She looked back at the ring in the grass. “Then ‘tis a bit like a doorway,” she mused.
He half expected Jamie to come striding up the meadow with his sword bared. He took a deep breath, then nodded.
“I think it’s exactly like a doorway,” he agreed.
“You know that’s absolute foolishness.”
He almost smiled. “I couldn’t agree more.”
She looked out over the meadow. “I should likely go home.”
He had the most absurd urge to tell her perhaps she didn’t need to quite yet. He had lunch and colored pencils and his left knee was absolutely not giving him any forewarnings of impending weather.
But he’d likely already said more than he should have and she had definitely spent more time than was wise in a centurynot her own. He accepted his knives back and watched her step toward that unsettling circle in the grass and actually saw the gate open for her. He’d seen the same happen at a spot near Raventhorpe a year ago, but he’d been happy to consign that to not enough sleep.
At the moment, he could safely say that if he hadn’t believed in the whole ruddy business of time traveling before, he would have believed it then. He could hear a dog barking on the other side…
“Shall I walk you home?” he asked, because he had a sword and she was a woman who might need protecting.
She looked at him and smiled faintly. “I’m on my own land.”
So she was, which was likely something to keep in mind for the future. “Safe home, then,” he said quietly.
She turned away and stepped into the ring, then paused. She looked over her shoulder at him.
“Mairead.”
He closed his eyes briefly, then nodded and made her a low bow. He straightened, athank youon the tip of his tongue.
But she was gone.
He sighed deeply, dragged his hands through his hair, and walked off to fetch his gear. He’d done the right thing, sent her back with hopefully an explanation that would make sense, and she would get back to her normal life whilst leaving him to his.
He felt surprisingly… bereft, which was absolutely absurd and someone would pay for it—and dearly.
He kept himself company with thoughts of which of his mates he would do in first because that was better than wondering why the hell he’d been blindsided by a woman who was nothing more than a freckled girl-next-door type that a dozen undiscerning lads would have looked past.
Unfortunately, he was not an eejit, no matter what his book—not hers—called him and there was something about the wayher smile took her face from plain to breathtaking that left him wishing he could ask her out on more than a first date.
He made his way back to Moraig’s, let himself in the cottage without rejoicing overmuch that he’d arrived in the proper century, then made himself something to eat. He could hardly believe he was relieved that he had no device with which to do a little online sleuthing to find out a few more details about that plainly lovely woman, but perhaps that was for the best. He didn’t want to find out she’d married someone likely hadn’t deserved her.
He wished her well, finished up his lunch, then hoped a quick nap in a chair would restore his good sense.
If not, he would have to rely on Patrick MacLeod’s very sharp sword to do it instead.
Eight
Mairead walked up the meadowa pair of hours after dawn, keeping to the shadows of the witch’s forest to avoid attracting the attention of either cousins or sprite-like creatures peering at her through blades of grass, and considered the events of the previous day.
She’d gotten herself home after her encounter with Oliver, pled a headache to anyone who would listen, then shut herself into the small hut where she dyed her wool and kept it hanging from the eaves. She’d remained there until well after supper, only allowing herself to seek the warmth of the kitchen when she’d been certain most of the clan had already fallen into peaceful slumber.
If she’d slept, she didn’t remember it. Her thoughts had been consumed by doorways and faery rings and a man who claimed not to be any sort of nobleman but had manners finer than any lord she’d ever seen. When the cock had begun to crow, she’d resigned herself to the fact that she couldn’t leave unanswered the question that kept her awake for the whole of the night.
What world was it that lay on the other side of that doorway in the meadow?
She had made herself a poor breakfast from the last of the previous night’s pot scrapings, bribed a different cousin to tend her animals, then slipped out of the keep whilst the household had been distracted with breaking their fasts. She wouldn’t say she’d run up the meadow, but she’d definitely walked swiftly which had left her where she was at the present moment: looking down at that odd ring in the grass and wondering where it led.
She closed her eyes briefly, stepped in and out of it, then gathered her courage and looked around herself.
