She felt her hound bump her hand with his chilly nose, which startled her slightly. She took a moment for a bit of scratching him behind his ears, then sent him back off to watch over her sheep whilst she considered things she likely should have left alone.
It was possible she’d simply been walking in the forest near her home and everything Lord Oliver had said was true. He could have taken shelter in the witch’s croft whilst he awaited his friends to come and rescue him.
But that didn’t explain a stump she’d sat on that she was almost positive was currently a sapling five paces from the door of the healer’s croft.
It wasn’t possible—and she could almost not entertain the thought—that she had steppedintothe Duke of Birmingham’s tale.
Was it?
She hardly knew what to think, so she decided to put it off as something to consider later. First things first, as her father had said to her endlessly in her youth. His list had usually included food, shelter, then long winter evenings devoted to listening to their bard recite tales of glorious battles won and innumerable cattle successfully raided. Her list had always been simpler and included nothing past avoiding those who vexed her and keeping her sheep safe.
And then she’d found the Duke’s faithful history and everything had changed for her. Her list that she couldn’t quite bring herself to make included things that she knew were so far out of her reach as to be impossible.
A man who would love her, give her children, keep her safe, and, heaven pity her for the most foolish of gels, think she was pretty. In perhaps a very dim light, but there it was.
She pulled herself back to the present moment and continued to walk home. She was obviously going to be seeing to her usual tasks for the rest of the day, but tomorrow was another day with ample time to investigate things that perplexed her.
Because no matter how he was styling himself, the Duke of Birmingham was not a demon. No demon could possibly have been so tall, well-fashioned, and polite. Plus, the Duke had fair hair and a pair of absolutely bewitching pale blue eyes.
She paused.Bewitchingwas a problem, to be sure, but perhaps that could be addressed later when next they met. He’d denied being any sort of foul creature from the nether regions, so she would take him at his word.
The fact that stepping into what she could safely say had been some sort of strange ring of what had been flowers at some point had given her pause, but again, she was no coward.
The odd thing was, though, that when she’d stepped out of that ring, it was as if the sun had come out from behind a cloud.
The thing she couldn’t simply let lie was the fact that she’d actually had a glimpse inside the healer’s house as Lord Oliver had exited it, and it hadn’t looked at all like the empty croft she was accustomed to. Then again, the outside didn’t look much like it, either.
There were strange and mysterious things happening on MacLeod soil. Her uncle might have called themmagical. She wasn’t quite sure what to call them, but she knew one thing beyond any doubt.
She was going to find out.
Seven
Oliver paused just inside Moraig’shouse and wondered about the wisdom of going outside. After yesterday, he was beginning to think he might do better to make himself a little nest in the loo and hide for the duration of his sentence.
But he was nothing if not disciplined and he had tasks to complete. If that required him to venture out into nature, so be it. He checked that his medieval gear was covering everything it should and that his weapons were in their upright and locked positions, then cast caution to the wind and opened the door.
A shopping bag was sitting on the front stoop.
That at least had come from the current century. He picked it up and brought it inside where he could enjoy the delights without being observed, though he couldn’t imagine who would have cared. Then again, he was wearing his medieval Highland uniform instead of a comfortable tracksuit, so perhaps he was a little more concerned about company than he wanted to admit.
What he was certain of was that he wouldn’t be seeing any Renaissance Highland lassies wandering around in times not their own.
He had to wonder if she’d been the one he’d been seeing out of the corner of his eye from the first day of his holiday, but he wasn’t sure how that was possible. She obviously wasn’t a ghost, so perhaps there was some odd quirk in the fabric of time that left them passing each other along time-travelly passageways that had very flimsy walls.
He was absolutely going to demand extra credit for all the paranormal shenanigans he was being subjected to. The nextthing he knew, he would be entertaining an entire cast of Shakespeare’s best ghostly offerings, all come to unsettle him at the same time.
He made a hasty grab for his good sense and walked back into the kitchen to see what had been delivered. He was utterly unsurprised to find the oft-threatened leopard-print yoga bottoms which made him shudder just to look at them. They were only marginally modest, but the note attached guaranteed him double points for donning them, so he set them aside as something to consider later.
Also in the bag was a shocking pink water bottle adorned with the usual felines—though these lads looked a bit more zen-like than the previous collection—and a key. He looked at the note the key was attached to by means of a cheerful heart sticker and braced himself for more absurdities.
You haven’t killed anyone yet and we haven’t heard any off-key yowls of terror or excessive swearing. You’ve earned the key, but remember we’re still watching you. More delights to come.
He could scarce wait to see what those delights might be. He also wasted no time unlocking his anklet. He was half tempted to go barefoot for the rest of the day in celebration, but one never knew where one might wind up whilst in the wilds of Scotland, so he forbore. He was fully tempted to chop that damned tracker up into tiny pieces, but it occurred to him that he might want to torture someone else with it at some point, so he popped it in a drawer for future use.
He was still without a phone or any sort of useful computing device, but he had to admit that the depravation was starting to feel a little less horrifying than it had in the beginning.
He clapped his hand to his forehead, but there was no dislodging any good sense. That he was actually contemplatingthe thought of an entire day of being unplugged without howling in outrage was terrifying. He was ruined, obviously, and someone would need to pay for that.
