Holy shit!
One bare-chested man brushed past, his plaid riding up a muscled thigh as he attacked another scarcely clad man, their swords connecting with a clang. Her startled yelp went unheeded, as did the flush heating her cheeks. The men bounded away without acknowledging her presence.
As if she needed more proof she was out of her element; in a time not her own.
Emily backed into the modest safety of the gateway and lifted a hand to her brow to cut the glare from the sun. Where was Tevin?
Ah. There he is.
On the opposite side of the field, he and another boy—likely Archie and Isobell’s son—pranced about in the same manner as the men, only the boys lunged at each other with dull wooden swords. Circling and thrusting. Then repeating the moves. Moves Tevin probably learned from his father or some of the other Scottish reenactors in Anderson Creek.
A gnarled man of dwarf stature, with dark skin and dressed in the greens and browns of the forest, watched their practice from a perch on a nearby stone wall, his weathered face drawn in a tight frown. She wondered who he was andwhy he appeared so cross.
Emily lost sight of the children when several men broke away from their individual fights and encircled the boys, cheering them on. Bellowing, hooting, and howling.
She set off across the field, the need to hurry to Tevin’s side tightening her chest, but the annoying long skirt of her gown wrapped around and tangled between her legs, slowing her progress. Kicking at the fabric, Emily growled—gathered the cloth in a fisted hand, tugged it to one side and up to thigh height, freeing her legs—and ran. When she reached the boisterous crowd, she bobbed to the left and right, trying to see through the wall of sweaty and stinky bodies surrounding the boys.
She finally found a spot where she could see over a shorter man’s shoulder by way of standing on tiptoe. Only to see the blunt tip of his opponent’s sword poke Tevin in the chest, and Tevin fall to the ground arms spread wide. Eyes fluttering shut.
“No!” Emily’s heart plunged into her belly and she rushed forward.Dear God. Was he badly hurt? She pushed and shoved at the men blocking the way. It was like trying to burst through an impenetrable wall.Dammit!She needed to get to Tevin.
The crowd of men merged into a tight group and lifted the winner onto their shoulders. She was pushed back and nearly knocked to the ground as they carried the boy away, tramping about the field in a victory march, shouting in Gaelic, a language she didn’t understand. If she’d known she would unwittingly travel back in time to the Highlands of Scotland, she would have asked one of those in Anderson Creek fluent in the language to teach it to her.
She stumbled. By the time she caught her balance and made her way the short distance to Tevin, a blond-haired man had offered a hand to the boy. Tevin jumped to his feet with exuberance, an impish grin breaking across his face. The two shared a few quiet words, then the man strutted away.
Emily must have blinked, for the next thing she knew thevery small man who a moment before had sat on the wall now stood in front of Tevin, hands fisted on leather clad hips, an ugly glower adding wrinkles upon wrinkles to his face. “Keep your distance from Ciaran,” he ordered. “He does not have the chief’s favor.”
“But he said he would take me to Ben Nevis,” Tevin whined.
“’Tis a long way from here and nae place for a weebairnlike you. ’Tis dangerous.”
“I’m not a baby,” Tevin grumbled. “He said it’s where the orange dragon has its lair. That its horde is full of gold and jewels.”
“I told you.” The man wagged a finger at Tevin. “And the chief told you. Dragons dinnae exist. Ciaran naught but teased you.”
“But—”
“Whist! Nae more talk of dragons.”
Tevin’s shoulders drooped.
Emily bit back a smile, not wanting to bruise the boy’s feelings. “Are you hurt?” She crouched to his height and gently grasped his upper arms to hold him in place. “You nearly scared me to death when you fell.”
“I fell on purpose.”
“Why on earth did you do that?”
“Wouldn’t be right to best the chief’s son and win,” Tevin said with a smirk.
“Humpf!” The little man crossed his arms over his chest.
Emily ruffled Tevin’s hair. Mud caked his chest and his kilt. “Ugh. You smell like the men and like you’ve been hanging in the stables.”
He shrugged, showing no remorse.
“Now listen,” she said. “No more talk about hunting dragons. They don’t exist. Okay?”
His smile vanished and he stared at the ground, dragging a foot back and forth across the loose dirt. He mumbled something she didn’t catch.
