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But as she watched Craig’s handsome profile, she liked the idea of being married to him more and more. She looked at his lips. Would he kiss her at the wedding ceremony? Would his lips be soft or firm? Suddenly, there wasn’t enough air in the whole of Scotland for her to breathe. The image of him covering her mouth with his, of his arms wrapping around her waist, of him carrying her to the bed invaded her mind. Her skin warmed, and a drop of sweat crawled down her spine.

Oh no. It was one thing to be trapped here when she hated him and only wished to escape.

It was another to be attracted to him and start developing feelings.

That would be a whole different level of trap altogether.

Because if she fell in love with this Highlander, never in a million lifetimes would she escape with her heart intact.

Chapter 9

Three days later, Amy paced the giant bedchamber. The morning had passed like a blur. She shouldn’t be so nervous.

And she wasn’t, she told herself. It was just that fear of being trapped.

Not the thought of spending more time with the handsome Highlander.

“This is just the next step to get to the rock,” she reminded herself. “Calm down.”

She drew a deep breath in and released a long breath out. Tension uncoiled within her. Tension from lying every day, from walking on the tip of a blade, afraid to say the wrong thing and betray how much of a stranger she was here. Tension from knowing she wasn’t the Amy MacDougall they thought she was. Tension from being sure their plan to disrupt the alliance between the MacDougalls and the Earl of Ross would fail without a doubt.

And then Craig. She caught herself looking for him, and staring at him whenever he was near. Something about him made her breathe quicker, made her pulse beat in her neck.

She was an idiot. Yes, she liked the guy, but she couldn’t let that distract her from her goal. There could be absolutely nothing between them, for every reason in the world. He was a good man at the core, and she was a liar. She didn’t belong in this time and was here only temporarily. She was a MacDougall, even if born hundreds of years later, and Craig would never be with a MacDougall. He hated her for her name alone.

And he’d hate her even more once he learned about her deception. What would he do to her?

He wouldn’t kill her, would he?

Amy looked down at her red dress. It was the best dress she’d found in the chests, and it probably belonged to Lady Comyn. It wasn’t a perfect fit—it was too short in the sleeves and the skirt, and the shoulders were a little too broad. Plus, Lady Comyn clearly had bigger breasts than her because there was plenty of space in the bodice. Well, that wasn’t hard. Most women had bigger breasts than her.

Amy remembered the dress she’d worn for her wedding with Nick. They’d gotten married after a year of dating and half a year of living together. It was a simple, cheap white dress she’d ordered online, one of the few that would ship overnight. The skirt was knee length, and the dress turned out to be “beach” style, which was ridiculous for a spring in Vermont. But Amy hadn’t cared. She wasn’t big on fashion—most of her clothes were practical and outdoorsy. So, as long as the dress fit, which it did, Amy was happy. She hadn’t booked a makeup artist, hadn’t gone to a hairdresser.

She’d put on the dress for Nick to see that morning, and he’d whistled like a wolf.

“Yowza!” He’d picked her up, making her wrap her legs around his waist. “That’s one hot wife-to-be,” he’d said, his Texas accent singing. “Mine.”

Then he’d kissed her, making her head spin and her skin burn. Two hours later, they’d gotten married.

Amy had been light-headed from happiness. From the pure bliss of being with her soul mate. Tall, sturdy, kindhearted Nick whom she’d rescued from a fall in the mountains.

And even with her soul mate, it hadn’t worked out.

He wasn’t a jerk. He’d never cheated on her. He hadn’t been abusive. He’d been great to her.

So if she couldn’t make it with Nick, she couldn’t make it with anyone else.

Tears blurred her vision, and she quickly wiped them away.

Better to be done with this handfasting thing and move on to the next part of the plan.

Someone knocked. “Come in,” she said, wiping her cheeks quickly.

Hamish entered, a small bouquet of autumn leaves and horsetail in his hands. “Are ye all right, lass?”

She nodded and pressed out a smile. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Craig sent me for ye. They’re ready.”