She whirled. “No, you haven’t offended me, just—” She cut off as she realized how close he was, not six inches away, staring down at her with those deep blue eyes of his. She swallowed thickly. “But I think you’d better go now.”
He studied her face and his eyes suddenly narrowed. “Wait,” hebreathed. “I know ye. Ye are the one in the vision Lir showed me. I recognize ye now!”
“Don’t be stupid. We’ve never met before.” Vision? What vision?
“Ye said yer name was Jenna,” he said softly. “Jenna MacFinnan. Am I right?”
She pushed past him and went to stand on the other side of the table, putting some space between them. “Yes, I’m Jenna MacFinnan, and I’m also very busy. So you need to leave now.”
He shook his head. “I canna do that, lass. I need yer help.”
“I’ve already told you, if you need to retrieve your boat from the lake, there’s a—”
“I need ye to come back through time with me to save my people.”
Jenna stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“The goddess Lir sent me from the year 1497 to bring a MacFinnan spellweaver back through time with me. Only yer magic can save my people.”
He was clearly insane. “If you expect me to believe that—”
“I’m telling the truth, lass. The lake ye dragged me from? That was the portal Lir sent me through. Ye are a MacFinnan spellweaver—surely yer powers can tell ye I speak the truth?”
His blue eyes were alight with something like hope, and his voice sounded so earnest that Jenna paused. He really believed what he was saying. Either he was completely mad or… or… he was telling the truth.
She hadn’t touched her power in years and had no wish to do so now, yet she couldn’t deny that there was something very odd about the way he’d arrived here, not to mention the way he was dressed. All right. Just this once. Just a tiny bit.
Slowly, reluctantly, she opened herself up to her spellweaving magic. It was like opening the drapes on a sunny morning and the world suddenly sprang into sharper focus, revealing things that werenormally hidden. The first thing she saw was the strange displacement that surrounded Arran MacLeod like the shimmering optics of a rainbow. It hurt Jenna’s eyes to look at, and she knew immediately what it was.
A distortion of time.
Arran MacLeod was most definitely not of this time, which explained his strange appearance and his strange clothing. What it didnotexplain was how he thought she could help him, or why she would want to.
She disengaged her power, and the world faded to normal. “I’m sorry,” she said, striding to the door and holding it open for him. “I can’t help you. Now please leave.”
“Will ye not even hear me out?” he replied. “Will ye not even hear what I’ve come all this way to say?” There was an edge to his voice now, one that sounded like anger.
“I’ve heard enough. I’m not the person you’re looking for, and I can’t help you. Now go, before I call the police.”
He studied her. Warring emotions shone in his eyes. Anger, yes, and something else. Desperation? He was an imposing sight standing there like that, all six-foot-something of him with his huge shoulders and raptor’s glare. But she wouldn’t be intimidated. If he tried anything, she would kick him in the balls like Aunt Elise had suggested.
His fists clenched and she tensed, expecting some kind of outburst, but then his shoulders relaxed. “I can pay,” he said finally. “Name yer price.”
*
Arran watched JennaMacFinnan closely. She opened her mouth as though to speak—to tell him to go hurl himself in the lake most likely—but then closed it again. He took this as a good sign. Since hisoffer of payment she hadn’t refused him outright nor tried to throw him out of the house.
Lir had told him that he couldn’t force the spellweaver to come back with him, and that he had to find a way to persuade her. For a moment, when she’d refused to help him, he’d considered picking her up, slinging her over his shoulder, and bodily marching her back to the lake, whether she willed it or no.
He was so desperate to help his people that he would have done it had his conscience and common sense not stopped him. He’d never manhandled a woman in his life, and he wasn’t about to start now. And besides, this was a woman who could most likely toss him through the air like a leaf in a breeze if she chose to.
So he’d resorted to the only tactic he could think of: a deal. He’d pay whatever she wanted if she would agree to help him. He’d happily hand over what was left of the MacLeod wealth if that’s what it took. Wealth could be replaced. Lives could not.
Still, she said nothing, and he read skepticism in her wide green eyes. He couldn’t blame her. In his present condition he hardly looked the chieftain of a once-prosperous clan, did he? Neither had he brought any coin with him in order to make such a bargain.
He yanked the chieftain’s torc from around his neck and tossed it onto the kitchen table. It landed with a heavy thunk. “Here, I will give ye this for starters. It’s gold. Worth a pretty sum even in yer modern age I would image.”
The lass’s eyes widened. The torc was a heavy, braided circle of metal, with its terminals carved into the semblance of snarling sea-wolves with garnets for eyes. The torc had been the symbol of the chieftains of the MacLeods since time beyond measuring, passed down from chieftain to chieftain. It pained him to give it up. But that was naught compared to the pain of seeing his people suffer. What was one lump of gold compared to that?
