The deep timbre of his voice rumbled through his chest against her. For a moment, she wanted to close her eyes and allow the feelings of need and want to overtake her. But she quickly shoved all that away. What was wrong with her?
A smile tipped the corner of his mouth. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her to the horse. She noticed he walked with a slight limp, favoring one of his legs.
“Can ye ride?”
“Yes,” she said.
It had been ages since she sat a horse—the last time she rode was with one of her rich boyfriends who stabled horses and liked to ride on the beach. She used to be quite the horsewoman, but she was a bit out of practice. At least then she was able to ride with confidence.
Jamie stepped into the stirrup and settled in the saddle first. Then he held his hand down to her. She took it, hoisting herself up and onto the horse behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist as he took up the reins.
It was hard not notice the solid feel of him against her. More solid than any of the soft, rich bachelors she tended to pick.
He kicked the horse into a gallop. As they rode away, the wind whipped through her. She ducked her head, pressing the side of her face against the soft material of his tartan. She was grateful she still wore the coat she’d acquired in Edinburgh, but she shivered nonetheless. It was a far cry from the beach paradise she had come to love.
Certainly she was still in Scotland? At least, it seemed that way. Jamie had a lovely Scottish brogue, much thicker than John MacDonald, who had tried to take the stone from her. Jamiehadtaken the stone from her while she was unconscious but willingly handed it over when she demanded it.
Who was he? Why was he so willing to help her? Why would hewantto help her?
It did occur to her that his manner of dress was far different from any modern man. She hadn’t come across any man in Edinburgh wearing a kilt or a tartan.
He’d said she should askwhenshe was, not where, which didn’t make any sense to her at all. What did that mean?
She lifted her head long enough to see a castle rising up in the distance perched on a craggy cliff. Its towers rose up behind the curtainwall, reaching for the sky. Behind it, a glistening loch reflected the sunbeams that managed to break through the clouds.
“Where are wegoing?” she asked.
He turned his head to reply. “Dundale.”
Another bell of recognition clanged in her mind. “Dundale Castle?”
“Aye, that’s it.”
She chewed on her lower lip, trying to recall where she’d heard about Dundale.
And then it struck her.
Dundale Castle in the Highlands. Home of Clan MacLeod.
She’d seen this castle in a painting behind the counter—in the antique shop. It was Moira who told her it was home of Clan MacLeod. And here she was, riding a horse, clinging to a man named Jamie MacLeod heading right for that castle.
It confirmed one thing for her—she was still in Scotland. But she had somehow traveled to the Highlands.
Whenshe was, he had said.
Those words trickled through her mind again. Hot pinpricks erupted through her as understanding dawned.
Jamie was right. It wasn’t aboutwhereshe was. Butwhen. And she had a distinct feeling she had somehow traveled back in time. But how? Why?
The closer they got to the castle, the more apprehension shifted through her. He rode through the portcullis and trotted toward a building that looked like a stable. A young man ran out to meet him, reaching for the reins as he came to a halt.
“Fergus,” he greeted. “Is my brother about?”
“He’s with Dougal, my lord.”
Nodding, Jamie dismounted. She didn’t wait for him to help her. She swung her leg over and jumped down from the saddle. He looked impressed.
Fergus took the horse and led it away into the stable.
