Page 7 of Desiring the Highland Laird (Highland Destiny #1)

“G od’s teeth,” Callum said under his breath.

Mayhap he should not have told her she was from the future. He, himself, wasn’t certain about that.

If she was able to get out of the bed, it was clear she had no broken bones. How she fell from the sky and landed all in one piece, he had no idea. She was one lucky little lass. With a sigh, he scooped her off the floor and into his arms once more. He moved to the bed and placed her on it.

Rather than leave her alone in the bed, this time, he climbed in next to her, pulling her to him and holding her shivering body close.

Her teeth chattered. Much to his surprise and delight, she snuggled closer.

He stroked the length of her hair, watching as the light shone through the red-and-golden strands.

He admired her delicate features. High cheekbones, long lashes brushing the edges of her upper cheeks.

Her nose and cheeks were covered in a smattering of freckles, as if she was sun kissed.

Heart shaped lips beckoned for attention.

A bonnie lass, to be sure, and one who had elicited an immediate reaction, making him wonder what was wrong with him.

Nothing. Nothing was wrong with him. As he held her close and that remembered dream drifted through his mind again, he was certain she was the one.

Evie . She said her name was Evie Sinclair.

Of Clan Sinclair? Despite what his da said, he was unconvinced she fell from the sky and simply appeared. The Sinclairs had a stronghold not far from their own Dundale Castle. But even so, why was she alone? Did she run away from the keep? Was she lost?

Mayhap he would return her to her clan when she was able to travel. The laird of Sinclair would want to know she was safe.

She was soft and delicate. All skin and bones.

Not for the first time, he wondered what had happened to her chin and shins. It was difficult for him to push aside the overwhelming feeling he had seen her before. As though he knew her. As though they were connected.

An odd feeling, that.

A sigh escaped her as she shifted against him. One smooth leg rubbed against his. Though she didn’t mean for it to, it sent a sensation of arousal through him.

Och, now was not the time for that.

The right thing to do was release her, get out of the bed, and tuck her under the thick coverlet. When he tried to pry her from his arms, she tightened her grip on him, as though he were a lifeline and her salvation.

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered.

He continued to stroke her hair as much to soothe her as himself.

“That feels nice,” she muttered.

His hand halted.

“Oh, please don’t stop.”

He swept his hand over her cheek, letting strands of her silken hair sluice through his fingers and fall through like a fiery waterfall.

She moved from him then, lifting herself up to look at him. Their eyes met. His heart drummed a dangerous cadence before settling back down to a normal pace. Aye, he was certain he had seen her face before in a dream not so long ago.

Her eyes were a deep brown. There was a gold fleck near the pupil of her right eye.

That was something he hadn’t noticed before.

Question was deep in her gaze, as well as a longing and vitality he hadn’t seen in a lass before.

Her hand with long, slender fingers pressed against his chest, her palm cool against the heat of his skin.

“I’m sorry I fainted,” she finally said.

“’Tis the second time I’ve had ye in my arms.” He grinned, despite himself. He tried hard to keep his emotions in check. But there was something about her he couldn’t resist.

She flushed, her cheeks turning a pale pink before she looked away. She slipped out of his arms, scooting away from him. When she moved, he had an empty feeling.

She held up her palm with the red mark from the stone. She traced the outline with the forefinger on her other hand.

“We found ye in the field. ’Twas the stone that did that,” he said.

“I know,” she said on a breath. She closed her hand into a fist. “I seem to have lost it.”

“Nay.” He reached into his sporran and held it out to her.

She stared at it a long moment, her gaze fixed on it with a mixture of anticipation and dread.

“Did that bring me here?” she asked.

“My da thinks it did, aye. But he believes in the myth.”

“The myth? About the stone?” Her brows—a deeper shade than her hair—drew together in question.

He took a deep breath, expelled it. How would he be able to explain the truth of it?

While his da believed the tale of the Shattering, Callum wasn’t so sure.

Telling the lassie the tale might make him sound like a madman.

Still, the story would have to be told. Would she believe there was one all-powerful stone that controlled both their destinies and all of Time?

Before he answered, he heard the deep growl of her stomach. She flushed, pressing her hand against it and turned her back to him. She slipped to the edge of the bed and made to bolt from it.

“Sorry about that,” she muttered.

“Mayhap I find ye some decent clothes and feed ye.”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “Decent clothes?”

“Ye cannae be wandering the keep in that.” He waved a finger at her black garment.

“Oh,” she said on a breath and glanced down.

She smoothed her hands down the length of her body, which did nothing good to him. His blood heated and he was glad she wasn’t pressed against him, or she would understand clearly how much she affected him.

“I suppose not.”

She raked her hands through her tangled locks. A sense of calm came over her. She seemed to have grasped being here with him with a clear head and resignation. He tucked the stone back into his sporran for safekeeping.

“Well, if I can’t be wandering around in this,” she gestured to her clothing, “then what do you suggest?”

He pushed himself out of the bed and stood. “I’ll find ye something suitable to wear.”

His late sister would have something suitable, he was sure.

He said nothing more as he headed to the door and left the chamber.

He paused a moment, wondering if she would be all right alone.

He refused to let his brother in his chamber to sit with her.

Not that he didn’t trust Malcolm—but he didn’t trust Malcolm.

He had a good heart, to be sure, but he and Callum always had a fierce competition about everything. Even the bonnie lasses.

Nor could he ask his father for fear he’d tell her all about the prophecy.

That settled it. He would send Roslyn and hurry.

*

As soon as Callum was gone and she was alone, Evie sprang from the bed and paced the length of the room.

Her bare feet were silent on the cold stone flooring as she went back and forth, back and forth, her stomach twisted into a tight knot.

Gooseflesh rose on her exposed arms, and she warded off a shiver.

It was cold in the chamber. She eyed the hearth, wishing there was a fire in its place.

What had happened to her? Her mind was still foggy. If what he said was true, and she had time traveled, then how did that happen? But even he didn’t sound like he was convinced she had come from the future.

She halted and pressed her cold fingertips to her lips. The stone must have sent her here to the past.

The last thing she recalled was sprinting up the stairs in the museum and running for her life into an exhibit, then hiding behind a giant statue of a Chinese samurai. She was still holding the stone, the only thing she managed to keep with her when she fled the bathroom. Then Bruce found her and…

She sucked in a breath.

When Bruce had found her, she had swiped her thumb over the markings on the stone. As she recalled, the markings seemed to glow. When she swiped her thumb over it, the image of Dundale Castle had burst through her mind.

She glanced around the room, looking at her surroundings.

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

Was she in Dundale Castle in the fourteenth century?

She rounded the bed and stopped dead in her tracks.

On the far wall was a hearth, devoid of a fire. Next to it, a chair. The memory of her dream of the guy in the chair by the fire burst through her mind. The man in her dream was Callum sitting in that chair by that hearth with a blazing fire. And she had slipped out of the bed.

She looked at the bed, examining it. Her dream was vague when it came to details of that. However, she was certain Callum was the one from her dream sitting in the chair. She had moved to stand before him, removed her nightgown, and climbed into his lap.

Heat flooded through her at the memory. She pressed her cold hands against her cheeks.

She had climbed into his lap naked. And then her mind decided to remind her about how good and solid and perfect his chest had felt beneath the palm of her hand.

No, no, and no. She had to stop thinking about that.

And yet, she moved toward the chair. Her breath hitched. She reached for it, sliding her hand over the back of it. It was nothing more than a solid, wooden chair with a cushioned back and seat. Well-worn. As though someone sat in it often.

But if she was here in the past, then what happened to her sister in the future? Was she all right?

The other thing bothering her was that Bruce, her sister’s boyfriend, had tried to take the stone from her.

He said it called to them. It was because of him she bashed her shins and then her chin.

She reached up, running her finger over the shallow cut on her chin.

It was sore. Likely she’d have a bruise by now.

Glancing down at her legs, she noticed the purple and yellow marks forming.

None of that mattered, though. She’d heal. She turned her thoughts back to the stone. It had been humming when she swiped her finger over it. That coupled with the glowing markings must have sent her hurtling through time and space.

But why here? Now? What was the purpose of that?

Was there a purpose?