He stared at her a long moment in consideration, as if he were deciding how to answer. “I think the real question is, what areyedoing here, lass?”
She flushed and turned away as she held the piece of bread in one hand. She glanced down at her hand with the burned image of the stone. How was she to answer that? Finally, she turned back to him and held up her hand.
“I suspect it has something to do with this.”
He stared at her hand, running his over his bearded chin, the coarse hair bristling against his palm. She wondered what it would be like to kiss a man with a full beard. And then she quickly shoved away that silly thought.
She wasn’t interested in him.
Even though he was gorgeous, especially with those sea-green eyes that pierced her soul.
He reached into his sporran and brought out the stone, holding it up between his thumb and forefinger. “This did that to ye, didn’t it?”
Chloe closed her hand and dropped it to her side. “Yes, I imagine it did. It was humming and the lines were glowing at the time.”
There was little she understood about the small piece of stone. One thing was clear though—it appeared to be a time traveling device and Bruce MacDonald wanted it.
To her surprise, Malcolm held it out to her. “Ye’ll be wanting this back then.”
After a moment of hesitation, she reached for it. Their fingers brushed. His left a tingling sensation in his wake. She flushed again, her cheeks burning as she stuck the stone in the front pocket of her jeans.
“Thank you for keeping it safe,” she said.
He regarded her with a curious glint in his eye. She finally popped the piece of hard cheese into her mouth and looked away, feeling self-conscious under his expressive gaze.
“What do ye remember? Anything?” he asked.
“I remember everything.”
She shuddered and leaned against the mantel, soaking up the warmth of the fire. There was a chill in the room. Despite her sweater, goosebumps rose on her arms. She expected him to ask more questions, to press her for details about what had happened and how she had ended up here, but he didn’t. She appreciated that. She wasn’t ready to talk about it.
But then he said, as if he knew the answer already, “He attacked ye because he wanted the stone, aye?”
She nodded, aware of his presence so close to her. “And the stone brought me here.” She cut him a quick glance before turning back to the fire to watch the flames flicker. “Where is here?”
“I thought that was clear. We’re in the keep of the Laird Sinclair.”
She understood that, of course, but… “Which is where, exactly?”
Malcolm leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Lass, do ye believe ye time traveled?”
It was an odd question and one that made her look at him. “Why do you ask that?”
He kept his gaze focused on her face, searching it as though looking for the future in her expression. Finally, he leaned back into his chair.
“Ye are in the Scottish Highlands in the year of our lord thirteen hundred fifty-seven.”
Every muscle in her body clenched as she stiffened while staring at the fire. She didn’t want to believe she had time traveled. She thought this was all merely a strange dream or aweird figment of her imagination. But, no. Her savior—Malcolm MacLeod—confirmed otherwise.
He pushed up from the chair. “I’ll fetch Lady Fiona. She’ll bring ye…” He paused, looked her up and down. “Proper clothing. Then, we’ll be on our way back to Dundale.”
Dundale? She recognized that. It was the name of the castle Moira had mentioned. The woman’s words came floating back to her.
You’ll see it soon enough. Once the seat of Clan MacLeod.
“Dundale?” she repeated.
“Aye. My brother, Callum, will be wanting to meet ye. And so will his bride, I should think.”
