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“No. She never read it.”

He sighed and hit the grating with his palm. “How could ye betray me?”

Guilt the size of a boulder weighed on Rogene’s shoulders. “I didn’t mean any harm. I wanted to see the letter for myself.”

“Why?”

Oh fudge! What could she say that he’d believe? She hated lying, but she was sure if she told him the truth, he’d think she was crazy. And yet, she really wanted to tell him everything. He had stopped the whip by sacrificing himself, and now he had that awful wound on his cheek… The surrounding flesh was already swelling and bruising with yellow, red, and purple.

He’d taken a hit for her.

No one had ever done anything like that.

Could that mean that she could trust him? Give up control and rely on him?

“I really want to tell you the truth,” she said, “but I’m afraid you won’t believe me.”

She shivered. He sighed, undid his cloak, and held it out to her through the grating. As she took it, their fingers touched, sending an electric shock through her. She wanted to grasp his hand and just hold it, but he pulled away, and disappointment slashed her gut. She wrapped the cloak around herself. His scent enveloped her, as though he were hugging her, shielding her again…

“Tell me,” he said, “and let me decide on my own.”

This man… He was a shield, a protector, always ready to take the pain and take everything on himself. How much inner strength did he have? How much unbreakable spirit was in him? But even he had a vulnerability, and she hated to think that someone like Euphemia would find it and use it for her own advantage.

Hadn’t Rogene used Angus, too? He’d trusted her with the information about the letter, and she’d sneaked behind his back and gotten him and herself into trouble.

But the cloak he’d given her—the weight of it, the feel of it against her bare skin—made her feel as though he supported her yet again.

Feeling enveloped by him, she felt stronger. More in control. But telling him the truth, trusting him, would mean giving up that control. No. She couldn’t trust even him.

Could she? For God’s sake, how much lower could she fall than landing in a medieval dungeon? She should tell him the truth and just deal with whatever his reaction would be.

She took in a deep breath.

This could be the end of her. He might condemn her as a witch or let Euphemia whip her. Or even chase her away from the castle—which would be really bad because how the hell would she be able to go back to the twenty-first century?

But, who else could she trust here if not him? She would deal with it as it came.

“I’m from the future,” she said.

He frowned and shook his head as though he’d heard her wrong. “What?”

“I’m from the twenty-first century, seven hundred years into the future.”

He blinked and kept frowning, studying her.

“There’s a rock that serves as a time-travel portal in the base of your castle. You were there when I arrived, next to that rock. A Highland faerie called Sìneag opened it for me and told me about you. That is how I fell through time.”

It was probably better not to mention that Sìneag had told her Angus was her soul mate. That information was useless, as nothing would be possible between them, anyway.

He narrowed his eyes at her and winced. “And do ye think I would believe ye?”

She sighed, took a step forward, and grasped the grating with both hands. She met his eyes and nodded. “I didn’t think you’d believe me, Angus. I mean, I wouldn’t have, in your place. But you do remember the rock that I’m talking about, right?”

“I do.”

“And you remember the strange way I was dressed? You thought I was a…” She felt heat creep to her cheeks as she remembered how she’d slapped him. “A whore.”

His short beard moved as his jaw muscles worked. “Aye.”