“Do ye believe in all that stuff? Tarot cards telling the future?” They both bounced hard as the wagon lurched around again, went a short way, then made a sharp turn. “I mean—really?” He shifted again, his narrow behind bouncing across the boards through a stretch of even rougher road.
His question gave her pause. She had seen Gran, her mother, and Auntie Loraine correctly predict, or at least hint at, many things that had come to pass. In fact, all three had proven themselves accurate roughly ninety percent of the time. Or so they claimed. All had been big believers in the mystical power of candles, colors, and crystals, too. But Gran had still died of cancer that the powers never warned her about, and her mother had committed suicide after her father’s surprising death from a stroke.
“No. I dinna believe in such things.” Mila gave him a teasing nudge with her elbow. “Gran and Auntie both said I would find my soul mate after traveling farther than humanly possible. And that he would be a pirate. How silly is that?”
He grinned as they lurched to a stop. “Maybe not so silly. Most dinna think time travel is humanly possible. Could be ye will find him here.” He pushed himself up and stood on tiptoe to see over the barrels. “Ye got to see this, Mi.”
She stiffly rose and turned, then leaned against the cargo to keep from collapsing. Éirich Castle. And it was not the crumbling remains from her time but a tall, forbidding structure of impressive limestone blocks tucked deep in the complex ridges and peaks ofBidean nam Bian, the mountainous region that included the Three Sisters of Glencoe. Brand new and shining in the sun. Some parts still under construction. The keep and smaller structures of the inner courtyard looked complete, but the protective outer wall encircling them still needed a few sections and the installation of the portcullis.
She dragged her gaze from what she had previously known as overgrown rubble and eyed Teague. Construction had started on Éirich Castle in 1712 under the new MacDonald chief, who was reportedly only twenty years old at the time. Considered somewhat young for the task, he prevailed because of his impressive pedigree. He was the nephew of Old Maclain, the highly respected MacDonald chieftain murdered in the Glencoe Massacre of 1692.
Éirich Castle. Rumored to be one of the slowest castle builds in Scotland. Historians said it took eleven years to complete, but the young chief did not live to see it. Arrested for treason at just thirty years of age, he was executed by hanging, drawing, and quartering. That realization puckered her brow with confusion. That poor man’s name had been Drummond Maclain. Not Teague MacDonald.
Perhaps Teague replaced Maclain the younger? That would put the current year at about 1722 or later. She eyed the castle. A good bit of work remained, but a year’s worth? Perhaps. Getting materials to this remote area couldn’t be easy. And none of these men appeared upset about a recent hanging or their clan’s renewed oath of loyalty to King George I rather than the exiled King JamesVIII. Again, historians reported the oath was the only way they could keep their lands after Maclain’s execution.
“Ye’ve gone all quiet.” Robbie bumped against her. “Are ye feeling sick again?”
“No. Just thinking.”
“Help Mistress Abernathy down,” Teague said before dismounting. He cast a congenial wink at Robbie. “I am sure the lad can manage his own departure from the wagon.”
“Ye wish to come and help us tend the cargo and horses?” Calder asked Robbie.
“Aye.” Bhric coaxed the boy with a mischievous grin. “Lasses always watch from the wall. Ye can impress them.”
Robbie looked at her and waited.
Mila clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms. “Robbie—I would rather ye stay with me.”
“They mean him no harm, mistress,” Teague said. He swung down from the saddle and joined her. Apparently, the ride had rid him of his bad mood. He aimed a slight nod at the pair of men, then leaned in close and spoke soft and low. “They are trying to gain yer favor through yer son, ye ken?” One of his sleek, dark brows slanted higher. “Ye are widowed, aye?”
“Aye.” Might as well go along with their perception of her. The less truth she shared, the safer. She sensed her luck at avoiding every question was quickly running out.
“Come on, Mi? Can I?” Robbie said. “Remember what ye promised about not babying me anymore?”
Bloody hell. What could she say to that? She took hold of his shoulder and squeezed. “Mind yerself,” she warned with a stern look.
“I will.” Then he took off, leaving her wondering if she had done the right thing.
“He will be safe, mistress.” Teague offered his arm. “And it will give us time to talk and come to an accord.”
She moved back a step, knowing if she refused his arm again, he would not be pleased. And even with her heightened anxiousness, it was difficult to remain aloof and untouched by the powerful man’s subtle charm. In another time…another place.
She blinked away the ridiculous notion. “What accord might that be, Chieftain MacDonald?”
His dark eyes narrowed to watchful slits, and he came closer. “Ye may call me Teague, mistress. Remember?”
She veered a half step away. Her inner sense of survival demanded it. “And ye may call me Mila,” she said, knowing that eventually, she would forget to answer to Mistress Abernathy.
“Mila,” he repeated. The natural sensuality in his rumbling tone made it feel like a caress. “Miracle. Gracious. Dear one.” The warmth in his smile embraced her like a lover. “It suits ye.”
She cleared her throat, fighting his magnetic charisma. “What?”
“The meaning of yer name.” The way he spoke made her feel as if they had known each other forever. He chatted like a close friend. “Depending on what part of the world ye are in, of course,” he added as he nudged his arm closer and set his chin to a challenging angle.
“World traveler, are ye?” she said, ignoring his gesture.
He allowed his arm to drop and eyed her with an unreadable expression. “Ye might say that.” Resettling his stance, he clasped his hands behind his back and assumed a cautious sternness she hadn’t seen in him before. “Even though I canna fathom why ye would be on the run wearing such trappings, I offer ye protection.” His dark-eyed stare drove deeper into her until it touched her soul. “But I demand much in return from those I keep safe.”
