by Emma Prince
“I’m taking ye with me. Laird MacBean will no doubt be interested in yer safe return, and I plan on exacting a price from him in exchange.”
The lass’s pale blue eyes filled with dread. “Oh, no. I can’t go with you. You don’t understand. I’m not supposed to be here. I need to find my sisters, and Leannan Falls, and—”
Ignoring her odd rambling, Callum nudged his horse back toward his waiting men. When they began moving, the lass started thrashing even more. He had to drop the reins and use both hands to keep her from flinging herself to the ground. He wrapped one arm around her torso and clamped the other down on her legs. Luckily, his horse was well trained enough that Callum could guide him with just his knees.
“Be still,” he ordered, “else ye’ll fall and break yer damn neck.”
She only struggled harder.
When he reached his men, Bron wore a wide smile and held a length of rope extended toward him.
“Let me go!” the lass shrieked, bucking under Callum’s hold.
His men’s grins faded at her words.
“She’s English?” Bron asked, stunned.
“Aye,” Callum grunted, managing to snatch the rope from Bron’s outstretched hand and keep the wriggling lass in front of him in the saddle. “Or close enough. I’m taking her to Kinmuir Castle with us. I believe Laird MacBean might be interested in regaining her—for a price.”
And that price would be peace—at least for a short while, until Callum could count on the MacConnells’ added strength to bring the MacBeans to heel.
As Callum bound the lass’s arms to her sides with the rope, Bron eyed her.
“She’s a bonny one. If she does indeed belong to the MacBeans, no doubt someone will want her back most dearly.”
Just then, the lass lurched toward Callum, teeth bared. He jerked out of the way just in time to avoid getting bitten and finished tying her so that she was forced into immobility. A few of his men whistled and chuckled at the wee woman’s fierce display.
Callum wasn’t so easily amused. Aye, the lass—Caroline Sutton—must know she was in enemy hands now. She hadn’t admitted to being associated with the MacBeans, but then again, little of what she’d said had made any sense at all. If she was allied with the MacBeans, he wouldn’t expect her to tell the truth anyway.
Aye, he’d use the lass against Laird MacBean to extract a temporary peace from the bastard. Naught was more important than his clan’s safety—not even the fiery hellion in his lap.
The decision made, Callum reined his horse toward Kinmuir Castle and dug in his heels.
Chapter Three
As Caroline jostled and bounced in the saddle before the Scottish warrior who’d bound and kidnapped her, the fight slowly drained out of her.
When she struggled against the ropes pinning her arms to her sides, they chafed her bare skin. But when she remained motionless—or at least as motionless as she could atop a moving horse—the bindings weren’t so tight as to hurt her.
With his hands gripping the reins, the Scotsman’s arms bracketed her, one forearm brushing her back and the other acting as a corded barrier to keep her from toppling face-first off the horse. His thighs were warm and hard beneath her.
This close, she could see the stubble darkening his square jaw and the specks of dirt and blood on his face and shirt. He smelled of male sweat, leather, and faintly of soap. His unnerving amber eyes remained fixed ahead.
Wolf eyes.
Not that Caroline had ever seen a wolf except at a zoo once, and she certainly hadn’t been close enough to look into the animal’s eyes. But the way the Scotsman’s eyes glowed with intensity made him seem part-wild animal.
Judging from the sun, which was drawing downward with the approach of late afternoon, they were riding northeast. They entered a dense, shaded forest and the air grew markedly colder.
Whether from fright or her wet shorts and tank top, Caroline began to shiver. What was happening? One minute she’d been jumping with her sisters over Leannan Falls, which was only a short drive from Edinburgh, and the next she’d surfaced in some lake in the middle of nowhere.
And now she sat tied up in the lap of some strange warrior…
…In another time.
No. She shoved the thought away. It wasn’t possible.
Maybe she’d hit her head when she’d jumped into the falls and this was all some sort of weird hallucination. That was more believable than the idea that she’d not only been transported to a different part of Scotland, but to a different time as well.
But the man riding behind her certainly felt real.
Just then, he muttered something under his breath and yanked the length of wool plaid off his shoulder. With a flick of his wrist, he swung it around her, enveloping her in its warmth. In his warmth. The heat from his body slowly began to seep into her trembling limbs.
As they rode on, her mind played back the events of the last few hours over and over, looking for an explanation.
Everything had been completely normal until she and her sisters had jumped into the falls. This was supposed to be the last day of their two-week trip to Scotland before they returned back home to Mayport Bay, Maine.
With a day to kill before their flight home, Caroline had asked the owner of the bed and breakfast where they were staying what final sights they might see. He’d recommended Leannan Falls, saying something about a legend surrounding the waters there.
Of course, everywhere they went, people were telling them about legends and faeries and magical stones. The Scottish seemed to take their lore very seriously—or at least they played it up for the tourists.
Allie and Hannah had been game to visit the falls, but when Caroline had come up with the idea that they jump from the top, they’d balked. Though Hannah could take on business school at Yale and start her own event planning company, she didn’t like heights. And Allie had nerves of steel as a nurse, but outside the walls of a hospital or clinic, she wasn’t exactly the daring type.
Caroline had urged them on, though. “The B&B guy said the waters are supposed to have healing properties,” she’d chirped. “Come on. It will be fun.”
They’d agreed, so they all kicked off their shoes, set aside their purses, and jumped. And then—
Caroline squeezed her eyes shut. She silently screamed at herself to wake up from this dream, to come back to reality. Sure, it was all well and good to imagine being kidnapped by some strapping Scottish warrior with piercing honey-colored eyes, but this felt too real. It was time to snap out of it.
But when she opened her eyes again, she was still surrounded by woods, riding atop a horse, sitting in the lap of a strange man.
The trees around them began to thin, and soon they broke onto a verdant expanse of rolling hills. When Caroline’s gaze landed on one of the peaks ahead, her breath snagged in her throat.
A stone castle stood in the distance. But it was unlike anything she’d ever seen.
Over the last two weeks, she and her sisters had visited plenty of castles—or rather, ruins of castles. The few that were still whole had been built more recently, or at least drastically restored.
This one, on the other hand, was built in the style of the oldest structures they’d visited, except instead of crumbling walls and moss-covered stone, the castle stood whole and solid atop the grassy hill.
Caroline swallowed. “That is…”
“Kinmuir Castle. My home.”
She jumped at the man’s deep, reverberating reply. They had ridden in silence thus far, but now that she’d broken it, she wanted some answers.
“And you are?”
His gaze met hers, and a strange shiver pricked her skin despite the warmth of the wool plaid encasing her.
“Laird Callum MacMoran.”
Laird? Although Caroline hadn’t been as interested in all the history and lineage stuff as her sisters on this trip, even she knew that meant he was the head of his clan.
This was all too much to believe.
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She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is this some sort of prank? Did my sisters put you up to this? Someone’s about to jump out with a camera and yell ‘gotcha,’ right?”
He frowned at her. “I dinnae ken what ye are talking about. If yer aim is to feign madness to avoid being sent back to the MacBeans, it willnae work.”
Caroline opened her mouth to reply, but before she could speak, he said, “Hold yer wheesht, woman. It has been a long enough day as it is.”
She bristled at his tone—what the hell was a wheesht?—but it had been quite the day already. Her gaze darted back to the castle as they began climbing the rise.
A massive, square stone wall loomed over them, a round three-storey watchtower in each of the four corners. In the middle of the wall rose twin rectangular stone towers that both stood four or five storeys high.
As they drew higher up the hillside, she made out a cluster of thatch-roofed buildings on the far side of the castle—a village of some sort. She didn’t have time to see more, for they halted in front of a wide wooden gate set into the wall, a banded metal portcullis lowered in front of it.
Above them, a head appeared over the edge of the wall. Callum said something in that language she assumed was Gaelic to the man, and a heartbeat later the portcullis began to rise with a groan. When the portcullis had fully lifted, the gates behind it swung wide with a faint squeak.
They rode through the wall and into an open courtyard that bustled with activity. People dressed in plain woolen clothes and red and blue checked plaids streamed toward them, smiling and cheering for the returning men.
A slim-built man with graying brown hair and matching tidy beard approached and said something to Callum. But then the man’s eyes locked on Caroline and he froze, his lips parted in shock.
Before he could regain his wits, a short, round woman with wild red hair came bustling up behind him. She, too, began speaking, but Callum cut her off.
“Speak English around the lass,” he said flatly. “She doesnae understand Gaelic.”
All those gathered in the courtyard abruptly fell silent. The red-haired woman’s eyes practically bulged out of her head as she stared at Caroline. Murmurs began rising around them, and a few people pointed at her.
Normally Caroline wasn’t one to be embarrassed by other people’s judgments of her, but she was just as confused and stunned as everyone else, so she remained silent, staring back at them wide-eyed.
Ignoring the others, Callum shifted beneath her so that he could dismount, then lifted her down from the horse. Instead of setting her on her feet, though, he held her against his chest and strode toward the two rectangular towers, which were connected at their base.
The man who’d spoken before hurried after them, hissing something in Gaelic.
“English, Eagan,” Callum snapped, cutting him off.
The man, Eagan, swallowed and began again. “What is an Englishwoman—wrapped in MacMoran clan colors, no less—doing here, Laird?”
“At Kinmuir? I thought it was obvious I brought her here,” Callum replied dryly. “I found her by Loch Darraig. And before ye ask what she was doing there, I dinnae ken, but I intend to find out.”
As Eagan sputtered in confusion, Callum pushed open the wooden double doors and strode inside, speaking over his shoulder. “Go to my solar and prepare a missive for Laird MacBean. I’ll be there shortly.”
With a flustered blink and a dip of his gray-brown head, Eagan hurried toward a spiral staircase on the left side of the room they’d just entered.
Or rather, banquet hall. The space was enormous, with high-raftered ceilings making it feel even bigger. Wooden tables and benches were pushed against the walls, except for one large table, which sat atop a raised platform on the back wall. Two hearths that were big enough for Caroline to walk into without bending over sat opposite each other on either end of the space.
As Callum continued toward another spiral stone staircase to the right, Caroline belatedly realized everything in the giant room was mirrored. Two hearths. Two flights of stairs leading to the two towers. And one table in the middle that must be for the Laird.
“Tilly!” Callum bellowed, making Caroline jump in his embrace and cutting off her thoughts.
The red-haired woman came scurrying in through the doors behind them. “A-aye, Laird?”
“I need ye to open the east tower’s uppermost chamber.”
“But Laird—”
Callum ignored her and mounted the stairs, carrying Caroline higher and higher past several landings until the stairs simply ended in front of one last door. Below them, Caroline could hear Tilly huffing her way upward. When she reached them at last, her face was red and her hair was somehow even frizzier.
She fumbled with a ring of big metal keys dangling from her waist until she found the one she was looking for and jammed it into the lock. It turned with a rusty thunk and the door swung open with a whoosh of cool, musty air.
Callum stepped into the dim room and moved toward a bed on the far wall. Foreboding suddenly flooded Caroline’s stomach. She was bound and completely at his mercy, in his castle, surrounded by people who did his bidding.
With the last of her strength, she bucked and tried to break free of his hold. His hands tightened around her for a moment, but then he set her on the bed and stepped back.
“I told ye no harm would come to ye while ye are in my care, and I dinnae ever break my word,” he said gruffly.
Caroline sat up and tried to scoot away across the bed, but the plaid fell from her shoulders and got tangled in her legs.
Behind Callum, Tilly gasped. Caroline turned to find the older woman gazing in horror at the ropes lashing Caroline’s arms to her sides.
“Heaven help ye, Laird, what have ye done?”
Tilly hurried to the bedside but halted under Callum’s scowl. “I found her on the MacBean border. An Englishwoman.”
“So ye trussed her up like a stuck pig?” Tilly demanded.
“The lass attempted to escape and would have killed herself—or both of us—by thrashing atop my horse. And she tried to bite me.”
“All the same,” Tilly scolded, “is this how ye’d have the MacBean Laird treat one of our clanswomen if she fell into his hands? What if the lass were yer dear sister Thora?”
Callum stiffened at that, his eyes narrowing on the woman. “That is why ye are here—to see to the lass’s treatment. Bring her dry clothes and something warm to eat. And light a fire in the brazier—the air is too cold and damp in here.”
That seemed to smooth Tilly’s feathers somewhat. “Aye, Laird, right away.” She hustled on short legs back to the door and disappeared down the winding stairs.
Caroline suddenly became acutely aware of the fact that she was alone with the imposing Scotsman. He turned to her, his amber eyes sharp and unreadable.
He reached for her and she flinched back, but all he did was unfasten the rope and begin unwinding it from her. When she was free, his gaze flickered over her wet clothes. Abruptly, he turned away and strode toward the metal brazier in the corner. While he fiddled with the unlit fire already laid there, she took in her surroundings.
Besides the bed and the brazier, the only other piece of furniture was a massive wooden chest pushed against one wall. A single shutter blocked the only window. That was all.
It seemed she was more prisoner than honored guest in this bizarre hallucination. She almost snorted with mirth at the absurdity of it all.
Callum straightened from the brazier and turned, his mouth opening to say something. But just then, Tilly came huffing and puffing into the room once more, a bundle of folded wool in her hands.
“Here we are, lass,” she said, approaching. “These are the Laird’s sister Thora’s old things, but I believe they’ll fit. I set Margaret to work heating some stew, and one of the lads will be up shortly to light the fire.”
“I’ll be in my solar if ye need aught of me, Tilly,” Callum said abruptly, striding toward the doo
r. “Ye neednae linger in here. And Tilly—lock the door behind ye when ye leave.”
With that, he disappeared down the stairs. Somehow the bare stone room felt even colder and lonelier now that Callum was gone, even though Tilly still stood before her.
“Well now,” Tilly said, forcibly reaching for an air of calm. She extended the stack of folded clothes toward Caroline, who stood from the bed to accept them. Dread lacing her gut, she set the clothes on the bed and lifted one garment at a time for inspection.
The first was a wool dress dyed blue. The next was like a nightgown made of linen. Below that was a pair of woolen stockings and soft slippers.
Unless she’d stumbled into some weird cult, she had a sinking suspicion about what these clothes meant.
“I’ll be back with the stew shortly, Mistress…?” Tilly said, drawing Caroline’s attention.
“Caroline,” she said. “Just Caroline.”
“Verra well, Mistress Caroline,” Tilly replied, blatantly ignoring Caroline’s weak attempt to avoid a title. “Once ye have a hot meal in yer belly and a fire to cut the chill in here, ye’ll feel right as rain, I assure ye.”
Caroline very much doubted that. She continued to stare at the pile of clothes on the bed, her mind working to find any other way to explain what was happening.
Just as she heard the door creak with Tilly’s departure, her head snapped up. Of course. Why hadn’t she thought to ask earlier?
“Tilly?”
“Aye, mistress?”
Caroline dragged in a breath, willing the words out. “What year is it?”
The woman’s hazel eyes widened slightly. “Why, it is the year of our good Lord 1394.”
Caroline’s knees buckled. If it hadn’t been for the bed next to her, she would have crumpled to the floor. Distantly, she heard Tilly ask if all was well, but when Caroline didn’t respond, she clucked her tongue and quietly closed the door behind her.
The click of the lock sounded over the rush of blood in Caroline’s ears.
Oh my God.
This was so much worse than a dream or hallucination. This was a nightmare.
