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Six

What the hell?

If this was supposed to be a medieval fantasy, and Riven looked the part, a knight appearing made sense. Being abandoned definitely did not. Being abandoned, however, was not on my bingo card.

The three extremely dirty, rough-looking guys—and that was being generous—started toward me. Knowing I should run, my legs wouldn’t move. These guys had swords at their sides and something about them told me they weren’t bound to the same knightly code as the Waryn.

If I hadn’t been prepared for that, I definitely wasn’t prepared to be scooped off the ground and tossed onto a horse. In the movies, it looked so effortless. In reality, as we rode away from the tavern, my ribs protested every jostle, my hair whipped into my mouth and my thighs were probably already black and blue.

The smell of leather and smoke surrounded me, mingled with something that was all him … warm, alive and kind of reassuring. I didn’t dare open my eyes at first. Because if this wasn’t a dream, then I was officially the heroine of a book I hadn’t agreed to be in.

When I finally did, the forest was nothing like home. The trees denser, the moonlight slipped through in a sky indescribable in modern terms. Slowing down, we came to a clearing that could easily be the scene from one of my books. Setting me down, my knight led his massive horse to a tree and tied him off as I watched.

Was this really happening?

I smoothed the green velvet of a gown that could win every Halloween costume in history. The gold rope detail on its long sleeves and neckline were incredible.

“I thought you left.”

“Apologies,” he said, walking back toward me with purpose. “Sir Rowan Waryn,” he bowed. “At your service.”

Wasn’t I supposed to curtsy to him? I had no idea. With a little one, awkward as hell, I replied. “Lena. I mean, Lady Lena.”

If this was my fantasy, I might as well lean into it.

“Lady Lena. Where is your escort? And where do you hail from?”

His words were like silk, asked practically but with the same tinge of adoration as Riven. I was pretty enough, but not enough to have guys tripping over themselves to want me. This had to be some sort of fantasy, dream thing.

But the blood, the bite, was real.

“From another time,” I blurted, only belatedly realizing that if this really was medieval Scotland, I might be burned at the stake as a witch.

I was terrible at this ‘living out my fantasy novel’ thing.

His eyes flicked toward me then, sharp and curious, as if I’d spoken a forbidden word. “There are places,” he said quietly, “where devotion bends time itself. When two hearts echo the same vow, the veil thins, and one may walk where another once wept.”

He knew something.

“Do you believe that?” I asked, heartbeat stuttering.

He sighed, stepping forward.

With Riven, excitement ran through my very veins as he touched me. Sir Rowan was entirely different. When he reached out and lifted my chin so I was staring up at him, an entirely distinct feeling coursed through me, sending a shiver up my back.

The look he gave me was pure devotion, as if we hadn’t just met. Like he would cherish and protect me until the end of time. His fingers lingered on my chin. Without thinking, I reached up to touch them, wanting to feel him.

Sir Rowan dropped both our hands, together, but threaded his fingers through mine, pulling me close.

“I hadn’t, before now. The words are from a chronicle kept by a learned man who is rarely wrong.” He looked away again. “My family keeps its stories.”

“The Waryns?”

“Aye.”

“Who is this man?”

He held my hand still, and although I was in a different place and time, no part of me felt unsafe. Not with him.