Page 20 of Here in Your Arms (Far From Home: A Scottish Time-Travel Romance #10)

The damp earth clung to her skin as she woke with a start, curled awkwardly in a patch of moss and pine needles, her head pounding and her limbs stiff with cold. It was dark, but she couldn't tell whether it was just before dawn or after sunset. Trees loomed above her, limbs thick and tangled, and a hush blanketed the forest as Rose pushed herself up slowly, her fingers trembling as she brushed at the leaves tangled in her hair.

Her first thought, bizarrely, was that she might have fallen asleep on a camping trip. Maybe she'd gone hiking and had gotten turned around on the West Bluff Trail near Baraboo in Wisconsin. Maybe she was in the woods behind her aunt’s house in Prairie du Sac, near the Wisconsin River. Or—

But no. That wasn’t it. Everything was wrong, or rather nothing felt familiar.

She turned in a slow circle, panic starting to climb up her chest.

The last thing she remembered was the girl, Maella, how there’d been no substance to her, and then the spark of something sharp and wild crackling between them before...this. Rose could remember nothing else. Just that flash of heat and the pull in her chest. She’d felt as if she’d been falling sideways through a dream.

A wave of déjà vu rolled over her so hard it left her dizzy. She'd been here before—not this exact place but imbued with this sensation, confusion and fright, being out of place and time. Moved.

Rose’s lips trembled while she breathed hard through her nose. A forest, she supposed, looked the same whether it was 1978 or 1304. She needed to find something or someone to tell her where and when she was.

Maybe Maella had jolted her back to her own time.

Rose didn’t know whether to hope or to grieve.

The thought of Tiernan slammed into her chest like a fist. Her eyes burned.

Had that been their end two weeks ago? Had that been it? Her first foray into love already done and gone?

Rose stopped moving, her frown deepening. Love? The word came unbidden, and she recoiled from it like it burned.

No. No, that wasn’t what it had been. She hadn’t known him long enough. Just a few weeks, a handful of sharp, awkward conversations, one night tangled in each other’s arms. That wasn’t love. That was—God, she didn’t even know what it was. A lapse in judgment. A moment of weakness. A mistake.

But another part of her—quieter, but no less certain—whispered that it wasn’t just that.

She clenched her jaw and forced herself forward through the brush.

Almost from the first moment she’d seen him, felt his presence in a room, something inside her had gone still, like a compass swinging toward true north. He unnerved her, unsettled her, and challenged her, but he’d also made her feel safe in a way that was as confusing as it was undeniable. Even when she hated him and feared him, she felt him.

Still, it wasn’t love, she told herself. It had been... proximity. Intensity. The kind of chemistry born of desperation and isolation and the madness of a world that made no sense.

It felt like love, maybe. But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Love was something that fought for you. It didn’t walk away without looking back. Whatever had been between her and Tiernan, brief and beautiful, it hadn’t been that.

A sudden crack of underbrush to her left snapped her out of her spiral. She paused, crouching instinctively. Another sound followed—low voices, men talking in hushed tones.

She turned, squinting through the trees.

Carefully, she edged closer, crawling on the ground, her hands and knees sinking into unimaginable forest foulness. A faint orange glow flickered between the trees ahead, the unmistakable shimmer of low-burning fires, dozens of them.

She crouched, holding her breath, and pushed aside a curtain of brambles, revealing the scene beyond.

A broad clearing stretched before her, rimmed by dense forest and bristling with activity. Canvas tents dotted the open ground, their sharp angles illuminated by firelight. Figures moved between them, men in metal helmets and glinting breastplates, the dull shine of their armor catching the light as they passed. Long spears slanted against tent poles, and rows of crossbows lay stacked beneath oilcloth coverings.

Voices drifted through the trees, low and clipped, unmistakably English in cadence and tone. Laughter rose in bursts from where a group of soldiers squatted near a pot hanging over a flame. Horses whinnied somewhere out of sight, and someone’s deep, commanding voice shouted across the scene.

There was no mistaking it—this was a military camp, a well-organized English one.

Her blood turned cold.

Definitely not 1978.

But was she in Scotland or England?

What did it matter? she decided. This was dangerous, was all she knew.

She didn’t stay to find out. Her instincts screamed, and she leapt to her feet and ran, dodging trees and roots, pushing herself through the undergrowth, thorns biting at her arms. She didn’t know or care where she was going, only that it had to be away .

***

The day bled into night, but Tiernan did not stop.

He'd ridden with fury in his veins throughout the day and night, pressing for answers, commanding searches along every road and trail for miles in every direction. But there had been nothing—no signs of passage, no witnesses, no tracks. Only her absence.

His cloak was soaked from the shoulders down, the spring rain falling steady now, thin but ceaseless, seeping into every seam of his clothes. The forest around him grew darker by the minute, the wet canopy overhead trapping the shadows and the scent of damp moss and smoke. Still, he pressed on, his horse forging through the undergrowth with stubborn footing.

He had dismounted an hour ago, letting the gelding rest while he scoured through the brush himself, having found a track—one small imprint in the muddy earth that might have been hers. One but no more, and possibly old, unrelated to Rose. But he’d chased it anyway, even as he knew...this wasn’t working.

He had no idea where to search, or even if his search of this time would only ever be fruitless.

According to Emmy, Rose could be anywhere—in any time.

The thought twisted in his gut as he crouched near a stream, bracing one hand on a slick stone and reaching the other into the water. It was cold and fast, biting at his fingers. He brought a handful to his mouth, drank, then splashed more over his face, rubbing the water into his eyes, trying to force the fatigue out of them.

He stayed on his haunches for a moment longer, the sound of the stream the only noise in the stillness around him.

Then something shifted, raising the hair on the back of his neck. He didn’t hear it—there was no snap of twigs, no breeze through the trees, no voice—but he felt it.

A stirring. A presence.

His spine stiffened as the air seemed to change around him. He rose slowly, water dripping from his chin, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his sword. His eyes swept the clearing, every sense sharp, scanning the woods around him—but nothing moved.

Still, something pressed at him. Not from without, but within . A sensation more than a thought.

He turned his head, slowly, scanning the woodland surrounding him. There was nothing.

And yet... the feeling lingered, prickling at his skin, sliding through his blood.

A thought came to him. A whisper, maybe. Or not quite a whisper. More like a nudge from inside, a sudden knowing where there had been none. It was akin to recovering a memory, but one he’d not lived. As if something—or someone—had placed a thought in his mind.

South.

He couldn’t say why he thought it, or why or how the image came to him. But he saw it in his mind’s eye as clear as day: the curve of a wooded hill, a crooked tree bent like a bow, red clay streaking the earth. He didn’t recognize the place—not exactly—but something in him stirred with certainty.

His heart hammered now for a new reason. This wasn’t the way a rational man made decisions. This wasn’t reasoned or strategic. But he knew. Somehow, he knew .

She was there.

He turned back toward his horse, calling out to men in the vicinity, soaked to the bone and slumped wearily in the saddle.

“We ride south,” Tiernan said, already swinging back onto his mount.

“South?” one of his men echoed, confused. “What’s there?”

“Rose is there,” Tiernan said with certainty.

And he spurred his horse into motion again, cutting through the shadows of the forest with a new direction—and an unshakable sense that something, or someone, had just pointed him toward Rose.

***

Rose had walked for most of the day, her sneakers sodden from the waterlogged ground, the fine mist of rain having turned needling and cold sometime before midday. She didn’t know how long she’d slept after Maella had moved her—minutes or hours? days?—but the sun had been low when she stirred, and now it was slipping once more behind a line of mountains to her left, the light fading fast. She pressed onward anyway.

She didn’t know why she was heading north—only that she felt she must. Some unshakable instinct whispered that Dunmara lay in that direction, though she had no real proof of that except the quiet urging in her chest. The forest thickened, the trees growing dense and tangled, and she kept her arms and Emmy’s plaid tight around herself to preserve whatever warmth she had left. Her hands were red from the cold, her knuckles aching, and her cheeks stung where the wind had chafed them raw.

Everything hurt. But she kept walking.

She began to think she’d have to find shelter, some hollow or overhang where she could wait out the night, and despaired at the idea of being stranded out here, in the middle of nowhere. She wondered if it were cold enough that she might die of exposure.

She heard the approach before she saw it—hoofbeats, distant at first, then pounding closer, echoing off the hills and trees like a call to arms. She’d ducked in the brush, her body tense, unsure if it was English or Scots, friend or foe. But the second she caught sight of the mounted figure as it came into view—tall and unmistakable atop his dark mount, his posture rigid, his gaze scanning the woods with deadly focus—she knew. Her heart surged painfully in her chest, the relief so sharp it left her breathless.

Tiernan.

Rose stood and stepped out of the brush.

His blue eyes locked on hers, and for a long second, they only stared.

He swung down from the saddle before the horse had fully stopped, calling her name in a voice raw with fury and something deeper.

And then he stormed forward, gripping her by the shoulders. “Where the bloody hell were ye going?” he barked, his voice low and harsh, but shaking.

Before she could have answered, he pulled her into his arms and crushed his mouth to hers.

It wasn’t gentle, and neither was it sweet. It was desperate and rough and filled with all the things they hadn’t said. She kissed him back with equal force, her fingers fisting in his tunic, until her knees threatened to give out from the sheer rush of it all.

Rose broke it off, shoving him back with both hands. “Don’t,” she said, her voice trembling now. “Don’t do this—"

“Why did ye run?” He barked.

“I wasn’t running!” she snapped back, yanking herself free.

His face contorted with rage. “Ye’re nearly twenty miles from Dunmara!”

She heard the accusation in his gruff tone. “But I didn’t do this,” she defended. “Someone did it to me—”

“Bluidy hell, Rose,” he seethed. “What does that even mean?”

“It means that same as before, I didn’t move myself. Someone moved me. I was at Dunmara, talking to this... girl, but she was strange—she gave me the creeps, honestly. I thought she was a time-traveler,” Rose said, recalling her first impression of the girl. “But I don’t think she was. And then I touched her but there was... she wasn’t human, I don’t think. And then...I blacked out and woke up in a forest—same as last time.”

He stared at her, chest heaving, as if trying to decipher the truth written on her face.

Rose sagged, held upright by his hand still on her arm. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not lying—about this time or the last time.” She shook off his hand, her relief replaced by a growing anger, provoked by the suspicion in his gaze. “What are you doing here anyway? How did you find me?”

Tiernan shook his head. Harsh lines formed around his mouth and eyes, his displeasure manifesting physically.

When he didn’t answer, Rose pressed, needing to understand. “How did you find me? You just said I was twenty miles from Dunmara.” She glanced around, looking for any landmark, some notable sign or marker.

A grimace twisted his features. “I dinna ken, but that... I had some sense you were south.”

Rose gaped at him. “South? You had some sense I was south, and you just... happened to find me in the middle of nowhere?” There was something he wasn’t telling her, she was sure of it. “You sensed it?”

“Aye,” he agreed with agitation. “I dinna ken but that... I felt as if something had been whispered to me, telling me where to find ye.”

Rose froze and stared at him.

“It dinna make sense—I ken that,” he growled, quite obviously hating whatever it had been that had led him to her, even as his kiss suggested the result was to his liking.

Rose harrumphed softly. “Good. Now you know, don’t you? What it feels like to have something inexplicable happen to you?” He deserved that, she decided petulantly. “Something that makes me accuse you of being a liar?”

Tiernan changed the subject, shifting the focus away from himself. “Ye dinna run away?”

“No,” Rose answered, frowning. “Why would I? Where would I go?” The part of her that still ached from his leaving forced her to add, “Running away is what you do, not me.”

“I dinna run, Rose,” he spat. “I returned to Druimlach, as I’d intended.”

“Oh, that’s right, you left after sleeping with me,” she said, and the words were knives now, her pain rising all over again. “And why did you?” She asked, tears watering her eyes. “Why did you sleep with me? Was it just something to take the edge off? Did you compare me to Margaret? Were you picturing her when you touched me?”

“Dinna say another word that ye’ll later regret,” he warned, his voice low, his jaw clenched.

“I regret it now,” she snapped. “I regret trusting you. Thinking it might’ve meant something.”

She turned away, her hands trembling, her whole body tense with the need to escape him.

Tiernan’s hand on her arm turned her around again. “It did mean something— Jesu , ye mean something.”

“I know,” she acknowledged, pain clamping her heart. “Because I look just like her—”

“Bluidy hell, Rose. Cease. Listen.”

“No. I won’t. There’s nothing you can say that will—"

His kiss shut her up, fierce and possessive. He broke the kiss but did not let her go.

With a strong hand clamped on each of her arms, Tiernan held her firmly, breathing hard, his face only inches from hers. And she was forced to listen.

“I look at ye,” he said, his voice hoarse, “and I forget reason. I forget every vow I ever made to keep myself guarded, untouched, unmoved by anything or anyone. I look at ye and I want everything. Nae comfort, nae peace, nae whatever is easy—but ye . Yer fire, yer wit, yer damnable questions and strange tales and fierce heart. I want all of it.”

Rose stared up at him, her breath shuddering.

“I should have told ye that night,” he went on, his grip tightening slightly, as if afraid she’d slip away again. “I could have, could have run ye down and made ye listen then, but...Christ, I told myself it was better for ye at Dunmara, that Druimlach would eat ye alive. That the clan would never see past yer face.”

His jaw flexed, and he exhaled sharply.

“And maybe that is true or will prove true,” he admitted, “but I dinna care anymore. Rose, I was... Jesu , I had guilt that night, but nae for laying with ye, but because I hadnae ever felt that—nae any of it—for Margaret. I should have—I was meant to wed her, to spend my life with her, had kent her for years, and should have felt...something,” he paused, shrugging and grimacing at the same time, guilt wracking him still. “I should have felt all that for her, and I dinna. Rose,” he said, shaking her a bit, “it was nae Margaret I wanted, but ye.”

He reached out and brushed a knuckle along her cheek, over the familiar curve of her scar.

Rose’s throat worked around a knot of emotion. Her heart beat so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

“But you...left,” she reminded him.

“I kent it was for the best,” he repeated. “But now, with this—I kent ye were lost for guid today—I realize I dinna want to lie to myself anymore. Come to Druimlach with me.”

Rose bristled, unable to help herself. “This? This showed you all of that? And what? If I hadn’t been lost, you wouldn’t have realized it? Well, that’s convenient. I don’t need your protection. I don’t need to go to Druimlach—"

“Ye’re being stubborn now, lass,” he said with infinite patience, his features smoothing. “If ye hadn’t been lost, I’d have found my way back to ye eventually. I ken that—I was weakening already, counting hours and days without ye, wondering what could be. But dinna come to Druimlach because ye need to. Come with me because ye want to, because I want ye with me.”

Rose swallowed, hardly able to believe how everything had...turned around, wondering why she continued to fight and resist words she’d ached to hear.

She lifted her hand and pulled his away from her cheek, knowing exactly why she fought yet. Her gaze dropped to the front of his tunic, unable—unwilling—to meet his eyes just yet.

“After my mother died... about three months later,” she began, her voice soft, almost a whisper, “my father brought me to my aunt’s house. He... said it was just for a little while, just until he sorted things out.” Her fingers twisted in his tunic. She’d never spoken this to anyone. “But he never came back.” Her voice cracked, just slightly. “No letters. No phone calls. Nothing. He just... vanished. Moved on. Started over, I guess. Somewhere new. Without me.” There was a space of silence between them, while a tear finally slid down Rose’s cheek. “I was nine,” she whispered. “I sat on the porch for weeks, waiting for him. And one day, I stopped waiting. I told myself I didn’t care, that I wouldn’t care. That I didn’t need anyone to come back for me.” She finally lifted her eyes to his, tears gleaming brightly. “But I did care. And...I guess I never stopped wondering if I’d always be the one left behind.”

Tiernan’s expression shifted, the hard lines around his mouth softening. “I’m nae yer father, Rose,” he said, his voice low and certain. “I’ll nae leave ye again. I came for ye now. I’m here.”

She blinked, and he continued, his words steady and strong, like stones laid down to build something solid.

“I ken ye dinna need me, Rose, but I do need ye. I want ye with me. Here in my arms, just like this. At Druimlach. At my side. Wherever ye choose to stand.”

Rose’s lip trembled, her breath catching in her throat.

“This... between us,” he said, his voice even and sure, “it’s nae about yer father and it’s nae about Margaret. This is about ye and me.”

Her eyes brimmed, spilling over. She wiped them quickly, but he caught her hand and held it.

“Say something,” he murmured, his forehead leaning against hers. “Call me a bastard, if ye want. But dinna walk away from me—from this.”

“If you ever make me feel disposable again,” she whispered, “I swear I’ll stab you in the heart with a wooden spoon.”

He let out a broken laugh, something deep and full of relief. “Fair enough. I’d expect nae less, love.”

And then he kissed her again—this time gently, reverently, as if sealing something sacred between them.

And for the first time in weeks—in forever—Rose didn’t feel lost.

She felt found.

The End

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Coming Soon in the Far From Home Series

So Close to Heaven

A Scottish Time-Travel Romance

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She was only looking for a fresh start...

but fate had something far more extraordinary in mind.

After years of trying to outrun her loneliness, American-born Ivy Mitchell finally found her footing in the misty Highlands of Scotland. But just as she’s coming to terms with an unexpected pregnancy—and the end of a relationship she’d only clung to out of habit—Ivy is ripped from her world and hurled into the heart of 14th century Scotland...six months along and completely alone.

He had buried love long ago...

but one look at her and something fierce awoke within him.

Alaric MacKinlay lost everything—his wife, his child, his hope for the future. The last thing he expects to find is a strange, frightened woman in his woods, speaking in a tongue he’s never heard, and quite obviously with child. His instincts scream caution—yet something about Ivy calls to him.

As the past and future collide, Ivy must navigate a brutal new world while carrying the most precious thing she’s ever known. As he begins to hope again, Alaric swears to protect her and the child. But when the truth about Ivy’s origins—and the dangers that still hunt her—come to light, Ivy and Alaric must fight for a love in a world determined to keep them apart.