Page 23 of The Finest Scottish Fate

After a deep breath, she found the courage to sample it, then immediately re-corked the leather bag and handed it back to him. “Hot,” she wheezed, fanning her face. “Too hot.”

“Aye, lass. ’Tis the quickest way to warm ye during a storm.” If she’d allow herself to relax back against him, his embrace would warm her as well, but he refrained from saying it. Things were still not right between them. He took a hearty pull from the flask, re-corked it, then returned it to its pouch in the saddle.

Evie coughed a few more times, then curled deeper into the woolly folds of his cloak. “Could you please take me back to the sidhe hill? I so don’t belong here. You have no idea how much I do not belong here.”

“What would ye do if I took ye back to the fairy mound?” Not that he would. One never returned a gift from the Fae. Especially not a gift that you knew in your heart was meant to be yours.

“Sit there and wait.”

“For what?”

She didn’t answer, just ducked her head and shrank deeper into the cloak.

“Ye can trust me, Mockingbird. I will always protect ye.”

“I’d prefer you call me Evie. Mockingbird is the pet name my granddaddy always used whenever we were taking care of the horses and cows.”

A bit disheartened at her pushing him away, Drummond made a show of gathering her closer to adjust his hold on the reins for the rougher terrain. In truth, he just needed to gather her closer. “Forgive me, Mistress Evie. It’ll not happen again.”

She shifted against him with a faint groan and a heavy sigh. “I’m not trying to be mean. I’m just worried about what’s going to happen to me. As I said, I really don’t belong here.”

“Ye could belong here—if ye wished.”

“I’m not sure I could adjust. History was not my strongest subject.”

“History?” He frowned. What the devil did history have to do with her belonging here? “I dinna understand.”

“Neither do I,” she hurried to say, her tone astir with worries and fears he couldn’t read. “If I ever do, I’ll be sure to explain it to you.”

Chapter Six

The freaking fourteenth century and the year 1326? Evie clenched her teeth so hard she swore she heard them crack. Holy hell. How could she possibly be in 1326? This had to be a bad dream. Or a jet-lag-induced coma, if there was such a thing. And her fine Scottish sir, the handsome man in the mist? Maybe he was crazier than she was. What a shame that he was. He was so handsome and so…so…oddly familiar and comfortably sexy, like finally arriving home after a long, horrible trip and curling up in front of a welcoming fire.

She swallowed hard, about to choke on the knot of sheer terror lodged in her throat. What would his people do to her if they discovered she’d come from the future? Burn her at the stake? Boil her in oil? Hang her in the village square and leave her for the birds to snack on? What punishment would he order done to her?

She didn’t know enough about this time or even about Scotland to fake her way through this. She had to get back to that spiral hill, and if she ever saw Morganna or Callum again, she was going to punch them both in their noses and spit on their shoes.

Worst of all, at this particular moment in time, she needed to pee so badly that she swore she could taste it. Her bladder roared with every bump and sway of the horse’s gait. This trip had turned out to be a lot longer than she expected. Half a day’s ride through ancient Scotland felt more like a week.

Shifting in the saddle again, she swiped at the icy rain streaming down her face, then laughed at herself. Why bother trying to get the water out of her eyes? It was pouring, and she’d never be dry again—not even if they roasted her on a stake.

After crossing a particularly rough patch of terrain where her bladder almost said, What the hell, and turned loose its gallons, she patted Drummond’s arm. “I really need some time behind a bush…like now, please.”

He immediately reined in the horse. “There’s not much here for privacy, lass, but Murdoch and I will keep our backs turned whilst ye tend to yer needs.”

“I appreciate that.” Right now, she needed to go so badly, she really didn’t care if they saw her bare butt or not.

After he dismounted, he turned and planted his large hands around her waist and swept her down from the saddle. Holy moly, that chivalrous move made her a little breathless. If circumstances weren’t so crazy, she’d enjoy this fairytale with the handsome, dark-haired Highlander carrying her off to his castle. Then a gust of wind hit her in the face with more cold rain, and reality reminded her that this was no fairytale. This was an unbelievably impossible life-or-death situation.

The way he looked at her as he steadied her on her feet—with genuine concern and something else, something that seemed really good but she didn’t quite know for sure—made her bite the inside of her cheek. Why couldn’t this be in her time? Why couldn’t this be 2026?

“Are ye all right, lass?” he asked so softly that she wanted to melt into him and pretend everything else would work out okay.

She blinked and silently warned herself to stop with the dangerous daydreaming. If she expected to survive and find a way out of this, she needed to stay on her toes. “I’m fine. Thank you.” She tossed a nod at a nearby pile of rocks. “I’ll just go over there. Won’t be but a minute.”

He nodded, then turned to Murdoch. “Avert yer eyes, man. We must give the lady her privacy.”

The bearlike Murdoch tipped his head in agreement, or at least, she thought he did. It was hard to tell with the bushiness of that full beard. Then he turned his sturdy mount, which looked as if it liked to eat as much as its master did. Of course, the man needed a good-sized animal to pack him. Anything less would never survive the trip.