He exhales heavily, then shrugs and places the bowl on the stool beside me. As he pulls back, his arm brushes my thigh. I startle at his touch.
At the memory of all the touches.
“A little space, please.”
He pulls back like I burned him.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.
It’s the same husky, almost-seductive tone he’s been using since I woke up in this place.
“Stop it,” I snap.
His brows draw together, puzzled.
I point at his roaming elbow. “Whatever you’ve been doing, just stop.”
For a moment, he looks so utterly lost it almost unsettles me.
Almost.
I roll my eyes. “Spare me the pathetic act. What’s this about? Is it to get back at my mother? Do you think if you keep me here, she’ll start to worry?” I bark out a short, humorless laugh. “Newsflash: I’m sure she doesn’t even know I’m gone. And even if she did, I doubt she’d care.”
I swallow hard against the unexpected tightness in my throat.
“Hey, are you listening?” I poke his shoulder to make my point, but his solid warmth catches me off guard. Heat rises from his shirt, and I can almost feel the blood pumping through him. Steady, strong. Alive.
At my touch, he straightens, sucking in a sharp breath.
I flush with triumph. It appears I’m not completely without weapons.
Leaning close, I let my lips brush his ear as I whisper, “The people at the inn know where I am. They’ll come looking for me.”
Callum jerks away like I’m more dangerous than the cook fire.
As he stands, I raise my voice. “This is kidnapping.”
Donag wakes with a snort and a phlegmy cough. “What’s this about?”
“Great question. I was just asking Callum the same thing.” I fix her with a hard stare. “Why am I here? Apparently, you know my mother. But if you think locking me upwill bring her running, think again. She’ll only see this as a chance to spend another night at the pub.”
I slump back with a sigh, because I know it’s true.
“She’ll care,” Donag says. “She’ll know. Even though she’s far. On that, you can trust.”
She stands and starts prowling toward me. I rise to meet her halfway, my heart steadying into a strangely calm rhythm.
A switch flips. I’m ready. If it comes to a fight, so be it.
Donag is quick, but I bet I’m stronger. I’ve been hauling bales of hay since elementary school.
I tilt my head. “Let me get this straight. Janet’s from here, and for some reason you hate that she’s a Campbell. Time to get over it. That was—what?—almost twenty years ago?”
“Aye, this war began in 1603, in Glen Fruin. When the Campbells sold us to the King.”
Okay, someone needs a hobby. I switch to my calm voice, hoping it’s not too late to talk my way out of this. “I hear you. You hate the Campbells. That’s fine—I’m sensing a theme around here. But whatever they did, they did it centuries ago.”
“What they did, they do now.” She steps closer. “Now you’re in our time.”
