“This is unbelievable.” Chloe glanced from him to the courtyard. “Can we go down? I’d love to soak it all up and investigate—”
“Nay,” he said a little sharper than intended. But she needed to understand. “You cannae go about investigating things as if you have never been here. As if you are unfamiliar with this time period.” He murmured a chant, dismayed when he was unable to dress her appropriately. “I need to get you suitable clothing, then I’ll figure out our next step.” He joined her and frowned when he spied what was missing below. “Bloody hell, they are already gone.”
“Who?”
“King David’s retinue,” he replied. “I need to figure out what day it is and where they are heading.” He forced himself to meet her eyes and spoke with the stern tone of a chieftain, hoping she understood how serious he was. “You must stay here whilst I look into things and find you appropriate clothing for this era. Do you ken?”
She cocked her head. “Ken?”
“Understand.”
“Ah.” She glanced outside again, the curious excitement in her eyes not reassuring. “Of course, I’ll stay put.” Her gaze returned to him, and she nodded once, not nearly as convincing as she thought she was. “You have my word.”
Somehow, he suspected that could mean a variety of things.
“’Tis verra dangerous here, lass,” he warned. “Youmuststay put until I return.”
“And Iwill.” Yet her curiosity only seemed to grow. “Or,” a charming little gleam lit her eyes, one he imagined worked on most hot-blooded men, “maybe you could use your magic to change my clothes, and I could join you?”
“I already tried. It didnae work.”
“You already tried?” Her brows swept up. Though she hadn't seen him do any of the following, she theorized. “How does that work, anyway? Do you wave a wand? Recite an incantation?” She snapped her fingers. “Or do you merely think it andpoof, I’m wearing something else?”
She tilted her head in question, her imagination creative indeed. “Does that mean the clothes I was wearing before literally restitched into something else?” Her eyes rounded. She eyed him as if he should be ashamed of himself for looking when this was all hypothetical. “Because I’d think there’d be a second or two where I wore nothing.”
Ballocks, that was the last thing he needed to envision right now.
But lo and behold despite her bulky clothing, he visualized away.
“There isnae a moment when you are without clothing,” he muttered, trying not to be charmed by her. Trying to think of Maeve and only Maeve. But hell if images of Chloe's yet-to-be-exposed-flesh didn't keep taunting him.
“Well, that’s good.” Her gaze flickered over him, and she blushed. “I suppose.”
“You suppose?” he said before he could stop himself.
He should have, too, because it suddenly occurred to him what that look was about.
She had been envisioning him without clothing as well.
What sort of lass was this? A curious one to a fault, he surmised. Bolder than most in this day and age. But then she was from the twenty-first century. It would serve him well to remember that.
“Yes, I suppose,” Chloe repeated, evidently realizing how forward she might have sounded. “I didn’t mean anything by it...not really.” She blushed even more. “I mean not at all.” She sighed and gestured at their surroundings, thankfully avoiding further talk of nudity between magical stitches. “Never mind. As you can imagine, I’m off my game right now.” She gestured at the door. “Go do what you need to do. I won’t go anywhere. Promise.”
“I beg of you not to,” he reiterated, frustrated with their circumstances. More so, his magic fluctuating once more. “I will be back in little time.” He shook his head. “Open the door for no one.”
His gut told him it was unwise to leave her to her own devices, but he needed to find out what was happening. So though he suspected it wouldn’t stop her if she were determined, he locked the door behind him and headed down the hallway. He tried reaching out to his kin telepathically but had no luck. Just when he thought things were improving, it seemed they were taking a turn for the worse again.
When he stopped and chatted with some countrymen, he learned the king had been escorted north earlier that morning en route to Perth. Not surprising considering that was where Donald, Earl of Mar, the future Regent of Scotland, would be.
“Now, how do I go about getting Chloe a change of clothing?” he muttered, wondering where to begin.
“I dinnae think ye need worry about that, lad,” came a welcome voice moments before his great-granda Grant appeared. He had passed away peacefully in his sleep years ago but often visited from the afterlife. This time he appeared as a young man, quite chipper considering current circumstances.
After greeting Grant, always glad to see him, he narrowed his eyes. “What do ye mean I need not worry about clothing for Chloe?”
“Must ye ask?” Amused, Grant gestured out a window. “Even if the lass wasnae resourceful enough to find her way out of yer chamber in record time, remember she has other methods at her disposal.”
“What other methods could she...” he began, trailing off when it occurred to him. The Claddagh ring. “Bloody hell, I didnae even think of that.”
