Chapter One

There was a nudging at his shoulder, but Erin brushed it away with a groan. He hoped to heaven that his father wasn’t wanting a bit of sword play this morn. He’d lose his head for certain in his current condition.

What had Adam called it? A hangover, aye, that is what it was, and he felt well and hung for certain.

The nudging was more insistent this time, but he swatted it away and muttered, “Leave off. Can you no’ see I’m dyin’?”

“You will be dead if you don’t get the hell off my couch.”

The voice was not one he recognized, and it had no sound of the Highlands flavoring the words. With caution and great pain, Erin opened one blurry eye to look upon a woman standing over him with some sort of club in her wee hands.

“And why would you be wantin’ to bash my head in, lass? We’ve ne’er met, so I doona think I could have offended you, even in my previously inebriated state.”

“Look, buster, I don’t know who you are or how you got in here, but this is my place. Now get the hell out!”

Erin winced at her shouted command and pulled himself up to a sitting position, then quickly cradled his pounding head in his hands. “There’s no need to scream at me. If in my drunken state last eve I wandered into your home, I can only apologize. But please, no more poking at me with your wee club and no more screamin’ down the rafters. I beg you.”

“Then—get—out,” she said, her voice low, but firm. The club she wielded, visible in his thin line of sight as he studied his feet, pointed ominously at the center of his kilt. He didn’t want to consider what a blow there might cost him, although he would likely cast up the contents of his stomach onto her fine rug as a start.

“I will more than gladly take my leave, if you would be so kind as to tell me where I am.”

He lifted his throbbing brow and looked at his tormentor, and fell still at the sight of her, his gaze now clear. No wonder she carried the club for protection. She was more than average pretty with hair the color of sunshine and eyes the verra shade of a fresh sprig of heather. So violet they were, he found it hard to look away, and for a few moments he forgot about his aching head and sour stomach.

Those remarkable eyes narrowed as she studied his face, and he knew the moment she decided he wasn’t a threat.

“As I said, this is my place,” she said, lowering her club.

He glanced about the room and its fine furnishings. There was painstaking detail to the rug beneath his feet, benches covered with cushions so plush one might lose oneself in its comfort, and upon the numerous tables scattered about were odd statues donning strange shaped caps. The room overflowed with fixtures the likes of which he’d ne’er seen before, twisting his already uneasy belly.

With a firm swallow, he asked, “And where is your place?”

“For the love of—” She huffed and spun away, her club swinging dangerously close to his left knee.

She yanked open a drape and pointed to the snow covered world beyond. “You’re in Wyoming, just outside of Iron Horse to be exact, in—my—place.”

“Wyoming?” He rubbed his weary brow and rose to his feet. He couldn’t recall for certain, but a faint memory about the place being discussed by his brother-in-law came to mind. What he remembered most was that it existed in the U.S.—in the future.

The floor shifted a bit beneath him, and he latched onto the mantel above the fine stone fireplace for balance. The warmth spilling forth from the blaze didn’t touch the chill creeping along his spine.

How had he come to the future? All he could remember was celebrating his sister’s wedding. He’d been overjoyed to have Adam as his new brother and to see his sister happier than he’d e’er dreamed.

I did have a tankard or few too many, he thought. But to have been transported through time—to have been transported to a different continent was more than his weary brain could grasp at present.

“It canna be, and yet I am here,” he said, his head nigh on to spinning.

“Yeah, in my place,” the woman said. “Now get lost or I’m calling the cops.”

“Cops?” he muttered.

“Yeah, cops, police, bobbies…the law.”

He started to shake his head, then thought better of it, as her words penetrated his foggy brain. She spoke like Adam, so there could be little doubt that he’d traveled forward in time, but how had he traveled?

Before he could form another thought, his gaze caught on something spectacular sitting upon the mantel. It was a photograph. Adam had explained them to him once when he’d found an uncanny likeness of his friend among his future clothes. And the people in the photograph were no strangers to Erin. They were Adam’s parents, and Erin’s godparents, although he always called them aunt and uncle. They stood with their arms around one another as he had seen them do many times. Beside this wonder was another, one of Adam his arm around an old gentleman and a bright smile upon his face.

“Adam,” he whispered. Had he somehow done this thing? Had he sent him to the future? It was inconceivable that either of his parents would do such a thing. Not even his sister would toss his body into the clear spring, sending him forward in time, no matter the heinous pranks he may have committed upon her.

But Adam was different. And Adam knew how badly Erin wanted to see this world, if only for one brief moment before the day came when he took his father’s place as laird of the clan MacLean.

With a steadying breath, he looked over his shoulder at the woman. “Tell me true, lass. What be the year?”

“You have got to be kidding me,” she said, shaking her head.

“Nay, I only wish that I were.”

With an irresistible smirk on her face, and a hand on her hip, she said, “Twenty-nineteen.”

His legs grew weak for a moment, but he held firmly to the mantel.

She chuckled. “What’s the matter, Rip Van Winkle? Lose a few years in the bottom of a bottle somewhere?”

“Aye, something like that.”

He looked to the window, his unease changing to excitement at the wonders that lay beyond the clear span of glass.

“Thank you, my brother,” he whispered, and ignored the problem of how to get home once his visit was complete.

Turning to face the woman for a proper introduction, he caught sight of her tightening her grip on the club and bracing her feet. “I’ll no’ harm you. I swear it.”

“Good to know. Now—get—out.”

“Aye. This is your place.” A statement he knew could not be true, unless she was a friend of his god-parents and Adam, which would explain how she came into possession of the photograph. But his instincts warned him that was not the case.

The furnishings were fine, and the house appeared to be quite large, and there was his memory of his godparents speaking of this place. All of which boded the question of who was the fair woman standing before him ready to bash his brains in?

“Do you have a name, lass?”

“Yeah, it’s called none-of-your-business.”

He could not contain his grin, and with a courtly bow, he said, “I am Erin MacLean, of the clan MacLean. It is a pleasure to meet you, none-of-your-business.”

“Very funny. Now get lost!”

“No’ without a name.”

With a growl, she lifted her club and waved it in the air. “I ought to crack your thick skull, you stubborn Scot. You’re trespassing, comprende?”

He calmly reached for the photograph. “Are you certain? I could be this handsome couples’ guest, come to visit on this fine wintery day. Or mayhap this braw lad’s friend.”

“Don’t think I won’t use this,” she said, waving her club again, but her voice had lost its fire.

She was afraid. And that gave him pause. Whoever she was, he would wager that she did not belong here, but then neither did he. “Do you ken the couple in this small portrait and this man here?”

She twisted her lips then proceeded to nibble at the lower. He noted not only the lovely shape of them, but how her nibbling made him more aware of her beauty. Now was not the time to be thinking of courting, but he found it difficult to crush his attraction.

Although he’d had some experience with women, he’d not dallied over much with them. He knew that someday he might need to marry for the sake of an alliance, although his parents expressly forbade it. They’d married for love, as had his sister, and they wanted the same for him. But he was no fool. He knew he was not overly skilled at being a leader and suspected that a marriage to the right woman would be best for his clan. And the clan’s safety and prosperity were of the greatest importance. Not his feeble heart.

With a small breath, she lifted her chin. “Of course I do. But they’re no concern of yours.”

He admired her determination and wondered what she would do when she learned of his relationship to the Sutherlands. But he needed to know more about the woman with the striking violet eyes that reminded him of the highlands on a warm summer’s day, and why she was in his aunt and uncle’s home before he revealed too much. The future was a dangerous place, his mother had said. He must tread carefully. But the lass before him seemed no serious threat.

“I’ll wager you doona know who they are any more than I know who you are, sweeting.”

A glimmer of fear crossed her features as she took a subtle step backward and eyed the doorway to her right that led to some other room, and all likelihood a way out. That he could not allow. He not only needed to know why she was there, he needed someone to guide him through this world, for it was obvious his aunt and uncle were not about.

“I mean you no harm. I swear it on my life. I doona care whether you know these people or no’, but I need a place to stay at present. So I ask that we make a truce, you and I, for you see, I do know these people, and I also know that they wouldna wish either of us aboot in this weather.”

Color drained from her face, and she darted another glance at the doorway. But instead of bolting for an escape, she took a deep breath and turned a steady gaze on him. “I know who they are, and I also know you weren’t invited.”

He gave her a nod. “That is true, but dare I venture to guess that neither were you?”

Her chin tipped up. “I’m house sitting for them.”

“Ah, I see,” he said, although he had no idea what house sitting meant.

But it was a lie given too late to be convincing, and yet he would go along with her tale, for he truly did not wish her out in such poor weather, and perhaps she needed help. There was a sense of survival about her, well-honed and filled with determination. The journey that had brought her to his aunt and uncle’s home had been difficult, and he would not add to her burden.

“And would you mind then, if I assist in this house sitting?”

She twisted her lovely lips again, her gaze flickering to the window and the falling snow then back to him. “Well, you’re not exactly dressed for a long walk to town,” she said with a sigh.

He glanced down at his kilt with a small smile, as memories of swordplay in the lists with his da in similar weather wearing much the same crossed his mind. His mother had not been pleased, but his da had said it would make him a man.

Swallowing his slight mirth, he nodded to the lass. “I would freeze, to be sure.”

“Well…okay, but there are some rules.”

“Name them, sweeting.”

“Don’t call me that.” He merely raised his brows, and she rolled her eyes. “Fine. My name is Heather Blanchard.”

He grinned and gave her another courtly bow. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Heather Blanchard.”

“Whatever,” she said with a wave of her hand as she lowered her club. “You keep your distance at all times. No phone calls, no helping yourself to anything, and don’t touch anything breakable. I’m still not convinced you’re legit. Got that?”

“Aye. And where shall we—that is—I sleep?”

“Not all that comfortable on the couch, huh?” A small tinkling laugh slipped from her lips.

“Nay, ’tis no’ the best fit for my size, although ’tis quite soft.”

“There are bedrooms upstairs. You can take the one at the end of the hall.” She motioned for him to follow her.

“And where do you sleep?”

“At the other end of the hall, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Och, lass, a man always has ideas.”

She shot him a look over her shoulder.

He held up his hands and grinned. “But I will do as you ask and keep my distance.”

“See that you do.” She marched up the stairs, and his gaze followed her lovely backside as it shifted back and forth. His vow would be difficult to keep, but he was determined. However, if she came to him, then he wouldn’t be breaking her rules.

She opened the bedroom door, and his gaze lit on more of the wonders of the twenty-first century. A few of the odd statues with caps came to life, as she flicked a switch on the wall.

Lamps, Adam had called them. It was far beyond what he’d imagined when his brother-in-law had explained how light could be had with the simple flick of a finger. And this, Erin knew, was only the beginning.

“There’s a bathroom through that door,” she said. “You do your own laundry, don’t expect me to pick up after you. Wet towels…” she paused and eyed his kilt. “Kilts—whatever—you wash them, not me.”

“Verra well. But I will need you to show me how to wash them.”

“Seriously?”

“Aye. I have servants that tend to such things.”

“Uh-huh, sure you do. Well your servants aren’t here.”

He grinned at her skeptical smirk. “You doona believe me.”

She propped her hand on her hip and said, “Well golly gee, aren’t you the genius.”

Erin let out a laugh of true mirth. He liked this woman, with her quick retorts and quiet strength, and knew his family would like her as well.

“You are definitely a crackpot,” she said, with a shake of her head. “But you can stay for a while. Just don’t get too comfortable. This is only temporary, get it?”

“I understand, sweeting.” She scowled and he grinned. “I mean, Heather.”

“You know, the way you talk reminds me of someone.”

Her brow furrowed as those keen violet eyes studied him. It was a chore to not lean in and kiss the firm line of her lips so they might soften and open to him.

He shook the thought from his mind. “Of whom, lass?”

“I don’t know. But I know I hate to be called sweeting.” She shook her head. “Wait that’s not possible. You’re the first Scot I’ve ever met, but—” Her gaze fell to the distance for a moment. “It’s almost as if—” She clamped her beautiful eyes closed and shook her head. “Never mind. Probably heard it in the movies or something.”

She turned to go, and he snagged her hand before she could leave and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it. “I thank you, Heather.”

“Um, yeah. Sure.” She tugged on her hand, but he wouldn’t release it.

“I fear I would be sorely lost without you,” he said, knowing his breath teased her skin where he continued to hold her hand close to his lips.

“I’m sure you would’ve been, um, fine. Fine and dandy,” she said, her voice fading to a whisper.

“Nay, I am no’ so sure, lass,” he said, his voice low, then he pressed another kiss to her soft skin.

“Um, yeah. Well, I, uh, I’m going to make some dinner.” She jerked free and started down the hall. “It’ll be ready in about thirty minutes. If you want some, don’t be late.”

Erin’s grin grew broader as he watched her walk away. It would be a grand battle to win her over.

But as she disappeared down the staircase, he wondered where she had heard language such as his. Although much of his speech was flavored with twenty-first century words, and his brogue had quite a bit of his mother’s American accent, he was still a product of his time. Could it be that she’d visited his time? And more important, who had called her sweeting? And what was a movie?

His head, still throbbing from too much celebration the night before pounded anew. Clasping his aching brow, he entered the room and let the wonders of the age ease his suffering. Especially the bathing room and the instant hot water he’d heard his mother wish for on many occasion.