“Very wise,” he noted. He suspected there was romance in sickly abundance in the duke’s tale which he wasn’t sure was an improvement over superheroes. What he did know was that the woman standing there studying him seemed to be coming to conclusions she didn’t particularly care for.
“I thought the tale was yours when I first saw you,” she said, beginning to frown. “There is a painting of the man on the cover and you resemble him greatly.”
“Poor lad,” Oliver managed.
“Oh, nay, he’s very handsome. And he would never use a sword on a woman.”
“I like him already,” he said promptly. He nodded toward the meadow. “Why don’t we take a walk and you can tell me more about his finer qualities so I’ll know where to improve.”
She didn’t move. “I will not be vanquished,” she said bluntly. “I am very fierce in battle.”
She couldn’t have sounded more like a grown-up Patricia MacLeod, which would have left him smiling if he hadn’t suspected any smiles would result inhisbeing vanquished. He settled for the most trustworthy look he could muster, which didn’t take any effort as he meant it fully.
“You are perfectly safe with me,” he said. “And I would step between you and harm without a second’s thought.”
“Well, you have before.”
He conceded that with a nod, had a brisk nod in return, then clasped his hands behind his back as they walked in the direction of the meadow. He could, however, feel her gaze boring into the side of his head. He’d endured worse so he simply let her have her look.
“You aren’t the Duke of Birmingham, are you?”
He was surprised to find that he suddenly wished he were. He glanced at her and shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said simply.
“And we’re not in your book.”
“We’re not. We are in Scotland, though.”
“But things are different from how I left them this morning,” she said. She shot him a look that said clearly that she suspected he might be responsible for that. “The outside of the healer’s croft is different. I couldn’t bring myself to look inside it.”
Thank heavens for small favors. Not only were there things inside that would have sent her into an entirely different level of unsettled, he couldn’t remember whether or not he’d left clothes strewn about or done the washing up after breakfast.
He suddenly had vastly increased respect for the time travelers in his circle of acquaintances. Of course he’d thought it wasabsolute bollocks when the notion had first floated across his brain. He’d consigned it immediately to the same place that contained his experiences with ghosts who might or might not have protested any of the antiquities he had cheerfully moved to new digs.
Ghosts could be very annoying at times.
He supposed it might be best not only to leave any antics in 1602 alone, but also his journeys with James MacLeod to places and times not their own. All seven times, each more unbelievable than the time before.
He wondered howthatmight be worked into keys to a Bugatti.
He also wondered how one went about explaining the inexplicable, especially when the one who might not particularly care for the particulars was holding—barely—two very sharp dirks. He wished he’d taken advantage of Jamie’s offer to give him his full lecture series on the vagaries of time travel and its attendant social conundrums, but that was a poor excuse for his own failing to do his due diligence.
He never went into any situation where he hadn’t mapped out every contingency well in advance. That he found himself at present so completely out of his depth was galling. He should have, at the very least, taken a few minutes to contemplate how a Renaissance clanswoman might feel should she find herself again in the present day instead of spending all his time enjoying the horrors he would perpetrate on his work colleagues when he tracked them with a thoroughness and efficiency that even Patrick MacLeod might have admired.
All of which left him, at the moment, with a woman standing in front of him, looking very lost, and he didn’t have a damned clue where to start in fixing that for her.
“Lord Oliver?”
He pulled himself back to the tangle at hand, a little surprised at how distracted he’d become. “It’s just Oliver.”
He waited, but she didn’t offer any of her credentials. For some reason, that didn’t surprise him. There was a gel who kept her cards close to her vest. He suspected he might understand given what he’d seen of Tasgall, thede factolaird of the hall.
“Oliver, then,” she said, then she shivered. “I do not like to admit weakness, but I fear I might be lost.”
He attempted a reassuring smile. “You aren’t lost,” he said firmly. “You’re still on MacLeod soil.” He nodded in the direction of the meadow. “Why don’t we go for a walk and you’ll see that things aren’t so different after all.”
She nodded, but he could see the wheels still turning. He just wasn’t entirely sure where her thoughts were going to lead her.
He forced himself to keep a weather eye out for trouble as they walked, but saw nothing more nefarious than a few birds and some stray shafts of sunlight. He realized at one point that his companion, that nameless lass with the sweet smile, was also marking their surroundings. He wondered, with a bit less detachment than the thought merited, where she’d learned that skill and why she needed it.
