Clouds moved swiftly across a starless sky, casting the land below in shadow. Every muscle in Patrick’s body tightened with acute awareness of the woman who walked behind him along the wooded path. Although she dressed in the fine cloth of a highborn lady, when she stumbled over loose stones in her unsuitable shoes, she swore under her breath like a low-bred whore.
Had inattentive guardians allowed her too much freedom, and she’d lingered more than she should within hearing of stable lads or foul-mouthed warriors?
He would forgive her the minor failing, though suspected she’d require a heavy hand to guide her. Who cared so little for the lass they allowed her to wander about unescorted?
She grabbed hold of his arm and tugged hard. “Stop.”
“What?” Patrick ignored the jolt from her touch, stopped in place and twisted around to glare at her.
“How much farther? We’ve been walking a long time.” She puffed out a breath and brushed a stray hair from her face.
“Not far.” He caught her frown and a glimmer of gold in the moonlight. Why did she wear his stepmother’s brooch? He was tempted to question her, but he’d wait until he secured her in the castle.
Patrick whirled on his heel and started walking, expecting her to continue following. He squeezed his fist tight then uncurled his fingers. Too many questions rattled around in his head.
Was she involved with fae magic? Munn claimed the faerie, Caitrina, caused the visions. Was the lass in league with the faerie?
They left the trees, finding the sky had cleared. Patrick straightened his shoulders with pride at the sight of Castle Lachlan in the glow of the full moon. The lass would be impressed. He stopped and waited for her to catch up. Disappointment tweaked his pride when she didn’t compliment the fortification of his home. When he grasped her elbow to guide her down the grassy slope, she trembled.
Maybe she wasn’t of his station. Nae. Her garments were too fine not to be.
She stared toward the castle, took a step, hesitated, and almost tripped him. He urged her forward with light pressure. She stopped when they neared the beach across the water from the castle.
“Oh. My. God.” Her trembling increased, and when she tried to pull away, he released her arm. “This can’t be for real. Please, tell me that’s not a medieval castle.”
“Medieval? ’Tis my home.”
She teetered and collapsed against him.
He shook her. Even with gentle slaps to her cheeks, she didn’t respond.
For all the saints, what was he to do with her now? He lifted her and carried her to the water’s edge. She weighed naught and was easy to carry.
Patrick placed her into the currach he’d left on the beach. She didn’t stir, and a knot of alarm twisted in his stomach. He climbed in behind her and sat. The small boat, made of skins and wicker, pitched. He carefully settled himself and pulled the lass onto his lap—to balance the boat, not for any other reason.
Paddle in hand, he rowed toward the opposite shore.
He frowned at the limp woman. Women didn’t swoon in his presence. There must be something wrong with the lass. At least her chest rose and fell with her breath. He hadn’t scared her to death.
He shouldn’t have kissed her, but hadn’t been able to stop.
Feathery lashes graced smooth cheeks silvered in the moonlight. Patrick feasted on the sight like a starving man. His chest tightened for lack of air. This wouldn't do. He tore his gaze away. An ardent fondness for the lass would bring naught but trouble.
Though she belonged to him, it would be best to maintain a distance. He couldn’t afford becoming attached. Not with the false betrothal hanging over his head. But damn, he desired the lass with every breath.
Arriving at the castle side of the small bay, he jumped into the shallow water. The boat scraped along the bottom when pulled onto the beach. Still, she didn’t stir.
Patrick lifted the woman, held on tight, and strode across the shingle to the castle. Entering through the main gate, he made haste to the wheel stair. The tight space required caution to ensure the woman’s head didn’t bang against rough stone.
In the great hall, he found his cousin with Elspeth seated before the fire. His sister leapt from her chair and ran to him. “Stephen told me what happened in Fir-wood.” Her gaze slid over the woman in his arms, and her eyes widened. “Did you hurt her?”
“Ach. She but swooned,” he said. “You have nae faith in me, wee sister. I dinnae hurt lasses.”
Elspeth gave him a sharp look. “I ken that verra well, yet these are unusual events. Bring her to my solar, she requires rest.”
His sister hurried toward the far stair, signaling for him to follow. He did, until she entered the passageway. He continued past her, up another flight of steps, along the long corridor, to kick open the door to his bedchamber.
“Laurie.” The unfamiliar name sounded pleasant as it rolled from his lips.
She didn’t respond. He placed her on the bed and twisted to reach for a cover.
“Patrick, you cannae,” Elspeth said softly. “’Tis not fitting for her to be in your bedchamber.” His sister stood in the doorway, frowning at him.
“She is my responsibility.”
“’Tis wrong.”
“I have claimed her. ’Tis for me to decide what is right.” His tone held unintended harshness, but he wanted his sister to understand the significance of his position. “Hear me, she stays locked in this chamber until I discover if she poses a threat.”
Elspeth arched a feminine brow and he fought the urge to smile. His lips twitched slightly before he sighed and looked away.
The edge of the mattress sank when he sat beside Laurie. His fingers grazed soft skin as he covered her with a fur. Her feminine scent filled his nostrils, quickened his heartbeat, drove him to the edge of desire. She was comely with fine features. Allowing his gaze to roam freely, emotions, long dormant, surfaced.
Mine.
His chest tightened, and he found it hard to breathe. Who was this woman who’d stolen his breath?
He brushed his knuckles over her silky, golden hair before glancing at his sister. She worried overmuch. His honor insisted he protect the strange lass. He put a finger to his lips and went to stand beside Elspeth. “Return to the hall, Beth,” he whispered. “I will ensure nae harm comes to her. But when she wakes, I will demand answers to my questions.”
Elspeth left the chamber with a shake of her head. When she was gone, Patrick closed the door and strode to the fire. He placed his hand on the mantel and lowered his head to his arm. In his mind, he repeated the evening’s events. He didn’t care for the chaos the lass provoked.
Aye, he wanted her, but in his bed, not awakening emotions better left dead.
Damnable tangle.
Why was she wearing his stepmother's brooch? What did she have to do with his parents?
He wanted answers and he wanted them now.
* * *
Elspeth made her way along the passage to her bedchamber, musing over the evening’s happenings. Her brother’s heart shone in his eyes for all to see. An unusual occurrence. His out-of-character behavior took her by surprise and provoked concern.
First Patrick's visions. He didn’t have the gift. His visions were an anomaly. Now the appearance of the lass. These were the only events her brother showed interest in since their parents disappeared.
He claimed the woman. Interesting, indeed.
Elspeth slid her palm over her chest where a pinching sensation stole her breath. She missed her parents, especially her mother. A deep inhale and exhale eased the ache.
Patrick took their parents disappearance particularly hard, having been out of the country, only to return after they’d vanished. He blamed himself for not coming home sooner. For not being there when their father needed him.
He claimed responsibility for the difficulty over Isobell Lamont and the ever-present feud. None of what happened should be blamed on Patrick, but Elspeth couldn’t convince him of the fact.
Over the years since the disappearance, her brother had become more and more morose. She couldn’t figure out how to help him. And their brother Archibald, Patrick’s twin, still traveled with her betrothed for the king and was of no use with these strange happenings.
Elspeth entered her bedchamber and sat in her favorite chair before the fire. What good was her gift of visions when she’d received none to guide her? Even so, she recognized Patrick’s desire for the woman.
She sensed no darkness from the stranger—only light.
The woman might be exactly what her brother needed to get him out of his black, brooding moods. His interactions with the lass warranted watching.
* * *
Waking to the comfort of warmth, Laurie slid a hand across fur covers, the unexpected sensual sensation somehow reassuring. The calm shattered, replaced with unease when she sensed someone else in the room. She opened her eyes to find Patrick standing by the fireplace, observing her through hooded eyes. Their gazes met. In that instant, reality crashed down on her.
She bolted upright. Adrenaline kicked in. She skittered back against the headboard. The man grumbled something harsh under his breath, and she swallowed hard.
“Dinnae fash yourself, lass. Nae one here will harm you.”
Laurie peered at him, worried she was teetering on the verge of hysteria. “Where am I?”
“In my bedchamber at Castle Lachlan.” He dragged a stool next to the bed and sat.
His gaze held hers. Heat crept into her cheeks. Unable to look away, she shivered, remembering what he said about her belonging to him. “Where is Castle Lachlan?” And how did I get here? She bit her lower lip. The same questions hovered beyond the grasp of her conscious mind before she fainted.
He stared, long and hard, before answering. “The Highlands.”
She gulped and glanced at the furs spread across the bed. An extremely large four-poster bed with a canopy and heavy blue curtains pulled back at each corner post. The stone walls were covered in tapestries. Tapestries that looked much newer than any she’d seen at the Cloisters in New York or at any other museum for that matter. A huge fireplace took up most of one wall. A fire crackled, lending an ordinary air to a setting that was anything but.
Similar to antiques she’d seen in museums were several chairs and a table. Only these looked new. Excellent reproductions? Could they be originals?
With growing apprehension, she noted the lack of lamps. There were no light switches or outlets. Candles lit the room. Something was terribly wrong if what she was beginning to suspect was true. She flipped her gaze to Patrick. He sat like the king of his domain, exuding barely leashed power, stoically watching her.
She didn’t imagine the Highlands he spoke of were in North Carolina. She’d once read a fantasy novel about a woman who’d been sucked into a book and traveled through space and time. Although she feared the answer, she had to ask.
“What year is this?”
“Are you addled?” The damned man looked at her as if she was crazy. “’Tis the year of Our Lord, 1509.”
“Oh, God.” She couldn’t breathe, her chest burned and her eyes blurred.
A fiery sensation in her nostrils woke Laurie from her faint.
“What the—”
A young woman dressed in what looked to be a medieval gown stood over her, holding a horrible smelling container in front of her nose. Laurie waved her arm to push it away.
“You are back with us then.” The young woman moved to the head of the bed, fluffed the pillows, and helped Laurie sit up.
“Who are you?” Laurie massaged the knot at the back of her neck. Her head pounded. The stupid girly fainting was giving her a migraine.
“Elspeth, Patrick’s sister.” The woman placed a calming hand on Laurie’s shoulder. “I sent him away. You need rest. He can ask his questions of you on the morrow.”
“Tomorrow? Is it still night?”
“Aye.” Elspeth sat on the edge of the bed. “’Tis a lovely brooch you wear.”
“This?” Laurie touched the pin attached to her stole with shaky fingers. “A friend loaned it to me to wear to a ceilidh.”
“’Tis quite beautiful.” Elspeth accepted a cup from a plainly dressed older woman who stood behind her and handed it to Laurie. “Here, drink this. ’Twill help ease you.”
“What is it?” Holding the cup, Laurie examined the contents suspiciously.
“Spiced wine with a wee bit of herbs.”
The green scent of herbs smelled pleasant, like sitting in the garden on a sunny day. She took a small taste. Bitter, but tolerable. The liquid helped soothe her parched throat and she was glad for that.
She sipped the drink while observing Elspeth. The younger woman seemed sweetness personified, petite and feminine with strawberry blond hair woven into a long thick braid. Her light silver eyes peered at Laurie from within an angelic face, which glowed as if lit by a light from within.
“Thank you for your kindness,” Laurie said softly.
“Aine will ready you for bed-going.” Elspeth gestured toward the older woman. Then stood as if to leave, but hesitated. “Patrick ordered the chamber bolted. He placed a guard outside the door. If you are in need, call out and Duncan will summon Aine.” She turned away and walked through the doorway, closing the roughhewn oak panel behind her.
“Why am I to be locked in? Am I a prisoner?”
“Nae worries, lass,” Aine said in a soothing tone as she removed Laurie’s China flats. “My name is Aine MacTamhais. I care for the needs of the chief’s household.” She unpinned the stole and placed the tartan and the brooch on a chest next to the bed.
“I’m Laurie, and I don’t need you to undress me.”
“Aye, Mistress Laurie.” The woman pulled the blouse over Laurie’s head anyway and gasped. “Tsk, tsk. You wear nae chemise. And what is this you wear that covers your bosom? Naught, but a wee piece of lace.”
Laurie covered her breasts with both hands, horrified by the woman’s shocked expression. Aine shook her head and handed the blouse back to Laurie. “You best keep this on, lass, till we find you proper garments.”
As the older woman turned away and walked toward the door, Laurie pulled her peasant blouse on and sat on the edge of the bed. The door closed with a loud thud.
Trapped. Laurie’s stomach clenched at the sound of the guard sliding the bolt. Breathing deeply several times, she tried to calm herself. She needed to clear her head and think. Alone in this strange place, she needed to carefully consider her options. Determine what happened to her and figure out how to get home.
A plan, she must make a plan.
This wasn’t a fantasy come true. Being this frightened more than sucked. She didn’t like the claims made by the Neanderthal man either. He might be gorgeous and kiss like a dream, but he had no rights to her. She didn’t belong to him, or anyone else for that matter.
And she definitely didn’t like the unaccustomed yearning he awakened within her body. She needed to be in control.
She wanted to go home.
Logical thought was required. If she used her reasoning skills, she could handle this situation. She could handle any situation if she put her mind to it. For God’s sake, she’d earned a Wharton MBA.
Downing the remainder of the spiced wine, the warmth slid down her throat, spread through her chest and heated her belly. Suddenly groggy, Laurie attempted to rise, but fell back onto the bed.
Shit. What the hell was in the drink?
* * *
“I gave her a potion to ensure she sleeps through the night.”
Patrick raised his gaze from the fire when his sister joined him in his work chamber. He made no effort to hide the deep sorrow surely shining in his moist eyes.
“Munn believes she has a connection to our parents, and she wears your lady-mother’s brooch. How do you think she came to have it?”
“She says ’twas given by a friend to wear to a ceilidh. Do you think she wandered away from a gathering in the village and became lost?”
“Nae. Had there been a gathering, I would have heard of it. News of strangers travels fast.” Patrick exhaled sharply, trying to rein in his chaotic emotions. “’Tis odd. First, she appeared in my visions and now she arrives on my land as if from nowhere. I dinnae ken what to think.”
“I sense nae evil with her. I ken she is frightened, but not a threat.”
“Munn said as much.”
“Mayhap we can learn more on the morrow.” His sister’s smile was meant to reassure, but he wasn’t reassured.
“Aye,” he said. “The lass will explain much.”
Her smile faded and a stern expression crossed his sweet sister’s features. “Where will you sleep this night?”
Patrick raked a hand through his hair. He felt an unexpected protectiveness toward the lass. If he were honest with himself, he’d been intrigued since he first spied her. Not wanting any harm to come to her because of his unexpected lust, he didn’t intend to dishonor her in front of his clan. He’d not sleep in his bedchamber this night.
Although the longing to do just that was near to maddening. “Though I have claimed her as mine, I will not shame her. I will sleep here in the laird’s study. Duncan will guard her door until either I or Stephen relieves him.” He gave Elspeth an unsteady smile. “Go and rest Beth. Nae harm will come to her while you slumber.”
Tomorrow, he would have his answers.