6
Tavish had not been this close to another person in years. Did she know she had reached out for his hand in her sleep? That she’d twisted and turned and grumbled, only settling when he put a hand on her forehead, shushing her gently, telling her it would be okay.
He’d sung the songs of the Highlands under his breath, watching in the darkness of the barn until she settled once more, the discomfort fading from her face.
He’d looked at her for some time before laying back down in the straw. She looked pretty in her sleep, her fiery red hair falling around her face, that tension was gone from her jaw and neck.
While he’d waited for sleep to come, he’d wondered why she was doing this. There must be more to it than fulfilling Quinn’s wish. She didn’t know him, she had no reason to help him and yet she was. He found himself drawn to her yet he knew there was no point to the feeling.
Once they retrieved the stone, she’d go back to her own time where she belonged. She wasn’t even born yet. It was a strange feeling to ride behind a ghost. That was what she was, not a person of his time, a spirit passing through.
“Tell me about yourself,” she said as they passed through a thick wood of oak, the branches reaching together over their head to block out the sun.
“There’s nothing tae tell.”
“Come on. You must have a past. Everyone does.”
“What do you want to ken?”
“I want to know if the history books have got anything right about you.”
“What dae they say about me?” He was intrigued despite himself. It was strange to think that he would feature in any books. “Do they talk only of the death o’ the princess?”
“Not at all. The one I was reading had quite a lot about you.”
“Like what?”
“That you were born into the poorest village in the clan, that you and your father left when the plague struck, that you were close to becoming laird in waiting when…”
He waited but she didn’t continue so he took over. “When Margaret died and they threw me oot. I ken that part. What did it say about me after that?”
“Nothing. You vanished. There were a couple of theories. One said you’d been executed in secret. Another said you’d joined the English army. My mom said once she thought you’d become a monk.”
Silence fell once more. Tavish found himself wanting to keep the conversation going. It was an odd feeling. “Tell me about you,” he asked.
“My life’s nowhere near as interesting as yours.”
There was a coldness to her voice that intrigued him. Why shut down the conversation so quickly when it turned to her? “You have a life at home, don’t you?”
“Not much of one. I work in a cafe, I live with my mom. I’ve not exactly got a lot going for me.”
“What’s a cafe?”
“Like a tavern.”
“You’re a kitchen wench?”
“I’m not sure I’d use that term but yeah, sure.”
“You sound like you dinnae care for the work.”
“I don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because my boss is a dick. Can we talk about something else?”
“Any men in your life?”
