Wondering if the Sutherlands were more of a threat than I realized, I tensed and signaled that everything be closed swiftly and for my warriors to take up formation, ready to fight if need be. All those living in huts within the castle walls were ordered to go inside immediately.
“What is it, cousin?” I asked Kenneth as he swung down with his bundle. “Who do ye run from, and who do ye bring within our walls?”
“’Tis a lass I dinnae doubt needs our help.” He pulled back the blanket so I could see what he meant and did well to school my expression. Not because she wore twenty-first-century clothing and was clearly a time traveler, but because of her stark beauty.
Her ebony hair shone like silk, and her skin tone was warm and flawless. She possessed a delicate face, plush lips, and large, thickly lashed, almond-shaped eyes that didn’t need to be open to reveal how lovely she was. Trying to ignore the sweet, exotic scent rolling off her skin, I was compelled to touch her cheek and nearly did, but caught myself and pulled my hand away.
As if sensing my proximity, she stirred in Kenneth’s arms, and her eyelids fluttered open, revealing the most captivating eyes I hadever seen. They were a deep, dark violet with swirls of paler purple in the middle that briefly flickered with fire, telling me what I already knew.
She was half dragon, too.
Clearly groggy, her gaze locked on mine, and she whispered, “Are you him?”
“Who?”
“Him,” she whispered. “Are you my Scot of Yesteryear? The one Storm told me about?”
My chest tightened at that. Not because she seemed to know me. Not really. Rather, I was stunned because she uttered the name of the woman I left behind in Ireland and had loved for longer than I could remember.
CHAPTER THREE
–Aspen–
ONE SECOND, I was in New Hampshire, touching the spiral carved into the aspen tree. The next, I was looking at a rugged castle on a cliff with a sparkling sea behind it before everything snapped away into darkness. Seconds later, blurry prisms of light came and went, and it felt like someone lifted me. Carried me.
Flewwith me.
Was it a dragon? Washea dragon?Mydragon?
“’Twill be all right, lass,” a masculine voice with a Scottish brogue said. “I will get you to safety.”
“Are you him?” I tried to whisper, wondering if he was my Scot, but all that came out was mumbling. Or were they solid words? I couldn’t tell.
“I am Kenneth,” I swore I heard him say, but I wasn’t sure. Instead, I felt cocooned in something warm and comforting beforeI was flying again. Soaring perhaps to what sounded like horse hooves. Or was that what dragon wings sounded like?
No sooner did I think it than I stopped flying and heard a distinctly masculine, almost animalistic rumble I had never heard before. One that vibrated deep within me before I heard the flap of wings and felt their warmth before they pulled away.
“Don’t go,” I tried to say, but nothing came out, so I struggled to open my eyes, only for everything to blur before the most gorgeous set of eyes I had ever seen snapped into focus. Framed by thick ebony lashes, they were an intense dark sea green with flecks of sage.
“Are you him?” I whispered.
“Who?” came his deep, delicious-sounding voice with a brogue. It seemed to wrap around me and pull me close as if I knew it well. Loved it well.
“Him,” I whispered because I could only see his eyes and hear his voice. I could only envision a man born of my imagination and the fairytales of my youth. “Are you my Scot of Yesteryear? The one Storm told me about?”
I tried to say more but lost my voice when I felt rather than saw him pull away as if my questions put him off.Iput him off. Maybe even the sound of my voice or my appearance.
All I knew as darkness descended again was I had somehow let him down. I had failed the hero born of Storm’s letters and my imagination, and it hurt in ways I didn’t expect. A crushing weight settled in my chest and sank me deeper into the darkness until I broke free and raced through what seemed to be a mystical forest in a long, red, flowing dress toward a golden light. Ran past crimson autumn leaves as if eager to get to or away from something or someone. Desperate to get wherever I was going, I pushed my muscles even harder, only to feel something lift me.
I bolted upright from a sound sleep, startled, confused, and more than a little disoriented, and took in the chamber around me.
“It’s okay,” came a soft, feminine voice before a lovely, older woman with golden eyes and shimmering white hair, yet relatively youthful skin, rested a comforting hand on my arm. “It will be all right, Aspen.”
“How do you know my name?” I said hoarsely, my throat bone dry. She was wearing a linen dress with a red and black plaid draped over her shoulder and tiny braids woven into her hair. “You don’t sound like you look…you sound more like me.”
“I can when I want to because I’m originally from your century.” She urged me to sit up enough to prop pillows behind me. Then, she brought a cup of cool water to my mouth and told me to drink to soothe my throat. “My name is Chara MacLeod. Wife to Marek MacLeod and mother to the current laird, Broderick MacLeod.”
“The laird’smother?” I croaked, first sipping, then gulping down the water, surprised by how thirsty I was. All the while, I took in my surroundings and tried to regain my composure, praying the first person I officially met here wasn’t, of all people, my Scot’s mother.
