She gave him a nod and a smile as she exited the room, closing the door behind her.
***
When Chloe awoke, she was surrounded by cozy warmth. She burrowed deeper under the blankets and opened her eyes to an unfamiliar place. She blinked, trying to remember where she was and what had happened to her.
The last thing she remembered was her savior introducing her to Angus Sinclair.
Sinclair.
Had she fallen into an alternate dimension? Was she in some strange twilight zone? Or had she truly been transported back in time?
She didn’t know the answer.
She took inventory of her aching body. Her bandaged arm still throbbed from the gunshot wound. Her elbow hurt from when she had bashed it on the floor in her flat. Generally, her whole body ached from head to toe.
Now, looking around, she realized she was in a stranger’s bed. Likely in a stranger’s home. She managed to sit up to take in her surroundings. Her pulse thundered as her gaze darted about the room, dimly lit stone walls covered in tapestries, wooden beams overhead, and a fire flickering in the hearth. The strange room was as alien to her as the earthy scent of the fire.
A horrible thought pounded through her. This wasn’t home. This wasn’t even her century. Reality settled over her as her chest tightened.
Sitting by the fire in a chair was her savior. His chin was on his chest as he dozed. In front of him, a table with a tray of food—bread and cheese. Upon seeing the food, her stomach rumbled.
She slid from the bed, her sock feet landing on the cool stone flooring. She paused there a moment, keeping her eyes on her savior who hadn’t moved and continued to snooze. Then she pushed the rest of the blankets away and rose, walking on wobbly legs toward the tray. As she reached it, he inhaled a deep breath and lifted his head.
He pinned her with his sharp, assessing gaze that was definitely like a stormy sea. She froze where she was, staring back at him with her heart in her throat. She reminded herself she didn’t need to fear him. He had rescued her from Bruce, after all.
“Och, awake, I see. Hungry?” He waved to the tray.
He was a man of few words. She nodded and moved toward it, unsure what her voice sounded like. Her throat felt better, but she was still thirsty and didn’t trust that she wouldn’t sound like she’d been in a bar all night drinking shots and smoking cigarettes.
The bread and cheese were sliced into thin strips. There was even a bit of dried meat. Like jerky. She picked up a piece of bread, deciding to start with that. A tankard of what looked like ale sat next to the bread.
“Have some ale,” he said, motioning to the tankard.
She picked it up and sniffed. It smelled like a weak version of beer. She took a sip. It tasted awful. She scowled, dropping the tankard back to the tray. He chuckled.
“Is it no to yer liking?” he asked, a smile on his lips.
“Sorry, no,” she said and was glad to hear her voice was almost normal. She munched on the bread as she gave him a wary look. “You know my name. What’s yours?”
“Malcolm,” he said.
She picked up a piece of hard cheese next. “Are you a Sinclair, too?”
“Och, no. I’m a MacLeod.”
She froze, holding the cheese halfway to her mouth as she leveled him with her gaze. “MacLeod?”
He nodded.
“Not MacDonald?”
His brows drew together as he shook his head. “MacDonald is our sworn enemy.”
Relief flooded her. “Oh, thank God,” she whispered.
“Why do ye thank God for that, lass?”
She popped the cheese in her mouth, chewed. “Because the man who attacked me is a MacDonald. I didn’t want to be in enemy hands.” She picked up another piece of bread andconsidered it. “So, Malcolm MacLeod, what are you doing here with the Sinclairs?”
