by Annis Reid
But that didn’t make sense, since this was just a dream. An extremely vivid dream about a man and a horse she could actually smell like it was a real horse. No big deal.
“Forgive me, but why is it that ye are running about the Highlands in nothing but yer undergarments?” Leith didn’t wait for her to answer before going to his saddle and opening one of the bags attached. He pulled out a large swath of tartan, burgundy and emerald green, and wrapped it around her before she had the chance to protest.
Not that there was any reason to protest, not really. It was warm and soft, and pretty soon she stopped trembling thanks to it.
Besides, now he could look at her without blushing. Had he never seen a girl with bare shoulders before?
“My undergarments? What are you talking about? This is a sundress. Haven’t you ever seen a sundress before? She held out one foot, encased in a trainer. “Sneakers. You’ve seen them, right? Who would wear sneakers with a shift?”
His brows drew together, the corners of his mouth pulling back in a grimace. “I know not what ye speak of, lass. Tis clear to me ye are not from the Highlands, perhaps not from Scotland. Ye dinna sound English.” There was no mistaking the darkening of his tone at the mention of the English.
“Because I’m not,” she assured him.
“What are ye, then?”
“American, of course.”
His grimace spread wider than before, his bushy red eyebrows now one single line over his startlingly green eyes. “American? What is that?”
“You’re kidding, right?” This was a left turn she hadn’t expected. Okay, so she was dreaming about a time before the United States existed. Random, but workable.
It was just a dream. She reminded herself of this, no matter how very vivid the entire thing seemed. She was dreaming, and her subconscious mind made allowances for the way men would probably act and speak and carry themselves in this time.
Boy, her subconscious was pretty powerful. So was her imagination.
He looked around, sunlight picking up the vibrant red of his hair and turning his head to fire. Gosh, he was impressive. His tunic seemed to strain thanks to the thickness of his arms and chest and shoulders, the seams doing their best to keep everything together. She figured it wouldn’t have been too terrible if the garment had shredded apart and blushed, looking away before she went any further down that mental path.
“Are you alone?” he asked, sounding skeptical.
“Yeah, I was exploring.” It occurred to her than that she could have said anything, could have made anything up. It didn’t matter, really, since none of this was real. “They came to the tower while I was looking for something.”
“And just what were you looking for, then? What could you hope to find in the ruins of Castle MacNeill?” His eyes narrowed, and she noticed a hardening of his voice. He was starting to sound the way he’d sounded when he scared those two idiots off.
His kindness only went so far, she guessed. And this was not a man whose bad side she wanted to be on.
Still, the thought that he believed her to be a thief stirred her blood. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, looking him straight in the eye. “I was wearing a necklace which fell off while I was looking around. I went back to the tower, and I found it there.” She patted her shoulder bag. “That’s all. I didn’t take anything that didn’t belong to me.”
She felt better when he backed down, the frown lines on his high forehead easing. “I see. Tis a good thing ye did not allow those two to see the necklace,” he murmured. “The chances of you still being in possession of it would be slim had they known ye carried something valuable on your person.”
“You came around just in the nick of time. Thank you, Leith.”
He nodded slowly, looking her up and down again. “Tis nothing, lass.”
“Melissa,” she corrected him, her cheeks flaring in a painful blush.
He might’ve been smiling. Or it might’ve been discomfort that made his mouth pull up that way. “Melissa. Is your mare nearby? Are ye in any state to ride to the village on your own?”
“I didn’t get here by horse. I walked.”
He nodded again. “I would be glad to carry ye with me. I was not going to the village, but I could ride that way. Tis not far out of my way.”
“You don’t have to do that.” Even though she sort of wanted to. He was hunky. She guessed if she couldn’t hook up with a hunk in real life, her imagination had decided to throw her a bone—so to speak.
“I believe I do,” he snickered. “Unless ye plan to run from men such as the ones ye only just escaped.”
He had a point. Even in a dream, she didn’t feel like going through that again. “Okay. Thank you.” Why not? Why not see where the dream took her?
The first place it took her was the saddle, with Leith’s hands on her waist. He was ridiculously strong, lifting her like she didn’t weigh anything. There was something breathtaking about a man that powerful. Being tossed around like it was a matter of course. She thought she might even have liked it just a little. Maybe.
It would be better to ride sideways rather than trying to sit astride, with her dress riding up around her thighs. If this dream guy of hers thought it was scandalous to wear a sundress, what would he do if her dress rode up?
Even now, he seemed uncomfortable as he adjusted himself in the saddle behind her. “Are ye well?” he asked, placing as much distance between them as he could. That wasn’t saying much, since there was only so much room.
“Sure,” she tried to smile. In fact, she was probably more comfortable than she had any reason to be. But who wouldn’t be, with a man like him holding the reins? She couldn’t stop thinking of how easy it was for him to lift her into the air and settle her on the horse’s back. What else was he capable of?
Geez, she had been without a boyfriend for too long. Her hormones were all over the place, creating this perfect vision of manhood to make up for the lack of it in her waking life.
She decided to look down the road rather than obsessing over Leith’s ridiculous body and the masterful way he handled the horse.
It was the most detailed dream she’d ever had. Right down to the changes in scenery. Nothing extreme, just subtle little differences. There were more trees, for one. And the village down the road looked smaller than the one in real life. Even from this distance, she saw thatched roofs and the smoke of dozens of fires rising into the air, creating a dark cloud overhead.
“Tell me about yourself,” she invited in an offhand way. It was better than riding in uncomfortable silence, and knowing nothing was real gave her courage she wouldn’t have possessed in real life.
“What do ye wish to know?”
She shrugged, keeping her face turned away. It was bad enough he kept bumping into her. She had the feeling it didn’t do him any favors, either. He tensed up every time their bodies touched. Easier not to look at him when there was so much awkwardness.
He bumped into her again, leaving her throat almost too tight to speak.
She managed to croak out, “Who are you? Why are you out on the road alone? Where were you going if not the village?”
He sighed, and she instinctively knew it wasn’t a sigh of someone who didn’t feel like answering questions. He wasn’t annoyed with her for talking too much.
No, he was clearly annoyed by the answers to her questions.
“Truth be told, I was on my way to my wedding.”
Melissa scowled. Lucky girl, whoever she was, waiting for Leith to show up and marry her. “Your wedding? Congratulations.”
He snickered, and she could imagine that if she had the guts to look at him, he would be smirking. “I appreciate the sentiment, truly, though it does not apply here.”
“You don’t want to get married?”
“Nay, I dinna wish to marry.”
“Are you against the idea of marriage in general?”
“Nay. I’m against the idea of the lass in question, if ye must k
now.”
“Is she not pretty?”
“As if that were the only thing a man had to consider,” he scoffed.
“No offense, but that’s important to a lot of men. Let me guess. It’s an arranged marriage.”
“For all your strange ways of speaking, lass, ye manage to strike at the heart of the matter. Aye, ‘tis an arranged marriage.” His voice was so tight, so dark. He was desperately unhappy. Poor guy.
“And you don’t like her.”
“Truly, ye are a marvel,” he muttered, practically dripping sarcasm.
“You don’t need to get testy.”
“What is testy?” he asked with a chuckle.
“Annoyed. Angry.”
He made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. “Forgive me, but I have quite a lot on my mind. I ought not to take a sharp tone with ye. Perhaps in your country, there are no arranged marriages.”
“No. At least, not that I know of.”
“I thought not. It seems a strange notion to ye.”
“It is. Why do you have to marry her?” This was fascinating. How hard had she hit her head, anyway? She was making up this entirely new world in her subconscious. Granted, it wasn’t like she’d never heard of arranged marriages before.
But this man. He was so vibrant, so alive. She could smell sweat on his skin and hear the rumble of his voice in his chest. His hands were roughened from work, callouses on his fingers as he handled the reins.
How had she dreamed him up? Probably because he was the opposite of Jimmy, she realized. In just about every way.
“My father is laird of Clan MacManus,” he explained. “I am the eldest son. I have little choice but to do as I am told.”
“That’s a shame. Well, lots of people get married that way, don’t they? Maybe you’ll learn to love each other.”
“I doubt it,” he grumbled. “I doubt it verra much.”
She bit her tongue rather than asking why he doubted it. Just talking about his bride-to-be put him on edge, and even if he was a figment of her imagination she didn’t want to know how angry he’d get. The men who’d run away gave her a pretty good idea.
“I was planning to be married not long ago,” she admitted.
“What happened?”
“I walked in on him with another girl.”
“The cur,” he snarled.
“I agree,” she whispered.
“And he threw ye over for her, then?”
“What?” Her head swiveled around so she could glare at him. “No! I walked out! I’m not about to marry anybody who would treat me that way!”
He frowned. Then, an instant later, a grin spread across the bottom half of his face, and his eyes twinkled. “Well done.”
“Thank you,” she sniffed, turning away again so she could look out at the road. They were approaching the village now, and it wasn’t surprising to find so many other people dressed the way Leith was. Her brain was working overtime, it seemed. Right down to the dirt caked under the nails of a woman selling loaves of bread along the side of the road.
Charming. Were the diseases crawling over the bread available at an extra charge?
“Where can I take ye, then?” Leith asked. “Are ye staying at the inn?”
“Um, no,” she said, wondering what she was supposed to do next. Why hadn’t she woken up yet? This was getting more complex all the time.
“Ye said ye came from the village.”
“I did… only it was different when I left.”
“Different? Are ye ill, lassie?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so.”
To her surprise, rather than ask another question, Leith pulled the horse off the road and into a thicket of close-growing, young trees. Just enough to provide cover, but nothing so dense she could get lost in it.
Her heart leaped into her throat. “What are you doing? I thought we were going to the village!”
“Not just yet.” He dismounted, though held onto the reins as he stared up at her. “Exactly who are ye? And what have ye not told me about yourself?”
5
What was he supposed to do with the lass?
This was not merely a matter of her hailing from someplace other than Scotland. The way she spoke, her manner of dressing.
Walking away from a man who’d betrayed her and behaving as though it ought to be expected for her to behave that way.
Her eyes were wide with apprehension as she gazed down at him from the saddle. Wrapped in his tartan, her hair in tangles, she might have been an urchin he’d found along the side of the road. One in need of help and a hot meal.
She was not a mere urchin. There was nothing of the urchin about her. She was strong, well spoken, healthy. Simply… different. Strange.
And far more intriguing than she had any right to be, though he supposed a great deal of that was his fault. He was in no place to become intrigued by a lass, especially not when he was on his way to marry another lass.
The lass before him stammered. “I don’t understand,” she finally managed in a choked whisper. “There’s nothing to explain, nothing to tell you.”
“Ye are a terrible liar.”
“It’s not a lie! I honestly have nothing to tell you. This is all so weird.” She chewed her lip, her brow furrowing. “Since when do people in a dream interrogate the person having the dream?”
It was his turn to frown. “A dream? Is that what ye believe this is? Are ye certain they did not injure ye back at the castle?”
“I fell,” she admitted.
Now, they were getting somewhere. “Perhaps I ought to take you to the healer. You might have wounded yourself without knowing it.”
To his surprise, her hand shot out, closing over his wrist. “Hang on a second. You don’t understand. Even I don’t understand. It’s not that I fell here. I fell in real life. This is just a dream. Gosh, this is so weird.”
Leith MacManus might have been a man of simple needs, but he was hardly a simple man when it came to intelligence. Many times had his father expressed gratitude that his eldest son possessed a keen mind, that he might more readily manage the clan’s many needs.
Yet this baffled him.
“That is the second time ye have used that word, and I fail to understand. I came upon ye when ye were in need of aid. Ye are still in need of aid, though a different sort than I can provide.” Truly, the lass was ill. She might have gravely injured herself. That would explain a great many things.
Though not her manner of dress. He could scarcely take his eyes from her bare legs, the only part of her body exposed thanks to the addition of his tartan. They were smooth. Her skin was perfectly smooth. How was that possible? Perhaps she was more ill than he’d realized, some fever leaving her hairless.
Though there was a great abundance of hair on her head…
“But this is just a dream! Why can’t I wake up?” She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them. Squeezed, then opened. Again and again. Each time she opened her eyes to find herself in the same place, her frown deepened. Finally, he had to wonder whether she was about to cry. Indeed, her eyes watered, going red.
He patted her knee, a bit awkward. “Ye will be well. Tis a blessing that I came upon ye, truly. I will be happy to help ye as much as I can.” Indeed, neither of the two men who’d come upon her would have taken an interest in her once they’d had their way, the beasts.
“I don’t understand any of this,” she whispered, looking around as though she were coming to her senses—or trying to come to her senses, either way. “This has to be a dream. It just has to.”
The hand around his wrist tightened. “Do you feel that?”
“Of course I do! Ye are all but squeezing the life from me, woman!” He attempted to make a joke, but the attempt fell flat.
She nodded, solemn. “And I feel your pulse under my fingers. I feel your skin.” Her hand traveled over the back of his, over his knuckles and on to his fingers. “And I feel the calluses,” she whispered, stro
king his fingertips.
Not altogether an unpleasant sensation, though rather unwelcome in the present moment. He withdrew his hand as gently and kindly as he could. “I dinna know what to say to ye, lass. And that is the truth. My name is Leith MacManus, as I told ye, and this is Scotland.”
“And what year is it?” she whispered, her chin quivering as if she were on the edge of some great emotional outburst.
Och, but this was worse than he had expected. The poor lamb did not even know the year. She stirred every protective instinct he possessed, as lost and fretful as she was. “Seventeen hundred and forty-seven.”
Her eyes slid shut. “Sure. That makes perfect sense.”
“It does?”
Just like that, her eyes flew open again, and this time they burned. “No! That doesn’t make any sense at all! Why would I be dreaming of this time? Why would I pick such a random year? Gosh, I don’t know anything about Scottish history in the seventeen hundreds. What the heck is going on?”
She brought to mind a skittish animal, sick and frightened. He patted her knee again, more firmly this time. When in situations such as this, it was crucial for a man to take control, to show the animal who was to be heeded. While this lass was not an animal, exactly, the same notions might hold true.
“Ye are frightened. You’ve been through a frightful situation. But ye are safe now. I will not let any harm come to ye, I vow, not for as long as we are together. Yet there is only so much I can do for ye. Truly, a healer would be better suited—”
“Stop talking for a minute!” One of her slim, pale arms emerged from inside the tartan, and she ran her hand over her hair in a gesture of distracted confusion. He noted the trembling of that hand.
And the faint pink paint she wore on her nails.
“What is that?” he asked, hoping to distract her. If he got her talking about something she was familiar with, something neutral, she might calm herself.
She looked down at her hand. “Nail polish, of course.”
“I have never heard of it. Do women use it where ye come from?”
“All the time,” she said, eyeing him with suspicion. “This is really beyond anything I’ve ever been through.”
