Page 22 of The Finest Scottish Fate

Hugging her jacket tighter around her, she sat ramrod straight, doing her best not to touch him.

He hated that he’d angered the beautiful wee beastie, but it couldn’t be helped. Another storm was approaching, and this one didn’t appear to be staying over the sidhe hill. Soon they’d all be baptized by the relentless Highland rains.

“Why can it not be the year 1326?” he asked over another rumbling of thunder. “Ye never answered.”

“It just can’t.” She clutched her jacket tighter, tugging on it as if trying to disappear within its thin layers.

“Are ye cold, lass?”

“I’m fine.”

“Then answer me proper. What year should it be if not 1326?”

She barely shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

She didn’t trust him. He felt it as plainly as her fine, warm softness against him. “It does matter,” he said, “because it matters to ye.”

“I really wish you’d return me to that hill where you found me.”

“I’ll not be doing that.”

“Why not?”

“Ye were sent to me. For me to protect. And I mean to see that through.”

She bowed her head and shifted with a heavy sigh. At first, he thought she might be weeping, but couldn’t tell for certain. If she did, she hid it well. His heart ached for her. If she would trust him, he could help her.

“Were ye in danger in yer Nashville?”

With a despondent shrug, she looked to the right, to the direction her strange mountains would have been, and slowly shook her head. “Not really. It wouldn’t have been easy, but I would’ve been all right. I always am. I was raised to be a survivor.”

He hungered to know more about her. When he’d first seen her in the vision, he’d thought her to be a young maiden, but now he’d decided otherwise. She wasn’t old by any means, but she had enough years on her to have been a wife and mother for quite some time. Did she have a husband looking for her? Her husband’s kin?

Jealousy flared through him again. “Yer clan and yer family would have cared for ye, aye? Yer husband?”

“No husband, and most of my family is gone, but I’ve got friends who are just like family. They’re always there for me, just like I’m always there for them.”

“Have ye never had a husband, then?”

She grumbled with a growly snort as if ready to bite him again. “No. No husband. All right?”

“Aye.”

With a flash of lightning that exploded entirely too close, the heavens opened and released every bit of wetness they held. Drummond yanked his brat free and wrapped it around her, taking care to pull it up over her head like a great hooded cloak. First chance he had, he’d have the tailor fit his angry wee Mockingbird with her own proper wardrobe that would better shield her from the weather. The things she wore were too thin. The ague would surely take her if they didn’t reach the keep soon and get her in front of a roaring fire.

They plodded along through the dreich afternoon that soon stretched into early evening. The longer they rode, the more he noticed her shivering. Pulling his flask from the pouch sewn into his saddle, he put it in front of her. “Here. To warm ye and fill yer wame till we can get ye a proper meal. We’ll soon be there, but not soon enough to keep ye from getting chilled.”

She took it from him but didn’t drink. She eyed the small leather bag as though it might bite her.

“’Tis the best whisky ye’ll ever taste,” he told her. “Old Thomas takes great pride in his spirits. In fact, he’s probably dancing a jig in front of his overflowing rain barrels as we speak. He says Scotland always provides, and he’s never wrong.”

Gripping the flask between both hands, she stared down at it. “I don’t think I’ve ever tried whisky. I was always afraid it was too strong. Besides…my headache has finally eased up. I don’t want to bring it back.”

He reached around her and worked the stopper free. “Try it, lass. Just a wee sip to start, and then ye’ll see how it warms ye. There’s no harm in a bit of libation to brace ye for the weather, and a small drink or two should not trouble yer head.”

She sniffed it, then reared back and bumped into his chest. “Wow. I think it burnt my nose hairs.”

Drummond chuckled, longing to help her relax, yearning to help her trust him. “Just a wee sip, then. ’Tis the only way ye’ll know for sure. If ye dinna like it, it’ll not matter. We’ve plenty of mead, ale, and wine at the keep as well.”