Evie couldn’t decideif she liked Dugan or not. The man laughed and talked with such an abrasive loudness, she wondered if he suffered from poor hearing. With his barrel chest and even rounder middle, she sympathized with his horse, too. A smidge shorter than Quinn’s towering six foot seven, when Dugan walked or strutted with his boisterous, arm-swinging gait, the earth shook. Or seemed to anyway. But Quinn acted as if he trusted the man, so she supposed she should give the bellowing mountain the benefit of the doubt.
She also wasn’t all that keen on Quinn dubbing her with the title of alady. How in the world could she manage a title in the thirteenth century when she didn’t even know how to behave like a commoner?
“Would you like a power bar, Mr. MacTaggart?” Even though she only had a few left, she couldn’t very well leave him out.
He took it from her with a quizzical drawing in of his bushy black brows. When the packet crackled, he frowned and rubbed his thumb across the shiny wrapper. “I…uhm…thank ye, m’lady.”
“It’s nay poison, man,” Quinn teased. “Try it. With yer love of all things sweet, I promise ye will like it.”
The man shrugged and went to shove it into his mouth, paper and all.
“No!” She barely snatched it away before he bit down. “We have to unwrap it first. I don’t think you’d be too keen on chewing through that paper.” She stripped away the foil and handed the bar back to him. “Now try.”
The longer he chewed, the faster his head bobbed up and down. “Ye’re right, cousin. Verra tasty indeed.” With a jolly wink, he patted his enormous belly with both hands. “But it’ll take more than that wee drop to fill this oversized bucket.” He rolled to his feet. “I’ll fetch us some hares for supper. Or mayhap a ptarmigan or whatever else comes within range.” He laughed big and loud, making nearby birds take flight. “I’ll bring back all I can gather so’s we can enjoy a proper meal to celebrate today’s tidings.” After a polite bow in Evie’s direction, he headed for his horse. “Fetching our meal will take no time at all with my bow,” he bellowed back over his shoulder. “Tell her what a wonder I am, cousin. Impress her with me, aye?”
Quinn rolled his eyes before giving her a grudging nod. “He is fair enough.” He stretched out on the pallet, then flinched as he folded his hands behind his head. “Feckin’ scratch. I hit it every time.” He rolled to his side and patted the place beside him. “Ye need rest too, lass. If ye dinna think I can balance well enough to ride today, the least ye can do is make me feel better by taking yer ease, too. After all, ye nearly drowned.” His smile took on a mischievous slant. “Ye can keep me warm, ye ken?”
“It is July, and we have a fire.” She folded the thermal blanket, doubling it to make a softer seat an arm’s length away. Hugging her knees, she propped her chin atop them and stared into the crackling flames. “I hope he doesn’t want me to cook whatever he kills. I order take out whenever I’m not on shift and find myself at home.” She cringed as soon as the words left her mouth. If she expected to survive in this century, she must stop saying things that related to the future. “Take out is a fish,” she lied to cover her error. “You eat it raw.”
Quinn wrinkled his nose. “I reckon if ye’re hungry enough, ye will eat anything.”
“Too true,” she quickly agreed, relieved he’d accepted the tale. She didn’t lie well. Never had and sorely missed that skill set now. And while she wasn’t an expert on the thirteenth century, she felt sure men of this time preferred their women powerless and unopinionated. Heaven help her mouth. It certainly kept her in hot water enough in the twenty-first century. “So, will he expect me to cook his catch?”
“Are ye saying yecannacook? Orwillnacook?”
She gave him a sharp glance but relaxed when his concerned demeanor assured her the question held no malice. “I’m saying if I cook, that piece of burnt wood will be tastier than whatever I prepare.” She shrugged. “I am a damn fine surgeon, but as far as cooking or keeping house, it’s low marks all around.”
“Low marks?”
“Enormous fails. Epic proportions, in fact.” She always took meticulous care of her patients. Drove her peers to distraction with her attention to the smallest medical detail. But in her personal life? She excelled in untidiness and ordering takeout.
She rose, too anxious to sit any longer. Perhaps a wash would clear her head enough to sort out a plan of surviving this mucked-up mess. “I’m feeling a bit gamey.” She gathered up her only change of clothes and small bag of toiletries she’d possessed the foresight to bring along. “I’m going downstream for a wash.” With the stern look she always used on those she wished to intimidate, she aimed the toiletry bag at Quinn. “Do I have your word that you and Mr. MacTaggart will stay here in the clearing and respect my privacy?”
He rested a hand over his heart. “Ye have my word, lass, but dinna go far. A woman alone is never safe.” His relaxed manner disappeared, and he gave her a stern look of his own. “Promise ye willna go far nor tarry verra long, aye?”
A sound and reasonable request since they still did not know who attacked him. “I promise.”
He nodded, then resettled himself on the pallet and closed his eyes. “Ye may go then.”
“I may go then?” She kicked his boot with enough force to make him grunt and open his eyes. “I wasn’t asking your permission. I merely extended you the courtesy of sharing what I intended to do.” Thirteenth-century or not, she would not be treated like a child or a possession.
With a disgruntled frown, he pushed himself to a sitting position. “I’ve granted ye my protection, lass. I’ll thank ye to treat that gesture with the gratitude and respect it deserves.”
Even though she knew Quinn’s manners and attitude hadn’t evolved to twenty-first-century standards, she couldn’t keep quiet on this. She just couldn’t. “While I am grateful to have you as an ally, that does not mean you are my keeper, nor by any means does it grant you the right to order me around as if I’m your pet.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “I’m beginning to understand why ye were banished.” Head tipping to one side, his intense scrutiny made her back up a step. “Of course, most healers are hard-headed and outspoken.” He jabbed a finger at her. “But ye would do well to remember I am the chieftain, and my orders are to be obeyed, ye ken?”
The back of her neck always tingled whenever she said more than she should. It currently stung like fire. If she intended to survive, instinct told her to get control of her tongue and edit her thoughts before they came out of her mouth. “Forgive me. I am well aware you are chieftain.”
His expression immediately softened. “I just want ye safe, lass. That is all. I would never treat ye with disrespect.”
“And for that, I am grateful. By the way, you might dry yourself better while I’m gone. I’m sure your boots are still a bit damp.” She hugged her change of clothes and hurried downstream, silently cursing Maggie and Finchcrest’s admins for discovering a way to rid themselves of her permanently.
Distracted by whirling thoughts and storming emotions, she found herself back at the second set of falls before she realized it. She hadn’t planned to go that far, but at least the stream looked deeper here, deep enough to wade in and submerge for a thorough scrubbing. With any luck, the cold water would shock her back to the future.
Perched on the mossy bank, she unlaced her wet boots and yanked them off. It would take forever to dry the things out, even if she propped them open and left them close to the fire. Socks, then jeans came next, all of them still quite damp as well. Right before pulling her t-shirt off over her head, a stick snapped behind her.
“Who’s there?” She picked up a boot and prepared to throw it. It was the closest thing to a weapon within reach.
