Wait a minute.Her dad had given her the brooch right before the dreams of the Highlander had started. Maybe this brooch was to blame.
If she stored the brooch in her safe-deposit box, perhaps she would be fantasy-free again, and she could get her life back.
"You might have just helped me solve a problem. Thank you."
"What sort of problem?" Ranald frowned.
She couldn't tell him about the dreams. "Um, nothing you'd find interesting." Something sparkled in the dimness of the tent behind Ranald. A giant two-handed Highland sword sat on a stand back there. A reflection of sunlight must have glinted off it.
"Ah, I see the claymore has caught your eye." Ranald's smile widened within his white beard.
"It's beautiful." And huge. Only about a foot shorter than her own height.
Ranald moved away from the table and stood beside the sword. "You should see the detail on the pommel and the spiral-carved, leather-wrapped wood grip." He pointed to the hilt.
Even though he sounded like a used car salesman, she could not resist seeing the sword close up. She sidled around the table and joined him in the middle of the open-sided tent.
A few nicks and pits scarred the long, dull steel blade. The brass cross-hilt guard featured down-sloping arms with four small circles on the ends.
"Only a powerful warrior could wield theclaidheamh dà làimhin battle, and Gavin MacTavish was such a man." Grinning, Ranald puffed up with pride.
"Was he your ancestor?"
"We're… of the same clan."
"The sword is amazing. Is it authentic?"
Ranald's mischievous blue eyes twinkled. "Of course. It's nigh onto four hundred years old. 'Twas forged in the early 1600s. Would you like to hold it?"
Though she didn't like weapons and the violence they stood for, she loved antiques. She supposed she took that after her dad. Her hands itched to touch the hilt of this sword. She set down her backpack, rubbed her palms together, and stepped forward. Feeling sudden unease, she stepped back again. "Oh, no, I couldn't. I'm sure it's valuable, and I might drop it."
"'Tis a sword, Dani. It has seen many a rough day." Ranald winked, lifted the claymore out of the stand, and offered it to her, hilt first. "I imagine you'll regret it if you don't hold this important piece of history for at least a few seconds."
Dani wiped her palms on her skirt. "All right. If you insist."
A sly smile spread across Ranald's face. "I daresay you'll enjoy it."
She didn't see how holding a sword could be that enjoyable, but whatever…. She wrapped her hands around the grip and took the weapon. The heft of it surprised her.
In the next instant, the world spun, a pain shot through her head, and a bang exploded beside her ear.
Chapter 5
Dani dropped the claymore with a clang, fell to her knees, and grabbed her aching head. "Oh my gosh!" The sharp pain ebbed away by slow degrees. "What happened?"
A male voice—not Ranald's—growled a phrase she didn't understand.
Blinking back the pain, she opened her eyes, but blackness surrounded her. It had been midday.
"Oh crap, I'm blind! Ranald?"
Had he shot her?
She placed her hands on the ground to push herself to her feet again, but it didn't feel like the ground. It felt like a wooden floor. Dim light gleamed around the corner of a piece of furniture. Thankful she wasn't blind, she followed it. Low flames and embers in a hearth? A silhouette rose up, startling her. The tall man clutched a lit candle.
Holding her breath, she gaped at the dangerous, heavily-muscled giant with long, dark hair who edged toward her. As he drew nearer, she realized he was more than a foot taller than her own five and a half feet.
A straight white scar ran from his forehead to his jaw on the left side of his face, but the injury hadn't affected his eye. His gaze pinned her to the spot. She knew those eyes, pale aquamarine-blue with a darker rim around the outside of the irises, surrounded by thick, dark lashes. Scrutinizing her, he frowned with a wicked, black slash of his brows.
