by Sarah Hoss
Alexander stood at the window, drinking a glass of ale and thinking about the things he needed to do. The fence on the left side of the barn needed repairing after a branch fell on it. There was firewood to chop and he had a sick calf to look after. The happenings from the night before seemed to outweigh all other thoughts, though, and fatigue tugged at his body. He didn’t want to dwell on the subject again, so he took his last drink and sat the cup on the counter. He was about to head out when the bedroom door opened and he heard a high-pitched scream. On instinct, he swung around and pulled out his dagger. He didn’t get a very good look at her, for after she screamed again, she turned tail, and ran back into the room, slamming the door so hard he’d flinched.
Shaking his head, he tried to gather himself. There was a woman in his house. How did she get in? She must have snuck in last night while he and Hamish were out at the fire. Did she think no one lived here? He looked around the room. A fire was going in the fireplace and the smell of habitation was distinguishable in the air. Obviously, someone lived here. He was angry that someone dared to barge into his home.
Her image floated back into his mind. Though he only saw her for a moment, her clothing was odd. The material looked fine, like silk. The color, a shade of the sky in the gloaming, when the sun was just setting, was a soft rose color. It was also very revealing. Why would a woman be walking around half-naked in his house? His groin tightened at the image. He was about to yell for her when he saw the door begin to reopen.
Marlana peeked around the doorjamb to see where he was, then ducked back into the bedroom. Relief filled her when she saw he stood right where he had been; at the counter in front of the window. She swallowed hard—her hands shook.
“Come on out, you doona have to fear me, lass,” he said.
“Yeah, right, and I’m supposed to just take your word on that?” She leaned against the doorjamb. Her heart was nearly in her throat. She gripped the candlestick holder so tightly her knuckles ached. She would never be able to defend herself against him, but she would be damned if she wouldn’t try to fight.
She heard him sigh. “Come, look. I have sheathed my dagger. I willna harm ye, I promise.”
“There are more ways than that to hurt someone and I’m not about to come out and let you try any of them on me.” She stood with her back against the wall, the door was open, and she listened for footsteps. He hadn’t moved.
“Ye’re right, I could hurt ye, easily, but I gave ye my word that I willna harm ye. My word is my honor. Now, come.” He sounded patient, yet annoyed.
“I think you had better run while you can. I called the cops and they’re on their way.” She prayed he would believe her and leave.
There was a moment of silence. “What are ye talking about? Come out, now.” She heard the confusion laced with anger in his voice.
She peeked around the corner to look at him again. His empty hands were in the air. Where had he put the dagger? Scoping his body, she saw the knife on his right leg. She took one step into the room, holding onto the candlestick for dear life. She quickly glanced around to make sure it was just the two of them, no surprises. They stood, staring at each other for a moment. He looked as unsure as she did of what to do next.
There were things she wanted to do. She wanted to bash him over the head and run like hell, for starters. Moments seemed to tick by. They continued to stare each other down.
Then it struck her. Her eyes concentrated on the tartan he wore. It looked familiar. She gasped as recognition flittered in her mind. Her eyes perused him from head to toe, taking in all of his features.
“You?” She said it with confusion. The candlestick fell from her fingers. Glancing down, she quickly bent to pick it up again.
She shook her head and closed her eyes. It couldn’t be him. She had to be asleep, for the only place she had ever seen him was in her dreams. But here he was, her Highlander. Her eyes traveled his body in disbelief. This wasn’t the glen, and she could hear him speak. She swallowed, feeling a little dizzy, and shook her head. Too many things were circling in her mind. Black dots floated in front of her eyes. She felt two large hands grab hold of her, lifting her up and pinning her against a wall of muscle. Then everything went black.
A question danced on Alexander’s tongue, but before he could ask the woman anything, he saw her sway on her feet. A look of recognition crossed her face before her knees buckled. He heard her say, “You”, before he swung the wee thing up into his arms.
“What now?” There was no answer for him. He looked down at her face. She was beautiful and he studied her. Dark brown hair fell across his arms. It was soft and tickled his skin. Her eyes were closed and he wondered what color they were. Long lashes and arched brows shaped her eyes. Full, red lips lay relaxed and for a brief moment, he had a strong desire to taste them.
Shock came over him like a tidal wave. This was the face that haunted his dreams. He would know it anywhere. He looked around the room and hoped that when he looked back at her, maybe it would be someone else. But it was still her. He knitted his eyebrows as he thought. How could this be?
His lips tightened in anger. He didn’t want this woman in his life. Hell, he hadn’t wanted her in his dreams—in person was even worse. He didn’t want to unravel the mystery that surrounded her. He didn’t want the feelings that stirred in him when his eyes scanned over her half-naked body. He had vowed to never love again. Only then, could he save himself the heartache of losing another.
He walked into the bedroom and placed her on the bed. Tapping her face, he tried to get her to open her eyes. “Wake up, lass.”
CHAPTER 7
She lay still in the bed, feeling disoriented. Was this déjà vue? She blinked her eyes a few times, waiting to see if anything changed. Hearing a noise to her left, she looked over, her eyes and mind taking a moment to work together on recognition. She screamed and sat up. Grabbing at a pillow, she pulled it to her chin like a shield. He was real and sitting in front of her. He scowled and she scooted back, only to come up short against the wall.
“For heaven’s sake, woman, I said I wouldna hurt ye, and I won’t.”
He stood and she scooted back into the corner even further, if such a thing was possible.
“Get dressed. Ye have some explaining to do, and I mean to hear it.” He stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
She sat on the bed, stunned. Why was he angry? How did she have some explaining to do? He was in her house. Anger began to replace fear—she quickly got out of bed and dressed. After putting on her Levi jeans, tennis shoes, and sweatshirt, she went out to face him.
She found him sitting in front of the fireplace, deep in thought. Quickly, she glanced around for the candlestick holder. Finding it on the floor where she had been standing earlier, she went to pick it up.
She kept him in the corner of her eye. He turned to stare at her, then shook his head and looked away. She took a step, then stopped, mentally asking herself where the stool that he sat on had come from.
She walked over to the table, candlestick still in her hand. Her eyes grew large as he rose and walked toward her. She let go of the breath she didn’t know she had been holding when he sat down across from where she stood. She took a moment to study him.
Her stomach twisted, her hands lightly shook as he reached over and held out his hand for the candlestick holder.
“No,” she said a little too quickly. She’d be damned if she would give it up.
She stayed behind the kitchen chair, acting as if it provided a safe barrier between them. He curled his fingers in a couple of times, silently telling her to give it to him. He had a look in his eye that clearly told her he was determined to win this battle.
She lifted her chin a little higher in defiance. He was large, which frightened her. Her eyes scanned his person again. His body was nothin
g but muscle. Raw power oozed from every ounce of him. His eyes intrigued her. The most striking color of gray she had ever seen, like the color of liquid steel. She found herself getting lost in them, starting to feel at ease, and she shook herself. She could not forget where she was.
They looked at each other for a second. His was a warning—hers determination. Then she pulled away and stared out the kitchen window. What now?
Alexander looked up, studying her. “Please sit.” He gestured toward the chair. What in God’s name was she wearing?
“My name is Alexander Macpherson,” he said to start them off. It was as good as any place. He needed to find out who she was and why she was in his house.
She was biting her lower lip and he wondered why her eyes grew larger when he said his name. She acted as if she recognized him.
She swallowed. “My name is Marlana Crawford.”
Silence filled the house, except for the crackling of the fire. Alexander shifted in his chair, causing her to glance up. Fear was etched on her face and it bothered him that she felt this way. He was not the type of person to go around attacking innocent women. Their eyes met for what seemed like eternity.
“Where are ye from, lass?”
“I’m from the U.S.A.” When he didn’t answer, she elaborated. “The Americas?”
“Ah, I’ve heard of the Americas. What is ’the U.S.A.’ then?”
“It means United States,” she paused, “of America.”
He only grunted. He was not daft and it aggravated him to think she thought so. “And might I ask what ye are doing so far from home?”
She shifted her feet. Slowly pulling the chair out, she finally sat. “I’m on vacation.”
“Do ye mean a holiday?”
She stood up again. “Yes. Is this how it’s going to be? The two of us answering questions with questions? We’ll never get anywhere this way, and why do you,“ she said, pointing at him, “get to ask all the questions? I have a few of my own.” He watched her walk toward the fireplace.
Alexander put his head in his hands. She was right, this would be tough. But whether she liked it or not, they were going to talk. He rolled his head, trying to ease some of the tension from his muscles, then looked at her. She stood with her back to him. He almost let out a gasp when he got a closer look at what she was wearing. The trousers fit her like a glove. Although he didn’t mind looking, the trousers would get the lass in a lot of trouble. What could she be thinking, wearing something like that? They left no imagination as to what was there. Feeling his groin tighten, he coughed to get her attention.
“Come, lass, and sit back down.” Please.
Marlana watched as he made his way around her house. How dare he? This was her house. She glanced around as the thought crossed her mind and dread began to creep in. She noticed that things in the house were different. Furnishings weren’t the same. Where had her things gone? Turning to look at the fireplace, she realized it didn’t look as old and used. That was crazy. She hadn’t even realized the table was different when she sat down, having not taken her eyes off him.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know, but something isn’t right.” Her voice shook as she spoke.
He handed her an oatcake and took one for himself. “How is it ye are in my house?”
“Did you put me in the bed after I passed out?”
Their questions collided together. He looked toward the bedroom door, then nodded.
She took the oatcake. She didn’t remember baking them and wasn’t hungry anymore, but at least holding it would keep her hands from shaking. Then she realized what he’d said.
His house? “What do you mean, your house?” She sighed and shook her head. “This is my house and I demand to know why you’re in it.”
This made him laugh. “Nay, I have lived here for over five years, lass. I built it with my own hands.”
“You, sir,” she smiled at him in understanding, “are the owner? It’s nice to meet you. I called the realtor three days ago. I’m renting this place for the week. I have the paperwork in the dresser in the bedroom.”
She watched as confusion crossed his face. She stood. “I’ll show you.” She walked to the bedroom; determination in her steps. She was in no mood to sit here and debate ownership with this stranger. It may be his house, but she was renting it, and he couldn’t come in whenever he wanted to. She wanted him gone, quickly. If she had to, she would call the realtor and speak to her about this. There was something about him and the situation that unsettled her, and she didn’t like it.
When she reached the bedroom, she walked over to where the dresser stood. Where was the dresser? It was supposed to be under the window. A new bouquet of flowers had been sitting on top of it that she’d picked yesterday on her walk. She could remember it clearly.
She spun around, looking all over the room, but she couldn’t find the dresser. Panic set in. What kind of game was this? Even the curtains and the furniture were different.
She ran from the bedroom. Alexander still sat in the chair at the table. Glancing around, she shook her head. A gun was mounted over the fireplace. Not hers. A stool sat near the corner of the fireplace and wood was stacked off to the side. Not hers. She hadn’t stacked any wood. Turning, she noticed the desk was gone. Walking over to the pie chest, she reached a shaky hand out, afraid to touch it. It was different. She glanced again at the fireplace.
It felt as if the walls of the house were closing in on her and she had to get out. She could see Alexander rise as she ran out. She heard him give chase.
She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Off to the right of the house stood a barn and a pasture with sheep and cows. She put a hand on her forehead. This wasn’t here yesterday. Not able to make heads or tails of what was going on, she sat down on the ground.
Her chest rose and fell heavily with each quickening breath. Whipping her head around and peering back toward the house, she got up and ran inside, back to the bedroom. Dropping to her knees, she peered under the bed. Sighing, she spotted her backpack. She started to drag it out when she heard Alexander come into the house. She pushed it back into its hiding place.
She stayed sitting on the floor, the bed to her back. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them.
“What’s wrong, lass?”
“I don’t know. Everything is wrong.” She chuckled and peeked up at him. “You won’t believe me when I tell you this, but I swear to you that I was in this house yesterday and it looked totally different.” She pointed outside. “There was no barn outside.” She wiped at a tear as it slipped down her cheek.
Glancing back at him, she asked, “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” She laughed. “What if I am?” She laughed again, this time her voice came out as a squeak.
CHAPTER 8
Not again.
Sun streaked in through the window to greet her. She watched little dust particles dance in the sun’s beam. This became a ritual every morning and it seemed to relax her. She laid still; trying to pick out all the different sounds, see if any were familiar to her. Sometimes there would be nothing but silence and other times she could hear animals. On the days of silence, she could almost believe things were normal. She’d been in the past now for two weeks and had come to the conclusion that she was far from Kansas.
As she lie on her back and put her hands behind her head, her mind wondered to Victoria and Lilly. Where they worried about her? Was her face plastered all over the five o’clock news? What did the realtor think when she went missing? But the thought that plagued her most was, would she ever get home?
Every night, for the past two weeks, she sat in the doorstop of the cottage, repeating the events of the night before she traveled through time. Could wishing on a shooting star be real? That was the only thing she could come up with
as a reason for why she was in the past. As silly as it seemed, she had no other answer.
“Might as well get up and face another day.”
A fire had been built, making the main room toasty. Walking over, she stuck out her hands to soak up some of its warmth. Even though it was summer here, there was always a hint of chill in the morning. At least for her.
Glancing around, she couldn’t get used to the way the place looked. So different from before. There was a pot hanging near the fire. Taking off the lid, she saw that Alexander had made breakfast. Grabbing a bowl from the counter, she spooned some out. As she turned toward the table, she noticed something off to the side of the fireplace. It was Alexander’s bedroll. He had spent the first week sleeping in the barn, giving her the bed in the other room. But the nights in Scotland were still cold and she had felt bad. After she mentioned it, he always waited for her to fall asleep before he came in, and was gone before she woke in the mornings.
Her life had been so normal before. Now it felt far from it. Could a person really travel back through time? How is such a thing possible? And if it’s true, it made her want to question everything she believed in. Yet, here she stood. The cottage was the same, yet different. She had spent the last week trying to make heads or tails of everything, to no avail. She glanced away from his bedroll. And how on earth do I explain him?
With breakfast dishes cleaned and put away, Marlana decided to venture out and look for Alexander. What should she call him? A friend? She didn’t know him well enough for that. A companion? Absolutely not. The most gorgeous man she had ever laid her eyes on and the walking epitome of raw, masculine sex? Though she knew that was a lot to describe one man, it was how she felt. She chuckled.
Even though the furniture was different, the cottage was the one thing that was familiar to her, and she was afraid to leave it. Her luck, she would come back and it too would be gone. But two weeks in the house made her stir crazy. She needed to get out.
