“No one will harm either of ye here,” Gunn said, insulted that they looked to the nursemaid for protection rather than himself.
Their leery gazes shifted away from him and returned to their self-appointed guardian angel. She removed her cloak and draped it over the arms of the timid lass. “On wi’ ye, now. Get warm. Wrap in my cloak, if ye like. It’ll help hold the heat close around ye.”
That seemed to convince them. Either that or the warmth of the fire had become too tempting to resist.
Watching them walk away, she raked a hand through her tousled mane. Its golden shade, striated with ambers and soft browns, reminded him of rippling fields of ripe barley. Strangely, her tresses barely brushed the tops of her shoulders. Why the blazes would she cut it so short? Punishment for insolence, perhaps?
When she turned and leveled a stern gaze upon him, the unusual coloring of her eyes caught him off guard. They almost glowed an eerily bright blue-green, the same shade as the shimmering spirits that sometimes danced across the night skies in winter. Her hooded cloak had hidden them, as well as her fetching curves.
“I need to use yer phone,” she said.
“My what?” He didn’t recognize that word. Did she think to delay their talk by speaking gibberish?
A slight frown creased her brow and frustration flashed in her eyes. She resettled her footing and stood taller, as though ready to battle. “What is this place?”
Impressed and slightly amused by her courageous stubbornness, he mimicked her stance. “Thursa Castle.”
She hugged her arms across her middle, bowed her head, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Thursa Castle. Near Thurso in Caithness, aye?”
“Aye.” He noted that the longer she spoke, the tenser she became, even though he had yet to confront her about her brazenness.
“And yer name, sir?” She nervously raked her hair back again, pulled a strange circular ribbon from around her wrist, and secured her tresses away from her face.
“Gunn Sinclair, chieftain of Clan Sinclair, and sixth Earl of Caithness.”
“SixthEarl of Caithness?” she repeated.
He gave her an aloof nod, curious to hear what the fidgeting beauty said next.
“I see.” She pressed both hands to her cheeks, kept them there as though her teeth ached, then peered at him through her fingers.
“Are ye unwell?”
“I am not sure yet.” She swiped a hand across her forehead, then squinted at him. “I dinna suppose ye would ken today’s date?” Even though she appeared indifferent about the question, all the color had drained from her cheeks. “The trip has…” Her words trailed off.
“Addled ye?”
“Aye.” She nodded. “Badly.”
“Second of December,” he replied. “Year of our Lord 1622.”
She clutched her throat as though about to choke. “That is not possible.” She stumbled back into a stone pillar and sagged to one side.
He lunged forward and swept her up into his arms before she hit the floor. “Edmond!” he bellowed.
“Edmond and the lads are still unloading trunks,” Jasper said as he strode into the hall. A gust of snow and wind accompanied the trusted war chief before his aides slammed the doors shut behind him. He shook the snow off his fur mantle while grinning at Gunn’s armload. “The loud redhead was the one I found for ye. Are ye considering this one too?”
Gunn ignored the man’s poor attempt at humor. “This one is the nursemaid to Lady Murdina’s son. When I told her today’s date, she swooned.”
Jasper stepped up beside him and peered down at her. “Comely lass. Maybe she has a bairn on the way?”
“I dinna ken.” Gunn turned and strode deeper into the hall, glaring at the kinsmen and servants pausing to eye him with interest. “Back to yer own affairs. All of ye.”
“Ye have killed her!” wee Frances screeched. The scrawny pup grabbed an iron from the hearth and charged at him, swinging it like a sword. The thin young maid followed close behind, brandishing a stick of firewood like an ax.
Jasper blocked them both. He snatched the rod and wood away, scooped up the lad, and held him under one arm. He shook a finger in the wee lass’s face, walking her back several paces. “Mind yer manners, now. We dinna attack our chieftain.”
“He has killed her!” the boy cried, thrashing and kicking to get loose.
