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“No? Then why did you come?”
I see the group of women past him are watching our exchange with clear disapproval. Their words from earlier in the week echo in my head. They don’t want me flirting with Duncan. I shouldn’t be flirting with him anyway. Not because they don’t want me too, but because I want to get back home. Therefore, I have no business holding his interest. It’s not fair to him or the villagers. Maybe if I push him away, they’ll be nicer?
“I was gonna ask you to take a walk with me,” he says.
“You were, were you? You think I don’t have work to do?”
“Well, of course you do,” he says, as his shoulders slump. “But I thought it would be nice. Give ya a break.”
“Give the lad a break,” Alesoun says, appearing in the doorway. “Go on, take a walk with him.”
I glare at her. She’s not helping in the slightest. Of course I want to take a walk with him. I like him, but that’s not the point. What right do I have to like him? I don’t belong here. I was trying to be a good person and push him away. Now Alesoun has blown holes all through my best excuse, which was her. I close my eyes and swallow hard, trying to force down the clog of emotions sticking in my throat.
You have a destiny. You don’t know it or don’t recall it. The stranger's voice echoes in my head as it has over and over since I met him.
A destiny. I’ve never believed in destiny. Or fate. Or kismet. I couldn’t even say I really believed in God or having faith or pretty much anything I couldn’t touch. Despite my lack of faith or belief, I’m here. In this impossible place, in an impossible time, and it has to mean something, doesn’t it? Is that something destiny? What if Duncan is that destiny?
He could be my Highland prince, meant to sweep me off my feet and carry me across the heather… Oh god, stop.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” I say. I shake my head to try and clear it of my nonsensical fantasies, but I can’t look up or meet his eyes.
“It’s fine,” he says. When I don’t meet his eyes, but continue staring at the butter churn he adds, “Really.”
Does he have to be so nice? Understanding and forgiving? Does he have any bad traits? Could this possibly be any harder?
“Thanks,” I say, darting my eyes up to his face. Man, I really like his face. Strong jaw, full lips on a wide mouth, and those eyes. I suppress a shiver and return my gaze to the churn. “What about the butter?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Alesoun says, grabbing the handle of the churn and setting to work without another word.
I wipe my sweaty hands on my apron. As I untie the apron, I see the women are shooting death glares and my stomach sinks. I can’t do anything about them, so I turn away. Let them. They’re probably going to hate me no matter what I do anyway, so let them hate.
“Where do you want to go?” I ask Duncan.
“Come along,” he says, offering his arm.
I take his arm, resting my hand on his forearm. The moment my hand touches him, I get the same sensation that is becoming familiar. A tugging of something half-remembered. Something I should know is mixing with a sense of rightness. As if his arm, this time, this moment is exactly where I’m supposed to be. That sense is deeper than any déjà vu. It’s less a momentary kind of remembered familiarity. It’s bone deep, in my soul I suppose. A true sense that I’ve known this man for so much longer than there is any way I possibly could have.
He leads me along and we walk away from the village in a different direction than I’ve gone before. We go past the cows that are grazing on this side of the village today. They seem to work their way up and down the grass of the highlands.
Neither of us talk, maintaining a silence that is too easy, too comfortable for people who don’t really know each other. The kind of silence I imagine long-term lovers can fall into.
“It’s beautiful here,” I say, breaking the silence solely because it’s too comfortable.
I really can’t fall for him. Or let him fall for me. I’m going to go home. What kind of person would I be if I did? A trollop? I stop myself from giggling at the word.
“Aye,” he says. “What is it like where you’re from?”
I glance sidelong at him. I chew my lip trying to formulate an answer he’ll understand. The new world, as they’d call it now, is barely a blip on the map and where I’m actually from doesn’t exist. Won’t for hundreds of years. I have to be careful, or I’ll be labeled a witch for sure.
“Not this nice,” I say at last.
“Well,” he says with a huff, “how can it be?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t rightly assume that any place that had you in it could possibly compare to your own beauty. It would be put to shame in comparison, no matter how nice it was.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks and other parts of me. Parts that have no business warming, not when I know I can’t let this go on. I can’t act. I won’t kiss him. I won’t. Nope, not going to do it.
