Logic dictated that if – and she would only concedeif –they’d time travelled then they’d have to get back to where they’d entered the time warp in order to return to the twenty-first century.
“Aye, but I shan’t advise you go.” He started down the spiral steps he’d made by imbedding thick half-timbers at ninety-degree angles to the stones that made up his tower.
Grabbing what purchase she could on the ragged stones, she chased after him. “Why not?”
He stopped two steps below her and turned, his long broad sword sheathed in a simple leather scabbard strapped to his back scraping stone. Standing at eye level, he frowned as he studied her.
God, he’s magnificent.
Standing well over six feet tall, heavily muscled, blue eyed and blond, he wasn’t handsome in the classic sense, but definitely arresting. His chiselled features were almost gaunt. And that scar running from his left cheekbone to his jaw. The wound hadn’t been stitched but had healed on its own, drawing the left corner of his lips up, giving him a permanent smirk. As if he knew a secret he wasn’t about to tell.
He fingered one of the curls draped around her shoulders, startling her. “Ye are most fair and fulsome, lass. Without a clansman to guard ye, ye’ll be harassed, if not claimed. Ye and yer bairns.”
Had he just calledher pretty?She couldn’t be sure. Chaucer and his ilk’s writings hadn’t been her strong suit in college. “But we wouldn’t be alone. You’ll be with us.”
Left to her own devices within the dense woods below, bracketed by hills and ravines, she’d lose her bearings. He had to guide them.
He started down the steps again, his broad shoulders rolling with each step. “Nay, I shan’t.”
As they stepped into sunshine she grabbed his thick forearm bringing him to a halt. “Why not?”
His right hand covered hers. “Look at me, mistress. ’Tis obvious I’m a warrior. Should I be caught I’ll be forced to my knees and they’ll demand I swear fealty to Malcolm … or die.”
“Is he your enemy?”
“Kith but I’ll slit my throat before swearing fealty to another errant hedge-born mammon.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand. If he’s kith, a friend—”
“Mistress, unbridled avarice has nay friends. I – and thousands more – lost all we held dear thanks to one such liege. I say never again.”
Good Lord. “Do you never go to Edinburgh then?”
“I go on rare occasion. But only whilst in the guise of a leper to keep them at bay.” MacDuff brought her hand to his lips. “My apologies, lass.”
As her heart stuttered, he strode towards her students, who sat in only their briefs before his stone hut. She followed, asking, “We’re in Scotland. How is it that you speak English?”
“My mother’s people fled the south to escape the Norman invader.”
“And your father?”
“A Highlander.” Coming abreast of her students he asked, “Have ye had yer fill, lads?”
She should hope so. They’d decimated the huge mound of oatcakes, honeycomb and berries MacDuff had set before them. How they’d managed to eat so much was beyond her. Her stomach was still in knots, had been since the explosion. When they nodded, their host grunted and strode towards their clothing which they’d draped on branches to dry in the sun.
While Hamish MacDuff frowned and fingered Velcro closures and zippers, Mark Gibson asked, “Does he have a car? Will he take us back to Edinburgh?”
She squatted before them. “Gentlemen, I hate to tell you this but we’re miles from Edinburgh and there is no car.” She took a deep breath and related as best she could what she knew and what she feared.
Peter jumped to his feet. “No way! I have a soccer match this weekend. This is all bullshit.”
Before she could admonish him, MacDuff was at her side and had Peter by the upper arms, holding him at eye level.
“Laddie,” MacDuff snarled, one hand moving to Peter’s jaw, “heed well for I shan’t spake of this but once. Spaniel is a lady and ye shall treat her as such.”
Fearing he’d snap Peter’s neck, she grabbed MacDuff’s arm. “Put him down!Please.”
Ignoring her, MacDuff hissed, “Do ye ken me, lad?”
