“Aye, lass.” His dark brows drew closer together and something that might be genuine worry flickered across his striking handsomeness that belonged on the cover of a romance novel. He reached for a pitcher and an impressive antique pewter goblet, poured liquid into it, and handed it to her. “Here, lass. Drink. Ye seem a mite confused.”
“Yes.” She nodded as she took the cup. “Confused is a very accurate word for me right now.” She sniffed the contents before she sipped and frowned. “Why does this smell like alcohol?”
“Alcohol?”
She squinted down into the goblet, then sniffed it again. “Is this beer?”
Mr. MacKay gave her a bewildered shake of his head. “Nay, lass. ’Tis ale. Would ye prefer mead?”
She stared at him for a long moment before answering, unsure exactly what to say. “Uhm…water, maybe? Could I have some water?” Had she been in an accident and had a head injury, maybe? A wreck, perhaps, and a film crew had rescued her and brought her to their set? She shook her head at that. No. That was ridiculous. Nothing like that was going on anywhere near her town. “Where did you say this is? I really need to be getting home, Mr. MacKay.”
“Ronan.”
“What?”
“Call meRonan, lass, ye ken?”
“I’m not sure whatkenmeans.” She handed the glass back to him. “Where is this again?”
“Castle MacKay.”
“There is no Castle MacKay in Kentucky,” she whispered, pressing so tightly back against the wall that the roughness of the stone blocks became almost painful.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he went to a cabinet on the far side of the room and poured something from a different pitcher into another glass. When he returned and handed it to her, she couldn’t read his expression, and that increased her uneasiness almost more than she could bear.
“Water for ye, lass. ’Twill make ye feel better to wet yer thrapple.”
She sniffed it first, her deep inhale echoing in the metal goblet.
Ronan sadly shook his head. “I would never lie to ye, Mistress Harley.”
“Just Harley.” She took a sip, and it was the sweetest, cleanest water she had ever tasted. And he was right. It made her feel better. “Harley Trent.”
He smiled as though grateful for the gift of her full name, but this time the smile was sad and that same sadness was reflected in his eyes.
“I need to get home now,” she said, making up her mind to challenge him and find out just how nice and kind this handsome, dark-haired pirate type Highlander really was.
“This is home now, lass. Scotland of 1407.” He gave her a compassionate nod. “I am sorry, but I dinna think we can get ye back to wherever or whenever ye once lived. If we did, the sea goddess might attempt to foist more mischief upon ye.”
Harley clutched and stretched the neckline of her cotton pullover, finding it difficult to breathe.A trembling she couldn’t control shook her so hard, she spilled her water—but didn’t care.Spilled water was the least of her worries right now. “I cannot be in Scotland or the year 1407. I live in Kentucky and the year is 2008.”
He bowed his head and blew out a heavy sigh that made her want to scream. “I am sorry, lass.”
“Stop calling melass! I told you my name is Harley!”
With his mouth clamped shut in a tight, unhappy line, he gave her a quick nod. “Forgive me. I meant no insult.” Another heavy sigh gusted free of him as he leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose. “What is the last thing ye remember before ye woke up here? Where were ye? What were ye doing?”
She stared at him, refusing to buy into whatever mind game he was trying to pull. He might be handsome, and he might be kind, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. She shoved the glass of water into his hands, then scooted back out of his reach against the wall. “I don’t know. I just woke up, and I was here.” She nervously wet her lips. “Tell me whereherereally is. And I want the truth this time.”
“I told ye, lass—Harley, I will never lie to ye. This is Scotland. And it is the year 1407.”
A sharp knock on the door made her jump and bang her head against the stone wall behind her. “Dammit!” She squinted while rubbing the sting from her skull.
A woman dressed in a costume straight out of a movie about ancient Scotland entered the room. “I see she has awakened.”
“Aye.”Ronan rose from his chair again and gave a respectful dip of his head. “Mistress Harley Trent, this is my mother, Rachel MacKay—lady of Clan MacKay.”
Hugging herself against a renewed wave of hysteria, Harley swallowed hard to keep from vomiting all over the bed. She saw the resemblance between the two. Both had the same dark hair, although the woman’s was streaked with silver, and she had the strangest eyes. Not green like Ronan’s but a blue so rich and dark that they were purple.”
