Page 18 of Alec

“Let’s say you’re right. Why would someone want an FBI agent and an expert on historical reconstructions to come to Dun Talamh?” Olivia thought for a moment before she shook her head. “It just doesn’t add up on my end. Renard Beaumont called the company I worked for and asked for someone to perform the survey for the storm damages. He didn’t specify me by name, and there are four other surveyors... ” She stopped and caught her breath.

“Only?” Ava asked, intent.

“Only none of them were available to come to the castle when Beaumont wanted.” Olivia let out a breath. “My boss got hurt in an accident last week, so he had to send me by myself.”

“I was between partners when I flew out here from Dallas to investigate a couple that disappeared, so I came to Dun Talamh alone, too.” Her dark eyes narrowed. “I wonder if Beaumont did some advance investigating of his own.”

“Unless we can escape back to our world, we’ll never know.” Olivia looked all around her, grateful and annoyed at the same time. “It’s frustrating.”

“You never know. In time we might just figure it out.” Ava stood. “I’ll leave you to change. Would you like me to come back and walk you down to the great hall?”

“I remember how to get there, but thanks,” she said quickly. “I’d really like to look around the castle a bit before breakfast, if that’s okay?”

“Absolutely—and if you get lost, just ask one of the guards to point you in the right direction,” the laird’s wife said, and then left.

Olivia went through the pile of clothes Ava had brought, and found a gown made of light pink wool with a bodice that laced up the front. It fit her almost perfectly. When she sat down on the chair by the hearth and hiked up the skirt to step into the split ruins of her work shoes, her formerly stubby little legs looked so long and shapely she was stunned.

Those were her legs?

She stared at her curvy limbs, hardly daring to touch them. Her calves were straight now, and she had long, attractive thighs with toned muscles, as if she were a swimmer or runner. Even her once knobby knees looked nice, and her new, longer feet were actually pretty. She inspected her legs for so long she didn’t hear the door until it closed and looked up to see Alec also staring.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She stood up, and then lost her balance.

Somehow he got to her and caught her before she fell and turned to sit in the chair and put her on his lap. “Careful, lass. ’Tis something amiss with your skirts?”

“My legs. They look like I stole them from a show girl.” Her face grew hot as he tugged up her gown to bare them. “Sorry, it’s just a bad joke. There’s nothing wrong with them.”

“I see naught to jest over, lass.” He put one hand on her shin and slid his palm up and over her knee. “They’re quite pretty.” When she caught her breath he studied her face, and then tugged her gown back down to cover her. “Forgive me. I should ever ask your leave before I touch you. Aye, and knock on your door before I enter the chamber.”

You can touch me whenever and wherever you want, Olivia thought.

Out loud she said, “It would probably be a good idea to give me some forewarning. Next time I might be changing my clothes.” Putting a hand on his shoulder, she eased off his lap and stood. “Was there something you needed from me, War Master?”

“Only my men call me thus.” Alec frowned a little. “Do I make you uneasy, lass?”

“Yes. No. I’m, ah, a little nervous around you.” Could she have said it worse? “I mean, I’m nervous around all men, really.”

He stood and came close to her, his expression darkening. “Why? Did that old man do more than stomp on your hands, and kick your face? Did he do worse?”

“Oh, no, no. It’s because I didn’t get out much during the first seventeen years of my life.” She didn’t want to talk about her awful childhood, so she said, “Being around people is always going to seem a little strange to me.”

“Someone locked you away,” Alec said, his mouth so tight now that his lips looked white.

“Yes, but I’d really rather not talk–” Before she could finish her sentence he snatched her into his arms and held her tightly. “Alec?”

“Forgive me,” he said against her hair, his voice sounding thick and strange. “I need hold you. Permit me.”

“Of course, you can.” She put her hands on his back, which should have seemed awkward but instead made her relax against him. She knew she was safe with him, that she could trust him—and that would never change, she suspected.

“Your pardon, my lady.” He stepped back and brought her hands to his lips. Before he kissed them, however, his mouth twisted as if he were disgusted. He released her to hurry out of the room.

Rory watched Alec dash down the passage as if the stronghold were under attack. The war master left in his wake his own mossy scent, blended strangely with the perfume of newly bloomed lilies. When the newcomer female stepped out into the hall to stare after the war master, Rory drew back into the shadows, unwilling to disturb her again. Sharing her dream had been a reckless, foolish act, but after seeing the way Alec had been with her he hadn’t been able to resist the temptation to see the sort of woman who had broken through the inner fortress of his suspicions.

He had to stop interfering. If he could no longer trust himself to hold to his vows, then he would become that which he had always feared.

Once the outsider went back into the chamber and closed the door, Rory walked down the passage and tracked Alec to the garrison hall. From the expressions of the men hurrying out of the map room, the war master’s mood had turned foul, which meant he had also recognized how the new arrival mirrored him. Alec had kept his wounds from the past so secret that no one ever thought to ask him about what he had suffered as a lad. When Rory grew lonely at night, he often shared his brothers’ dreams, always keeping his presence concealed from them. Yet after sharing Alec’s once, he never went back to try again.

Alec only ever had nightmares about his wretched life on his grandsire’s farm.