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Page 3 of Her Scot of Bygones (MacLeod Dragons #2)

Scottish Highlands

1375

–Hazel–

I WASN’T SURE when I nodded off after hours of chatting with Willow, but clearly I had because when I sensed an intruder close by, I stirred awake. Then, just as swiftly, I sank back into oblivion until a forest awash in purple twilight rose around me, and I found myself searching. Sad. Overwhelmed by a sense of loss, followed by a desperate need to find something or someone.

Moments later, the forest vanished, and I was afloat in darkness and fear until a sense of warmth and safety enveloped me, and I swore I heard wings. Or were those footsteps? Either way, they seemed to sync up with my heartbeat, or perhaps with another heartbeat, because suddenly, I felt the heavy, dependable thud of a heart all around me. A comforting lull that carried me until my mind seemed to brush another’s, and blazing cat-like eyes, dragon eyes, met mine in the darkness, bringing me to awareness.

And by bringing me, I mean trapping me in a semi-awareness I couldn’t seem to break free from. Stay calm and focus, I preached to myself, doing my best to pay attention to what was happening around me so when the opportunity came to flee whoever had taken me, I could seize it. I might not know how to fight, but I was a survivor.

Or so I could only hope when I allowed my other senses to take over in place of my eyesight, as I too often did without realizing it. In this case, however, I wasn’t sensing anyone else's needs.

Instead, I became acutely aware of who held me.

More specifically, I became aware of hot, hard muscles and a strong, steady heartbeat that seemed to synchronize with mine. Aware of the masculine, spicy scent of his heated skin and the occasional catch of his breath, as if something caught him unaware. I became aware of the light tread of his swift, steady footfall on what I now realized was rock, somewhere cavernous, hinting at someone not just fit but stealthy and quick on his feet.

A fighter, I would say.

Based on everything going on with Aspen and the fact that I must have time-traveled, he was undoubtedly a seasoned warrior who could be any of Broderick’s brethren.

He could also be any of his enemies.

Yet when he crossed some sort of threshold, a cool breeze blew over my skin, and those same dragon eyes rose in my vision again, not sinister but welcoming, I suspected he was no enemy. At least not one of Broderick’s. When he called me by my sister Willow’s name and referred to Aspen, I knew he was a MacLeod.

Which MacLeod, though?

And why had he taken me when my tree was supposed to lead me to safety, but had warned me ahead of his arrival?

I tried to think clearly and assess what Adlin MacLomain had told me about Aspen and Broderick’s journey back to each other, but it was hard, if not impossible, when I was laid down in a sea of softness that immersed me even more in my captor’s scent. He smelled like a combination of things. I couldn’t say what they were, other than they were unique, and I, alarmingly enough, couldn’t get enough of it.

That is, until his voice’s deep, rich timbre came through more clearly with a Scottish brogue I sensed wasn’t as thick as it usually was, despite its rolling R’s. He used the word you instead of ye, making it clear he was an ally, because I knew they spoke that way to make twenty-first-century time travelers feel more comfortable.

While his voice and scent already had me far too aware of him, it was his taunting about my apron and profession that made me finally speak. Or more specifically, his threatening to shift into his dragon to hunt for food forced me to open my eyes despite my best efforts to bide my time. To learn the lay of the land so I could form an escape plan.

Instead, I allowed myself to be baited.

Fearing being near an actual dragon, never mind that he was a stranger and I was someplace I’d never been, possibly six hundred years in my past, I opened my eyes and saw the last thing I expected.

I was back in the same forest awash in purple twilight, only this time my vision flashed bright green before the trees swirled as if I were being sucked away in a kaleidoscope. Half a breath later, a firelit cave and a man appeared.

Not any man, either.

He was a tall, broad-shouldered, muscular Adonis-looking warrior with chiseled, bearded, blonde features, making him look like he stepped out of a fairytale.

This was no fairy tale, though.

Not at all.

If anything, it was cold, hard reality, however skewed across the centuries, because, complete with a léine, a red and black plaid, and heavy black boots, he was every inch a medieval Scotsman.

“’Tis ye,”

he murmured roughly, his brogue thicker than before as his eyes simmered down from the same fiery dragon eyes I had seen in the darkness to a rich cobalt blue a woman could lose herself in.

Eyes that were currently narrowed on me.

“Who?”

I managed weakly, surprised by my dry throat, given how diluted my whisky was earlier. Was he referring to Willow again? Should I keep up the charade, considering he thought I was her, or might that put her in harm’s way?

“Ye.”

He cleared his throat. “You.”

Shaking his head, he searched my eyes.

“Do you not recognize me because we have crossed paths before. I cannae say where, but I have seen your eyes…know your eyes.”

More and more aware of the desolate cave and monstrous bed I was so vulnerable in, I swallowed hard, shook my head, and scurried back against the headboard with nothing but a fur blanket to protect myself with. Though my throat was dry and my voice shaky, I managed to keep speaking.

“Rest assured, there’s no way we know each other because, as you know full well, having just kidnapped me, I’m not from here.”

Seemingly startled by my distress, he blinked and took a step back, as if that would make him any less intimidating. It didn’t help, given the multiple blades strapped to him, not to mention the monstrous sword resting nearby.

“’Twas not kidnapping, Willow.”

He gestured at a wooden cup resting on a small table beside the bed.

“Drink. Please.”

I frowned at the cup, not trusting it or him. “No.”

“’Twill help your throat.”

Seeming to understand his very being intimidated me, he sank into a chair near the bed and introduced himself.

“My name is Lucas MacLeod. I’m cousin to Laird Broderick MacLeod, your sister Aspen’s fated mate.”

As if catching my thoughts, he began setting aside his blades.

“My sole purpose in bringing you here is to protect you from our enemy, Dugal Sutherland and his treacherous clan.”

His eyebrow swept up.

“Can I assume Adlin MacLomain enlightened you about what transpired with Aspen and Broderick and the pact we are trying to protect you from?”

“He has,”

I said softly, not trusting my voice enough to speak much louder.

Adlin had shared enough for me to know I was with the impulsive cousin who tended to act before thinking. The very opposite of me in all ways possible. Most certainly, the opposite of the routine and consistency I so cherished.

“And it didn’t involve being taken against my will by anyone, let alone a MacLeod.”

“’Tis not against your will,”

he denied.

“Isn’t it, though?”

I countered.

“Seeing how you grabbed me out of my own home, no less, without my permission or my sister being any the wiser.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Are you speaking within the mind to Aspen then?”

“So Aspen doesn’t know either?”

I exclaimed.

“Nay.”

He frowned.

“Who were you talking about?”

“Nobody,”

I replied, trying to protect Willow’s whereabouts because who knew what Lucas was capable of. Would he kidnap Willow, too, and tuck us both away wherever this was? He had called it his dragon’s lair, which didn’t sound promising.

“Och, clearly you spoke of someone.”

He kept frowning.

“Is that why I was bombarded with nuts from your willow tree?”

Huh? I furrowed my brow in confusion and shook my head no to the cup of water when he nudged it closer to me.

“What nuts?”

“I dinnae know.”

He felt around in his plaid until he pulled something free and held it out.

“’Twas one of these.”

I stared at the hazelnut in his palm and decided to play dumb.

“I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

He surprised me when his eyebrows shot up. “You lie.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

It almost seemed as if he read my mind when his attention fell to the nut.

“’Tis a hazelnut, aye?”

His gaze slowly rose to me, and confusion warred with recognition.

“One of many that kept me away from the front door and led me straight to you. ‘Tis a strange thing for a willow tree to do…”

His eyes narrowed again as the truth occurred to him.

“Unless ‘twas not really a willow after all but a hazel tree…leading me to the lass named after it.”

I wasn’t sure what to say because I felt cornered by the strange look of recognition in his eyes, as if figuring out who I was made perfect sense. Even though I shook my head, I couldn’t seem to push a denial past my lips.

But I would do everything in my power to protect Willow if he planned to go back for her.

“If you were there for Willow, you’re too late,”

I lied.

“After I fell asleep, she had friends pick her up to go out. She’ll be out all night.”

“Then it seems she drove herself,”

he replied, surprising me.

“As there was only one vehicle in the drive.”

His statement told me a few things. He was observant, knew the twenty-first century well enough to understand what a vehicle was, and it seemed Willow had driven, because there would have been two cars if she were still home.

“I guess she decided to meet up with her friends, then,”

I said, hoping my voice sounded natural because it was odd and more than a little alarming that she might have gotten behind the wheel after drinking. She didn't do that sort of thing. While I could say as much and plead with Lucas to take me home, that would only lead him straight to my sister. So that wasn’t happening.

Whatever Willow was up to, she was safer staying away.

“It doesnae matter,”

Lucas said, referring to Willow not being there.

“Because ‘tis you I was looking for, Hazel, not your sister.”

He lowered his head in what appeared to be a gesture of respect, then met my eyes, his steady blue gaze as serious as his voice.

“My deepest apologies that I didnae know your name straight away for ‘tis as familiar now on my tongue as your eyes are.”

I shook my head, wanting to say that was impossible, but found myself asking why instead. Worse still, my question came out far too whisper-soft, as if his being so familiar with me took my breath away. If I were to be honest with myself, it kind of did because he was…him, and I was…me. I wouldn’t call myself insecure, but I wasn’t the type men were drawn to because I wasn’t enigmatic or outgoing. Sure, I was friendly enough to run a business and nurturing by nature, but that didn’t seem to draw men in my era.

Certainly not men who looked like him.

Yet based on how he said he seemed to know me, it might not matter. Not when he shared the last thing I expected to hear.

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