Chapter Three
Kerry opened her eyes to find a highlander staring down at her. He looked a lot like the man from her childhood dreams, the man who’d come on horseback night after night to rescue her from dragons or cruel lords or from being locked away in some tower or other. Was this a dream too? Was she still asleep?
“Hello,” she managed to say, blinking away the blurring of her vision, her throat too dry to add anything to that first word. It couldn’t be a dream. Her throat hurt too much.
“I willnae marry you,” the highlander said, folding his arms as he did so.
“Sorry?” Kerry replied, coughing as she tried to sit up. Shuffling her arms up the bed, she managed to get half upright, taking a better look at the man staring back at her.
He was tall and broad, bare chested apart from a tartan baldric across his chest. He looked a lot like one of the illustrations in The Saga of Callum MacCleod. No wonder she’d thought it was a dream.
His hair was dark and close cropped though the ends were a mess, as if cut by knife rather than scissors. His eyes blazed as he stared at her. She felt as if she’d clearly done something to infuriate him though she had no idea what.
Even angry he looked good, strong cheekbones, chest muscles she could ski off, legs almost splitting the hose that struggled to confine them. He was tall and broad shouldered, filling the room so much she was surprised the walls weren’t bulging outward to accommodate him.
“You’re a fine looking lass,” he continued. “But it wouldnae be right. I cannae see you get left behind and hurt by me dying in battle. I will not have you weep like Moira for Orm. Get well and then get yourself home. I willnae marry you.”
Kerry coughed again. “That’s good to know,” she said. “If it helps, I wasn’t planning on marrying you either.”
“Dinnae mock me. I dinnae take kindly to jests.”
“I’m not mocking you. I swear, right now marriage is the last thing on my mind. Maybe buy me a drink first? Or start by asking me my name perhaps?”
He scowled at her attempt at humor, walking away without another word.
The door closed and then she was alone. She sat up further, looking around the room, trying to remember how she’d got there.
The last thing she remembered was being on the phone to her mom and then something had happened. What was it?
The room itself was like something from a movie. She felt as if she’d wandered behind the velvet rope in a National Trust property somewhere, sneaking into a bed she was most definitely not supposed to touch. It was clearly hundreds of years old and yet it wasn’t at the same time. It looked new but that wasn’t possible.
She ran her hands over it, feeling the coldness of the surface. It was made of wood and solid enough. Tartan wool blankets covered her, the same color and style of tartan the strange man had been wearing across his chest.
The walls were white plaster and covered in tapestries. Instead of light fittings there were candles attached to the wall in iron stands. A single window to her left was open but there was no glass in it and the sill was at least two feet broad, set in thick walls. Beyond the window was bright light but from her position all she could see was a pale blue sky outside.
The floor was covered in straw and smelled sweet, like being in a barn just after harvest. There was not a single modern thing in the room. Apart from her.
Where was she? How had she got there?
The door at the far end opened and a woman in a wimple walked in, the rushes shifting under the hem of her white linen dress as she crossed to the bed. She was carrying a tray in her arms. “You’re awake,” the woman said. “And I see you’ve already annoyed Callum.”
“Callum?” Kerry blinked, wondering if this was a dream. “You don’t mean Callum MacLeod, do you?” His face came into her head again, her body stirring as she thought how good he’d looked despite his anger.
“Aye, lass. Are you saying your fiancé didnae introduce himself properly before he stormed off?”
“My fiancé?”
“Aye. You really did do some damage to your head if you dinnae remember getting engaged to the laird’s son. Here, drink this.” She set the tray down on the end of the bed and passed a horn cup over.
“What’s in it?”
“Nettle tea. Good for after a fall.”
Kerry took a sip. It wasn’t as bad as she’d been expecting. “You should try adding mint sometime. Is that what happened to me?” she asked as the woman straightened the blankets. “Did I fall?”
“Aye lass. We got a couple of the blacksmith’s boys to carry you up here.”
“And where is here?”
