Page 15 of Desiring the Highland Laird (Highland Destiny #1)

T hey rode on in silence. If Evie didn’t feel like she was about to take a tumble off the horse, she would have refused to hold on to Callum. As it was, she needed to keep her arms around his waist for security purposes. And warmth. She didn’t want to freeze to death.

Her lips were pressed together in a thin line as the fury burned through her.

As midday passed, they trotted up a path, approaching a castle that stood like a sentry on the cliff.

In the distance, the azure sea. The castle was a strong structure made of weathered stone.

The square building was three stories high with rectangular windows and two chimneys rising up on either side.

Lazy, gray smoke curled upward from both of them.

The wind continued to whip through her, despite the wool cloak she wore around her shoulders. Her legs were cold. Her face was cold. Everything was cold.

Except her anger. It was scorching hot deep in the pit of her psyche.

She didn’t know what was going to happen to her now when Callum turned her over to the people he assumed were her clan. She had given up trying to explain to him. He didn’t want to listen.

If he wanted to continue to deny the truth about her, so be it. There was nothing she could do about it.

As they approached the gatehouse, her heart thundered in her chest at the idea of being left here. Not that she had any allegiance to Callum. He was nothing but a cad and a lout for dumping her off on someone else. She would never forgive him.

He pulled the horse to a halt.

“What’s yer business here?” the guard asked, peering up at him with a squint. The sun was in his face.

“I’m Callum MacLeod. I’ve come to see Laird Sinclair.”

“For what purpose?” he demanded.

He nodded to her with a jerk of his head. “The lass here is a Sinclair.”

The guard leaned over to get a good look at her. She stared down at him with all the animosity she could muster. He flashed a grin when he looked at her.

“Aye, well, then. Come with me. I’ll fetch Angus.”

Callum dismounted, then turned to her holding up his arms. She had no choice but to swing her leg over and fall into his arms. She hated him even more than she did hours ago as he caught her, his strong hands on her waist. He held her there a long moment as the guard took the reins of the horse and led it inside the bailey.

“Why?” she said. It was the only word she could manage.

“’Tis the right thing to do,” he said, still so sure of himself.

He dropped his hands from her waist, then clasped her by the elbow and led her inside. The guard handed over his mount to what she assumed was a stable boy. They followed him into the great hall of the keep.

“Wait here,” he said.

They paused there, which gave her enough time to examine the interior room.

There was a large hearth on one end that warmed the room with a blazing fire.

A dais on the other with a long table and four chairs on one side.

In the middle of the room, several long tables and chairs, as though they were expecting a large crowd.

Colorful tapestries were along the walls and rushes along the floor to warm the place and give it a sweet-smelling aroma.

The guard returned with a man trailing behind him.

He was tall, broad shouldered with a shock of red hair that reminded her of her own fiery locks.

His face was covered in a faded red beard with a sprinkling of gray.

Eyes the color of a winter morning paused on her.

Eyes that reminded her of her sister Brianna’s.

There were crinkles at the corners of his mouth and eyes.

He wore a long tunic, a plaid over one shoulder, breeches and black boots that had seen better days.

He paused in front of them a few feet away, giving Callum first a once over, then peering at her with mild curiosity.

“I’m Angus Sinclair, laird of this castle. And ye are?”

“Callum MacLeod. I’ve come to return yer…” He paused, turning to her and motioning his hand toward her. “The lass.”

Angus Sinclair stepped closer and looked her over, that wintery gaze boring into her. “I dinnae seem to recall missing a lass. ’Tis a beauty, though.”

“She’s of yer clan,” Callum said.

Still peering at her, he said, “What’s yer name, lass?”

She shoved off the hood of the cloak and lifted her head higher, jutting out her chin and looking down her nose at the man who was laird of Clan Sinclair.

“Evangeline,” she said. And she was proud her voice was strong and sure. Not weak and emotional like she was with Callum on the road here.

He continued to stare at her.

“She’s yer kin,” Callum said, trying to be helpful.

She wanted to punch him. Her hand balled into a tight fist, but she managed to refrain.

“Is she?” Angus grinned at her, as though she were the best thing that had arrived on his doorstep all day. “A bonnie lass, to be sure, but I dinnae ken who she is. I’ve no seen her before.”

“See?” The word burst from Evie as she glared at Callum.

“She is a Sinclair,” Callum insisted.

“And what do ye wish for me to do with her?” Angus asked. He folded his massive forearms over his massive chest. There was a humorous glint in his eyes.

“She belongs here with ye,” he insisted.

“I don’t,” Evie said, her voice high and taut.

They both snapped their gazes at her. Callum’s was full of ire. Angus’ was full of humor.

“Aye, well, she can stay here if ye wish to be rid of her,” Angus said. He reached a hand to her. “My lady?”

“No.” Evie took a step back away from both of them. “I’m not staying here and you can’t make me.”

“She doesna sound like my kin,” Angus said, one chestnut brow raised.

“That’s because I’m not!” she insisted.

“Evie—” Callum began.

She put a hand up to stop him. “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said. Now, this man…this laird … is telling you I don’t belong here and you still don’t believe. What’s it going to take, Callum?”

Angus chuckled. “She’s a fiery lass, aye?”

“What is the trouble here?” A woman’s voice echoed throughout the great hall as she entered.

She was a beauty with auburn hair in a thick braid hanging over one shoulder. Her gown was a rich crimson, her hands clasped in front of her as she moved with an elegant grace to stand next to Angus.

Evie gaped as she realized the woman looked like Chloe.

She had the same facial structure as her sister and the same emerald eyes.

She took another glance at Angus and his wintery colored eyes that reminded her of Brianna.

Perhaps these were her ancestors. Callum may not have been too far off bringing her here, but still, she didn’t want to stay.

She needed to remain with him no matter the cost to get that stone back and go home.

“Who’s this?” she asked as she eyed Evie with her hauntingly familiar eyes.

“MacLeod claims she belongs here. She’s a Sinclair,” Angus said.

“Well, if she’s one of yer kin, then she is welcome here,” the woman said. She gave them a congenial grin.

“My lady wife,” Angus said, gesturing to her. “Fiona.”

“I do not belong here,” Evie insisted. “But Callum is too thick headed to believe it. I’ve told him the truth.”

Fiona’s brows rose and her eyes widened. “And what truth is that, dearie?”

“Er…” Evie lost her nerve, not sure what to say. It seemed odd to tell them she was from the future. If Callum didn’t believe her, why would they?

“I’ll leave her in yer care, then, and take my leave.” Callum turned toward the door.

Evie’s heart rammed hard against her chest as she saw her one chance of getting back home walking out the door. She wanted to cry out, tell him to stop, but what was the point? He was going to leave her in the hands of these strangers no matter what.

She cut a glance to the couple watching Callum leave with no intent of stopping him. Fiona Sinclair moved toward her, reaching a hand out to her and grasping her by the elbow.

“Come, and I’ll see ye to a guest chamber.”

She gave her a gentle tug to move her but Evie refused.

“Callum,” she called. “If you walk out that door and leave me here, then you’re a coward.”

That made him halt. He slowly turned to face her. The color was high in his cheeks, the first hint of anger creasing his face.

“A coward?”

Fiona dropped her hand and took a step back to stand beside her husband, her eyes wide and round.

“That sounds like a challenge,” Angus said, humor in his voice.

“Yes, a coward,” she said, ignoring him. “You think dumping me here with the Sinclairs is getting rid of your problem. You wash your hands of me. Fine. If that’s the way you want to play it. Be that way. But if you leave me here with them, you’re hiding from the truth.”

“And what truth is that, lass?” he asked.

She lifted her chin higher and chose her words carefully. She did not want the Sinclairs behind her to think she was crazier than she already sounded.

“You know the truth I speak of.” Then she held up her hand, palm out, and showed him the fading marks from the stone that brought her here. “This truth.”

He peered at her hand for a long moment, his jaw clenched and his teeth grinding. Indecision flashed through his eyes. She dropped her hand back to her side.

“If you mean to leave me here and deny all that you’ve seen, fine. But I will find a way back to you and the—” She stopped speaking, not wanting to mention the stone in front of Fiona and Angus.

The silence in the great hall was deafening. No one moved or said a word. Finally, Callum stomped toward her, reached for her, and clasped his hand on her upper arm.

“Come, then,” he said through clenched teeth as he tugged her toward him. Then his gaze flickered to Angus who still stood behind her. “It appears I bothered ye for no reason.”

Angus chuckled. “’Tis no bother.” He made a hand motion to the guard. “Bring the MacLeod’s horse.”

“Thank ye, my lord. We’ll take our leave, then.” He gave him a quick bow without ever letting go of her arm.

Then he dragged her from the great hall, not caring how she stumbled or tripped over her skirt. The anger emanated off him in waves, reminding her of scorching Texas summers. She decided she’d rather deal with his fury rather than be abandoned with the Sinclairs.

As they entered the bailey, the stable hand waited with the giant black war horse.

Callum turned to her, put his hands on her waist and hoisted her up without so much as a warning.

She scrambled to get her leg over the horse and settle behind the saddle.

Then he snatched the reins from the stable boy and mounted.

Reluctantly, she wrapped her arms around his waist as he kicked the horse into a gallop and they were away.

He said nothing. She said nothing. There was a silent standoff between them. Fine by her, as long as he was taking her back to Dundale.

The sun was dipping close to the horizon as they put the Sinclair keep behind them. The wind was still cold. Her legs were still frigid. He was still mad. As the day began to wane, he slowed to a walk.

“I should have left ye there,” he said, his words terse.

She stiffened, unsure how to respond to that.

Finally, he came to a halt, twisted to look at her over his shoulder. Fire flashed in his eyes. “Ye did nothing but embarrass me in front of them.”

“I wouldn’t have embarrassed you if you had listened to me,” she shot back. “I told you the truth about who I am and where I came from.”

He turned back around. She resisted pinching his side. It would be so satisfying to take a piece of his flesh between her thumb and forefinger and squeeze. Instead, she remained still and mute.

“We will return to Dundale. Then I will decide what to do with ye.”

“What to do with me?” she repeated. “You act as if I’m some errant child who has to be dealt with. I am not that.”

“And what will ye have me do, then, lass?” he demanded.

“Give me back the stone and let me go home. Then I’ll be out of your hair and no longer a problem.”

He remained still and quiet in the saddle for a long moment, then swung his leg over and jumped down to the ground.

He held his arms up to her and she realized he meant for her to get off the horse, too.

She reached for him, falling against him in a most ungraceful dismount.

He grunted as the full force of her body slammed into him, then stumbled back a step, taking her with him.

His strong hands managed to keep her on her feet.

She wanted to delight at the way he felt next to her. Instead, she was still angry and shoved off all those amorous feelings.

He reached into his sporran, then held his hand out to her. The stone rested in his palm. To think, all this time he had had it on him.

“Take it,” he said, his voice hard and unforgiving. “Take it and be gone.”

The way he said it sent a pang of hurt through her. His dismissal cut her to the bone. She snatched it out of his hand, turning away from him and looking down at the stone. It was not humming. Nor were the lines glowing.

She didn’t know a way to reactivate it or if that was even possible. She had to try. She closed her eyes and thought of Chloe. Then she swept her thumb over the smooth surface with the jagged edges.

Nothing happened. She tried to remember what she was thinking and feeling when she initially swiped her thumb over it. She was afraid and trying to run from Bruce. She recalled the fear pounding through her and the deep need to get away from him.

She tried to recreate those feelings about Callum.

The truth was, she didn’t want to get away from him.

She wanted him to… Well, what did she want from him?

She looked over her shoulder at him. He stood with the wind whipping through his long, dark hair and his thick arms folded across his massive chest. She hadn’t realized how incredibly big he was until that moment.

“Well?” he demanded.

“It didn’t work.”

He lifted a dark brow in surprise and question. “Ye dinnae ken how it works, do ye?”

She spun to face him. “Do you?”

Callum looked at the stone in her palm, then lifted his gaze back up to her face. The truth was written all over it. “Nay.”

She closed her hand around it. “We can fight each other all day long, but it won’t change the reality of the situation.”

“And what is that, lass?”

“That I’m trapped here in the past with you. ”

Truthfully, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to be stuck here with him. Despite the fact he tried to pawn her off on someone else and make her their problem. She decided she was all his problem and he needed to deal with her.

He dropped his arms and turned back to the horse, his hand on the reins. He stood there a long moment, quiet as he contemplated what to do next. Or, at least, that was her assumption.

“We’ll return to Dundale,” he said again with a firm tone that sounded final.