arran. “No, it didn’t work.Thistime. But Iwillfigure it out.”
“I’ve no doubt ye will,” Arran said gently. “But not today. The tide is coming in and I willnae have ye risk further injury.”
“But—”
“No buts, Jenna. Ye have a lump on yer head the size of a plum, did ye know that? I want Martha to take a look at ye. I willnae have my spellweaver take unnecessary risks just because she’s stubborn and doesnae know when to call it a day.”
“I am not stubborn!” Jenna said, crossing her arms and frowning at him. But, she had to admit, she was starting to get a headache and her bruises were also starting to make themselves known. Arran said nothing, merely watched her with one eyebrow raised. “Fine!” she cried, throwing up her hands.
“Good.” Arran rose smoothly to his feet then held out a hand to help her up. Jenna took it, stumbling a little as she rose. Arran steadied her and the two of them began walking back up the beach to where they’d left the horses.
As she passed, Jenna shot an annoyed glare at the anchor stone, as though it was the cause of all her woes. So much for being home by lunchtime! So much for the trashy movie and the tub of ice cream! She was going to have to spend another night in this century, with all the danger of craziness that brought.
But, she thought, as she leaned heavily on Arran, feeling the reassuring solidity of him, perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Jenna didn’t know what had gone wrong with the magic of the anchor stone. But one thing shedidknow.
She would figure it out if it was the last thing she did.
Chapter Thirteen
The night wasunseasonably warm as Arran paced. The air was still and the heat of the day lingered, even though the sun had long since disappeared and night had enveloped Skye. Up here on the battlements of Dun Tabor there was normally a breeze—and in the winter a howling gale that froze your stones if you weren’t careful—but tonight even here he could not escape the heat. It was barely May and yet it felt like midsummer. Just another indication that all was not well with his homeland.
Glancing at the position of the stars, he guessed it was somewhere in the small hours of the night. Around him, Dun Tabor was sleeping, with only the guards who kept constant watch over the castle still awake and vigilant. Unable to sleep himself, Arran had risen from his bed and joined them. It had become his habit of late, and these days he was pretty sure he spent as much time walking the battlements as his guards did.
He paused and rested his hands on the rough stone of the wall, gazing out into the darkness. There was little to see except a few candles burning in the village windows and the quick outline of a fox as it darted through the shadows.
He sighed, thumping his fist against the hard stone, thinking over the events of the day. He had hoped Jenna would fix the magic today. She had seemed so confident that he’d gone along with her,allowing himself to hope, even though he suspected in his heart that it wouldn’t be as simple as she seemed to think.
He had seen what Jenna was capable of when she’d healed all those people in the infirmary, but he could not deny the sinking sense of disappointment he felt when things hadn’t gone to plan. And yet, that sense of disappointment paled in comparison to the fear that had washed through him when she’d been tossed across the beach like a piece of flotsam.
After her faint at Bail Nan Cnoc and then learning that the raiders knew of her existence, Arran had been very careful in ensuring her safety. Jenna herself, though, didn’t seem to share his concern, and she was more than cavalier with her own wellbeing, taking risks and pushing herself beyond what was reasonable.
He wished she would be more careful. The last thing he wanted to do was lose his spellweaver. No, not his spellweaver. Jenna. He didn’t want to lose Jenna.
It made no sense to him, the way this strange woman from the future stirred such feelings in him. She was here to do a job and when that job was done, she would be gone. Their arrangement was a simple business transaction, so why did he find himself looking for her whenever he entered a room and longing to hear her voice when she wasn’t around?
He scrubbed a hand through his hair, his thoughts and feelings tangling into a knot he struggled to unpick. No wonder he couldn’t sleep. How could any man be expected to sleep when they were ensnared in the knot of conflicting emotions in which he found himself?
It would be best if he stayed away from the lass. Mal could easily deputize for him. Aye. That’s what he would do. Come the morning he would ride out on patrol and put some distance between himself and Jenna MacFinnan. Maybe that would help to calm the turmoil she caused whenever she was near.
He turned to head down the steps but paused as movement by the gate caught his eye. Squinting, he leaned on the wall to get a better view. A figure was walking along the edge of the courtyard towards the gates, keeping to the shadows.
The hairs on the back of Arran’s neck rose. An intruder! He opened his mouth to bellow a warning, but as the figure darted through a patch of torchlight, the words died in his throat.
It was Jenna.
She paused, glanced around, and then hurried towards the two guards standing on duty in front of the gate. Arran watched, perplexed. What was she doing? Why was she sneaking around the castle at this time of night?
Fully expecting the guards on the gate to stop her, Arran’s mouth dropped open when she walked between them without them so much as glancing in her direction. What the—? He watched in dumbfounded disbelief as she opened the small postern gate set into the larger gate and let herself out, closing it quietly behind her.
The guards never even so much as moved.
With a snarl, Arran tore down the steps, taking them two at a time, and sprinted across the courtyard. Spotting him barreling towards them, the guards snapped to attention.
“My laird!”
“What the hell was that?” Arran snapped. “Why didnae ye stop her?”
