So it must think her capable of getting out of the room, right?
“Maybe it's just a matter of putting voice to it,” she theorized, willing to try anything. She could hear people bustling about and wanted to be part of it. See everything. So she put her hand on the latch and spoke firmly. “Open.” Best to sound like she meant business. “Right now.”
She waited with baited breath, refusing to think this was silly. At least for the moment. She'd laugh at herself later if this didn't work. It would give her something to do while she wasted away waiting for Aidan’s return. Stuck in her rhetorical tower, cruelly denied the intriguing medieval activity beyond.
Suffice it to say and as expected because guess what, she wasn’t a witch, after all, nothing happened. The door was still locked.
“Imagine that,” she muttered sarcastically only to hear a click when the door suddenly unlocked.
“Ha!” She grinned, awed at her accomplishment. “Go, Chloe!”
Excited, she yanked the door open only to stop short, disappointed but careful not to show it.
Magic had not, in fact, unlocked the door. A man had.
“I thought I heard someone trying to get out,” he said in greeting. Shorter and narrower in the shoulders than Aidan, he was somewhere in his early thirties and handsome with dark hair and watchful blue-green eyes. His gaze swept over her before his brows shot up, his demeanor charming. “’Tis not often I find such a lovely lass locked in a chamber.”
“Hello.” She smiled, determined to act like she belonged there. As if she had not been locked in the room on purpose. “I asked my...” Servant? Chaperone? She had no idea what made sense. “Husband...”
Hell, husband? Where had that come from?
“You asked your husband what?” he prompted when she hesitated.
“I...uh...my husband locked the door on my request.”
“I see.” He narrowed his eyes. “Ye have a verra unusual accent, lass.”
Right. Damn. What to say to that?
“Or so I thought initially,” he corrected, surprising her. His eyes narrowed further as if he were trying to remember what he’d just been thinking. “But ‘tis gone now.” He blinked several times, confused. “If, indeed, it had been there to begin with.”
According to Aidan, Julie had sounded like she was from Medieval Scotland, too, because of her magical ley-lines. So that must be what was happening.
Best to move things along.
She offered her elbow. “Perhaps you can show me around?”
“Do ye not want to wait for yer husband to return?”
“No, he won’t be back for hours.” She offered a winning smile, determined to see the courtyard up close. “So how about it?”
When his appreciative gaze raked over her again, and he met her smile, she realized how forward she sounded. Again. In Aidan’s case, she couldn’t help herself. He was through-the-roof, panty-soaking hot, and she hadn’t been with a guy in a painfully long time. So who could blame her? Right now, however, was different. She needed to watch herself. Women supposedly weren’t so blunt in this era.
“Come then, lass.” The man slipped his elbow into hers and led her along. “I am Laird Robert Bruce. Have ye a name?”
She nearly tripped. Robert Bruce? Seriously? How was that possible? They were in the right era, weren't they? If so, he should be dead. Hence his son becoming king.
“Son,” she whispered before it dawned on her. “You’re his son too.”
He eyed her for a moment before he seemed to understand.
“Aye, I’m former King Robert’s son,” he confirmed, shrugging. “The illegitimate son that is.”
She wished she knew more about Scottish history. Yet even as she thought it, a strange sensation washed over her. One that seemed to originate from her ring.
“You’re the Lord of Liddesdale,” she murmured, mortified when she rambled on. Her tongue seemed to have a mind of its own. “Sired by King Robert the Bruce when he was in his teens.”
“Aye, ‘twas how it went,” he agreed, not put off by the random statement. They headed downstairs. “And yer name, lass?”
“Chloe,” she said absently, trying her darndest not to marvel at everything.
Though priceless furnishings were scarce because the castle sat fairly close to the English border and was subject to raids, torches illuminated plenty of handmade tapestries and stunning weaponry. Fresh rushes were laid closer to the front door in the great hall. Merry pipe music drifted in through the windows. People spoke a mixture of Scottish Gaelic and English. Some were in a rush to get wherever they were going. Others stood in groups gossiping. Then there were warring men, with weapons strapped here and there, their interested gazes turning her way.
“Chloe is an unusual name.” Robert pondered it as they stepped outside, his warm smile charming once again. “But verra bonny.” He slanted another appreciative look her way. “It suits ye.”
“Thank you.” She returned his smile, soon ensnared by everything around her. Not just the carts from which people sold wares but the warriors passing on horseback. The air smelled of baked bread and sweat along with a variety of other pungent aromas.
“This is incredible,” she gushed momentarily forgetting she was supposed to play a part.
He looked at her oddly but kept smiling. “Did yer husband not bring ye in the front gate, then?”
“Husband?” she murmured absently, smiling at a chubby-cheeked jolly woman laying out fresh herbs. “What husband?”
“The one ye claimed to have.” He stopped and eyed her with renewed interest, not checking her out anymore but troubled in a way that set her on edge. “Are ye unmarried then, lass?”
“Of course I’m married,” she exclaimed, trying to backtrack. But it seemed he already had her figured out. His darkening gaze was far too astute.
“And who are ye married to again?” There was no missing the warning in his tone or the wariness in his eyes. She better answer correctly.
But what was the right answer? What was she supposed to say?
“Uh...”
“Do ye not know yer own husband’s name?” His eyes narrowed in distrust, and his shoulders tensed. “Who are ye again, lass?” He took in her dress, one that stood out compared to the plain wool dresses of other women. “First, I catch ye behind a locked door doing God knows what then I swear yer accent was different.” He fingered her dress. “Not to mention yer fine garment.” He stepped closer, definitely in her personal space, his posture more intimidating by the moment, his voice a growl. “Might ye be a Sassenach spy then?”
“A what?” she gasped, knowing full well what that word meant.
English.
And this was no place for an Englishwoman, let alone a spy.
“Are ye a spy, lass?” he groused, grabbing her arm. Gone was his genteel, flirtatious manner. Instead, suspicion and anger churned in his eyes.
“I’m not.” She shook her head. “I swear.”
She tried not to panic. What could she say to get out of this? Oh, but her damnable curiosity could get her in trouble, couldn’t it? She didn’t want her head lopped off and stuck on a pike. Or to be drawn and quartered. Perhaps even hung or burned at the stake. Because isn’t that what they did to witches? Or did she have the wrong era? Either way, she swallowed hard, imagining all too well what they might do to an English spying witch.
“There ye are, lass,” came a deep, authoritative rumble before Aidan appeared through the crowd.
“There he is!” Her ticket out of getting her head lopped off. Or so she prayed. She rambled on before giving it much thought. Rambled because she was frightened and willing to say anything. Laying it on thick because hell, what gal wouldn't when faced with medieval torture? “There’s the love of my life, my very Scottish husband and avid supporter of good King David II, Laird Aidan Hamilton.”
Chapter Six
BY THE BLOODY rood, what had Chloe gotten herself into? He was the love of her life? M
arried to him? He thought not.
While it was on the tip of his tongue to deny her declarations, he knew by the suspicion on Robert’s reddened face and the way he clutched her arm that things had gone wrong in very little time. So he introduced himself, pleased to discover that Robert knew of him. More so, that he had been seeking him out.
“I was told I might find ye here,” Robert said. “The wee king has requested ye join him in Perth.” His relieved yet curious gaze returned to Chloe. “I was also told ye would likely have a lass with ye.” He shook his head. “Though I wasnae told she was yer wife.”
Though Robert had been at the Battle of Bannockburn, when Aidan's parents, along with his aunts and uncles, had come together, he knew nothing of why the MacLomains and their kin had been present. How they had aided his father, King Robert, and William Wallace during the First War. So he knew nothing about women traveling back in time.
That said, though the last thing he wanted to do was call Chloe his wife, it was for the best right now. Or so he kept telling himself. While it made good sense and kept her safe, he feared his real reasoning stemmed from unexpected jealousy. He hadn’t liked the way Robert flirted with her, nor the overly admiring looks she received from far too many men.
“Aye, Chloe is my wife,” he stated, shooting her a frustrated look before he nodded graciously at Robert. “Forgive me, my Laird, ‘twas my fondest hope she would stay in our chambers.” He eyed her attire, wondering if she had manifested it with magic. “Especially in her new dress.”
“’Tis a fine garment,” Robert agreed, his gaze no longer suspicious as it lingered on her. “For a lovely lass.”
He had heard many admirable things about Robert. How bravely he fought in battle. Yet there was clearly more to the man. Namely, an avid appreciation for beauty. Chloe, in turn, didn’t seem overly opposed. Which explained why Robert, despite knowing she was married, didn't seem inclined to stop admiring her. Mayhap even pursue her despite her having a husband. Such things happened all the time, especially with royalty and even royal bastards.
“I will see her changed into something more appropriate.” Aidan wrapped his elbow with hers, eager to get her out of the courtyard and away from lustful eyes. “Then, we will meet to discuss travel plans, aye?”
“There is little to discuss,” Robert informed, back to business in record time. “We will leave within the hour.” His gaze lingered on Chloe a moment longer then went to Aidan. “Ye will ride alongside me.”
With that, he spun on his heel and strode off.
“Ye’re bloody lucky that went as well as it did, lass,” he muttered under his breath the moment Robert was out of earshot.
Though he tried not to look at her, it was impossible. Her hair fell in a heavy mass of shimmering waves and curls down the center of her back, and her delicate features were truly stunning. If her lively eyes didn’t capture a man’s attention, then her plush, heart-shaped, kissable lips surely did.
His frustration grew as he led her back into the castle. “Yer curiosity will be the death of ye in these parts if ye dinnae listen to me.”
“And I fully intended to,” she argued softly so anyone passing by could not hear. “Until I heard you lock the door.”
“A lot of good that did.” He sighed, trying to rein in his emotions. The danger she had put herself in troubled him. “Did your ring unlock it then? Your magic?”
“No, though I wish it had,” she replied. “Robert unlocked it.”
“Robert?” He frowned as they made their way upstairs. “What was Robert doing unlocking random doors? Were you calling out?”
“No, he heard me fiddling with the handle.” She scowled at him. “You could’ve trusted me, you know.”
“Clearly not.” He gestured at her attire. “Where did your dress come from?”
“I have no idea.” They started down the hallway. “Not really.”
“What do you mean, not really?”
When she looked at him hesitantly, he sighed again. “You need to tell me everything lass so that we might get through this.”
“This being what?” She slid him a look. “You locking me in rooms while you figure everything out? While you try to save Scotland without me?”
“In part,” he acknowledged. “Your curiosity needs containment and our destined true love connection...,” wasn’t going to happen, “will take time.”
He was determined to find a way around it. Or mayhap even trick it somehow. Love her without truly loving her. Or worst case, love her but never as much as he did Maeve. While history had seemingly proven there was no avoiding the MacLomain-Broun connection, he had to try. He felt too strongly about this.
“My curiosity needs containment?” Her eyes rounded, and her mouth flattened in disgust. “I understand you want to keep me safe if that’s what this is really about, but containing someone’s nature is impossible, Aidan.” She shook her head. “You can’t box someone in like that.”
“We shall see,” he muttered, knowing he had used a poor choice of words. He suspected nothing could contain her. Nevertheless. “I wouldnae need to worry about it if you practiced more caution and tempered your curiosity.” He shook his head, his frustration not waning. Without his magic working properly, he had no way of getting her safely out of here if she were accused of spying. It would mean certain death. “’Tis but a matter of showing self-restraint.”
“Excuse me?” Baffled, she stopped, planted her fists on her hips, and eyed him for several moments. He expected a scathing response, but instead, she crossed her arms over her chest, her anger gone as swiftly as it had arrived. Her expression softened as she considered him. “That’s what you do, isn’t it?” She shook her head, figuring things out far too quickly. Hell, figuring out things even he hadn’t realized until this moment. “That’s what you’ve been doing since she left you.”
“I dinnae ken—” he began.
“Yes, you do. Or at least I do.” Compassion lit her eyes. “You’re terrified of losing someone you love again. So since Maeve died, you’ve allowed your world to get smaller and smaller, more tightly restrained.” Her eyes narrowed in understanding. “The truth is you don’t want to be here without her.” She shook her head. “You’re just going through the motions, not really living.”
While it could be said she was craftily redirecting the subject from her to him, he sensed more than evasiveness at work. A level of understanding she shouldn’t have. A connection between them that wasn’t there hours before. Make that minutes.
He scowled and shook his head, uncomfortable with her assessment, trying to convince himself she was wrong. He lived. He fought for his country and defended his clan. He smiled and laughed, though granted, not as much as he used to.
“We are not talking about Maeve, nor will we be again,” he said flatly. “She is not part of this.”
“Sadly, I think she is,” Chloe said softly, her gaze steady on his face. “I think she’s with you no matter where you go, tightening a noose around your neck that she no longer has anything to do with.”
What noose? What the bloody hell was she talking about?
“You know what I’m talking about,” she murmured, surprising them both based on her expression. Because she had clearly heard his thoughts. “You’re caught somewhere between loving her and being angry with her, not just because she left you but...,” her pupils flared in sudden magical understanding, “because she loved another.”
About the last thing he wanted to talk about was this.
Especially with her.
Yet Chloe’s curiosity was at the helm again.
“What makes it worse is he’s family.” She searched his eyes. “And he betrayed you...they both did.” She cocked her head. Her eyebrows pinched together. “Or was it the other way around?”
“’Twas as you said the first time,” he grunted, refusing to stick around for this. He continued down the hall, grinding out, “She was with me first. Cray should have never gone near her.�
��
While he had since forgiven his cousin, or so he showed the world, hearing Chloe speak of it opened old wounds.
She caught up with him. “Did he, though?”
“Did he what?”
“Did Cray go after her?”
“Och, aye, of course, he did!” He strode into his chamber and gathered his belongings, all the while muttering things he shouldn’t to a lass he had only just met. “He’d had his eye on her and finally acted on it. Bloody MacLeod!”
“Well, that’s awful,” she agreed.
“Aye, ‘twas.”
“But is it true, I wonder?”
He stopped what he was doing and frowned at her, not liking the speculation on her face. As if she sensed something she should not.
“Aye, ‘tis true, lass,” he assured. “My cousin betrayed me.”
“They both betrayed you,” she reminded. “But that’s not what we’re talking about.”
“’Tis precisely what we are talking about.”
“No, we’re talking about who approached who,” she said. “And when exactly that happened.”
“Aye, and ‘tis a good question, lass,” came the last voice he wanted to hear. “After all, ‘twas me Maeve loved first, not the Hamilton.”
Chapter Seven
A TALL, BROAD-SHOULDERED tattooed Scotsman with chiseled blonde good looks, filled the doorway, his presence as all-consuming if not more so than Aidan’s. His fierce golden eyes remained locked on Aidan for a moment longer before they slid her way.
Straight to the point, his gaze raked over her with approval. “You must be a Broun.”
There was a wildness about him that was hard to describe. A sense of danger.
“You’re half dragon,” she whispered, positive she was right. Blown away by the unique sensation of being near one. “Aren’t you?”
A Scot's Devotion (The MacLomain Series: End of an Era, #2) Page 4
