“You are in Castle MacGregor and you are nae leaving until I get some answers.”
“Castle MacGregor?” The name rang a bell but she couldn’t think where from. Her head felt like she’d only just woken up from a very long sleep. She wasn’t even sure why she’d fixed the shutters. It was just something she knew how to do, though she had no idea why. “In Scotland, right?”
The man took a step toward her. “Who are you?”
“The poor woman you locked away like this is some kind of fairytale. Got a dragon on guard downstairs?”
“Only the cook.”
His expression hadn’t changed but she was sure she saw a flicker in his eyes somewhere. “Was that a joke? I think that might have been a joke. You’re not as unfriendly as you look.” Maybe this dream was going to be more fun than she’d thought when he first locked her in.
“And you dinnae sound like any witch I’ve encountered before.”
“That’s because I’m not a witch. I’m a history student. My name’s Rachel. What’s yours?”
“Cam MacGregor, Laird of the MacGregor clan and the loch of ages, keeper of the keys, protector of the lands, warrior of all north of the Tay.”
“I’ll just call you Cam if that’s all right?”
There was that flicker again. Was she amusing him or angering him? It was hard to tell.
“If you’re nae a witch then who are you?”
“I just told you.”
“That’s no answer. What’s someone with an English voice doing so far north and how did you get in my chamber without me hearing about it?”
She held out the necklace. “Your guess is as good as mine but I think it has something to do with this.”
“What is that?”
“I touched this necklace and then next thing I knew I was here. I’m fairly certain this is a dream and, I realize I may not want to know the answer to this, but would you mind explaining why it looks like the Early Middle Ages out that window?”
“I dinnae ken what that is.”
“No cellphones. No jeans. No tourists with cameras. If I didn’t know any better I’d think I was on a movie set. It’s weird.”
He looked baffled, frowning as he crossed to the window and looked out. “I see nothing odd out there.”
“Seriously?” She watched him as he leaned his head further out. It couldn’t be much fun being so tall in a place with low ceilings. He had to bend his knees to get his shoulders low enough to look out properly.
He was wearing clothes that perfectly fitted the early twelfth century. She noticed that as she ran her eyes up his body, an idea forming in her mind, an idea she refused to contemplate. It wasn’t possible. It was a dream.
“All is as it should be,” he said, bending his body surprisingly nimbly to get back into the room. “Now the question is what am I to dae with you?”
“No, the question is what year is this?”
“The year of Our Lord eleven hundred and eighty-five.”
“No, really. What year is it?”
“Eleven hundred and eighty-five.”
A heavy ball thudded into the pit of Rachel’s stomach. The thought that had whispered to her could be ignored no longer. “Really?” she asked in a faint whisper.
“Aye.”
She reached out and prodded his chest, running her hand down toward his stomach. “You’re real, aren’t you?”
