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For the first time, he believed her. Whatever she was about to say would be true. He folded his arms and nodded. “Aye. I am listening.”

She blew a long breath out through her lush, O-shaped mouth that made him think of her lips curving around something else… “I came from the future,” she said, and all pleasant images evaporated from his head.

“What?” he asked.

“I traveled through time. From the year 2022. I was traveling with my friends, just a vacation, and we got stranded on that damned island. There was a lighthouse…and yes, I was a little drunk…and then there was this woman who came and told me about you. And when I touched that rock with a hand carved into it, I fell through time. And when I opened my eyes, there was no lighthouse on the island. My friends and the boat that brought us there were gone. There was just your ship out in the distance, and I was terrified and called to you.”

When she grew silent, there was so much hope in her eyes, his heart ached. But he had never heard a more ridiculous story in his life. It wasn’t even well thought out. He laughed. “Time travel? Dear woman, ’tis a jest, surely. I could have believed ye about the shipwreck—there was a big storm ten days ago. But ye canna expect me to believe ye come from another time.”

The hope in her eyes died. “Yes, I was in a shipwreck,” she said. “On my way to Ireland to see my family.”

“The English treasure ship?”

“No. It was a regular ship. I don’t know anything about the treasure.”

“Are ye sure? What was its name?”

“Victoria,” she said.

Victoria? Strange name.

“What happened exactly?”

She cleared her throat and looked down at her feet. “There was a storm. We got turned over. I woke up on the shore of that island.”

He studied her for a while. She kept looking at him silently, withdrawn, and quiet. So unlike her. He didn’t like that the fire in her was extinguished. But something felt wrong about this Ireland story just like the previous one. Could he really believe her that she wasn’t on the English treasure ship? He wasn’t willing to torture her to get that information. Maybe he had to win her trust instead.

“I will help ye navigate here until I ken what to do with ye. Are ye really a healer? Did you tell me the truth about that?”

“I am.”

“All right, lass.” He went to his table and poured more uisge into his goblet. “I will tell ye how to behave and ye must listen carefully and dinna interrupt or question this. Clearly ye canna be doing what ye’re doing on purpose.”

“I appreciate the tips, but I can’t promise not to interrupt or question.”

He drank the uisge and shook his head, chuckling. “Of course ye canna. Look, lass, ye canna be insulting people and talking back to men. Ye assume ye’re right in everything. Ye saw what yer behavior can lead to. I may be forced to punish ye. Ye must learn to be humble. I enjoy the fire in ye, but if ye want to fit in, ’tis what ye have to do.”

She shook her head in exasperation and blew a long breath out. “I know you’re right…it’s just…”

“Aye.”

He liked that she could be flexible and wouldn’t just defy him. He could claim her as his mistress. If she only gave herself to him, how sweet her body would feel… She was no virgin; she’d had a husband. They were both experienced. This could be a very pleasant arrangement.

But no. He couldn’t do it. Knowing himself, he’d get attached far too quickly. He was not interested in female conquests. And what would that lead to, anyway? He didn’t trust this woman completely. She was a stranger and wanted to leave. If he fell in love with her and she left one day…he’d be devastated. And he didn’t think he would be able to sustain a broken heart again.

“Join me tomorrow to break the fast. I will find ye a place to stay, a bedchamber.”

CHAPTER 12

The next morning, Jenny went down to the great hall, but the servants told her Aulay was in the courtyard. As she descended the stairs, the linen undertunic scratched her body. The dress he had given her was too long for her, but she had asked a kitchen maid to help her shorten it. The woman may have been too nice to refuse to help or maybe she didn’t know who Jenny was. Before hemming the dress, she shortened it with the rough, medieval scissors that looked like they belonged in a torture chamber.

The dress was pretty, and now that it was the right length, it fit her well, even though it was a little tight in the bust. But it did the job of helping her blend in, unlike her own dress, which screamed to everyone she was an outsider.

But the best part was the shoes. Unlike the shoes Aulay had brought her in the dungeon, these were made of soft leather and felt like nothing on her feet. They also protected her feet from dirt and mud. She marveled at how a simple change of dress altered the way she felt. She could imagine she was a medieval lady. Only that prospect wasn’t very bright. In fact, all she’d known of this time until now was danger.

The courtyard of the castle was gray under the dark, grim clouds. The chaos of activity greeted her—bleating sheep, clucking chickens, honking geese. Servants carried firewood, pushed carts with hay and branches. Warriors sparred on swords and spears and shot arrows into targets.

The air was humid and cold, lush with the scent of the sea and wet mud, manure, and woodsmoke. Rhythmic sounds of metal banging against metal as the men sparred and the ring of a distant hammer hitting an anvil filled the air. Men cried out as they trained.