“Wow. You’re blowing my mind.” Emily massaged the ache building at her temples.
They each looked at her with furrowed brows as if she didn’t make sense. Maybe she didn’t. “I mean…” She swallowed uneasily, a whisper of acceptance taking hold. The evidence around her seemed to affirm she and Tevin were in the past and that some sort ofpixie magicwas the catalyst. “You’ve given me a lot to consider.”
“There is more,” Isobell said, her voice gentle as if cajoling a skittish colt. “You must wed Gregor. Sooner than later.”
Emily’s mouth fell open. Snapped shut. She glanced from face to face. “I’m sorry. I must have misheard. You don’t really mean for me to marry a perfect stranger.”
A grinding sound came from deep within Archie’s throat. His firm gaze slid over her. “For your safety, you need to wedour lad here. Tales of magic shroud this clan. The Sheriff of Bute has embarked on a crusade against Clan MacLachlan and watches for new rumors to surface. He would be more than happy to accuse you of delving into the dark arts.”
“Witchcraft?”
“Aye. Although many folk fear the magic surrounding us, the sheriff’s motives are purely political. He will use any whispering of odd occurrences against us. Against you. But if you are wed to a Highlander… Ach, well, you and Tevin will be safer with Gregor claiming you as wife and Tevin as son.”
“And you have agreed?” She pinned Gregor with a surprised stare. The guy could probably have any woman he wanted.Why would he want me?
He held a closed fist over his heart. “I would be honored to be your champion.”
His declaration was rather sweet. Heroic. But still…
“How will being married to…” She gulped. “Gregor. How will beingmarriedprotect us?”
“We need you to blend in. Not attract attention,” Archie said. “You ken a beautiful maiden such as yourself will stir interest amongst the single lads. Your modern ways are different. Fascinating. Enticing. The lads will compete for your favor. Rumors will circulate and reach the sheriff’s ears. He is far too interested in the comings and goings of our keep. He accused Jillian of witchcraft and arrested her when she visited several years ago. She managed to escape with Stephen’s help and that of the Fae. But it was a near thing.”
Emily shook her head, overwhelmed by the insane circumstances. “Fae? Pixies? Witchcraft? This is madness.”
Archie leaned forward. “I dinnae ken if I can protect you if the sheriff decides—”
“Please, lass,” Gregor implored. “Let me help you and the wee lad.”
“I can’t marry you. I can’t marry anyone.” She couldn’t betray Kim’s memory with another man. Especially one as handsome as Gregor. She snapped her gaze to Archie. “I won’t.”
Emily ran from the room.
“Wait!” Gregor’s voice trailed her.
She hoped they—he—wouldn’t follow. Could she be any more upset? More embarrassed? They had planned to force the guy to marry her. It wasn’t as if he was attracted to her. They’d just met. She skidded across the great hall’s stone floor and rushed down a flight of stairs and out of the keep chased by overwhelming panic. How was she to get out of this insane nightmare?
CHAPTER SIX
The meeting with his intended hadn’t gone well. Gregor swirled the amber liquid in the glass the chief had given him earlier, trying to appear unaffected by the lass’s rejection. Then he threw back a long swallow of the whisky, taking solace from the slow burn in his throat.
Lady Isobell frantically whispered in the chief’s ear. She turned to Gregor. “I will speak to her.” The lady rushed from the chamber in pursuit of Emily.
Gregor rose to his full five foot ten inch height to follow, surprised at how much he wanted the lass to agree to become his wife. He didn’t mind that the chief hadn’t given him a chance to refuse. That Gregor hadn’t intended to wed until after he’d made a name for himself within the clan. The order had been given and he had accepted without complaint. He’d been mesmerized by the lass since first glimpsing her on that cursed knoll.
“Dinnae chase after her,” Archibald advised. “Give her time.”
“Do we have time?”
“Nae.” The chief shook his head. “Not much anyway.”
Gregor stalked to the window and ran the tips of his fingers over his forehead and scalp, digging in with bluntnails, massaging, and tugging the strands of long hair back from his eyes. The sun shone brightly from a cloudless blue sky. On the field below, the MacLachlan lads practiced with all manner of weapons, the day proceeding in a normal, orderly manner as was usual during the month of August.
However, naught would ever be the same for him or for the lass. The sooner she accepted the truth of their situation, the better he could provide protection.
* * *
Emily stumbled across the cobbled courtyard and through the castle gate into a field of men brandishing lethal-looking swords and other weapons not of the twenty-first century. She froze. These men were definitely not reenactors. These men were real honest-to-goodness Scottish warriors.
