Timeless

“What you are seeing now is the most recent addition to MacLennan Fortress, completed in 1832, though renovations continue even today.” The tour guide led the cluster of tourists across highly polished wood floors that gave not a hint of the thousands of visitors that had walked this space since the castle had been opened to the public as a five-star hotel and restaurant. In the upper gallery they strode past portraits of the early lairds of the fierce MacLennan clan.

Laurel Douglas trailed the others, taking time to study the proud, handsome faces of the men, warriors all. Despite the gradual change of clothing, from simple plaid to ornate kilt, and the hundreds of years that separated them, from the earliest laird in the fifteenth century to contemporary times, all bore a striking resemblance to one another. Whether fierce, proud, or simply amused, there was a haughty bearing and a defiant glint in the eyes that said each was aware of his position, and completely, utterly comfortable with himself.

Laurel still couldn’t believe she was here in the Scottish Highlands. It had been a dream for so long, since her grandmother had lulled her to sleep with tales of noble warriors and beautiful maidens. Though her grandmother had left her native Scotland as a child, her love of the land of her birth had never faded. She’d filled her only granddaughter’s head with visions of fog-shrouded lochs where monsters swam deep beneath the murky waters, and castle ruins guarded ancient secrets.

Just days ago, after a year in the planning, it had looked as though Laurel’s dream trip would be canceled. After working her way up the corporate ladder in New York City’s commercial real estate, a field dominated by men, she’d been persuaded to take her first real vacation in years. She had planned to go with her best friend, Chloe Kerr, who had handled all their reservations, from the airline tickets to the rental car to the hotel.

Then came Chloe’s frantic midnight call to relate a family emergency.

“Laurel, it’s my mother. She’s been rushed to the hospital. They say it’s her heart. They’re talking about a bypass, if the stent won’t work. I’m really sorry, but I have to be here.”

“Of course you do.” Laurel paused, twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she always did when she was thinking. “I’ll call and see if the airline will allow us to reschedule.”

“But you’ve already blocked this time off work.”

Laurel was thinking the same thing, but declined to mention it. She glanced at her appointment calendar. So many clients had been rescheduled to accommodate this longed-for vacation. None of them would be pleased if asked to change yet again. “Look, Chloe, things like this happen. You know my motto: There’s no such thing as an accident. It’s all part of some grand plan in the universe. There’s nothing to be done about it. We’ll go another time.”

“You know better than that, Laurel. It took me years to talk you into this. I can’t even imagine how long it will take to get you to agree again. You didn’t even go on our senior trip.”

“My grandmother was sick.”

“And after all those years of study at the university, you blew off graduation to go to work.”

“I didn’t have anybody there to cheer for me anyway.” Laurel sighed. “We’ve been through all this before, Chloe. What’s the big deal?”

“This trip is the big deal. You planned your entire year around these next two weeks. I can’t stand knowing that you’re going to miss this, too.” There was a pause. “You could go alone.” Her friend’s voice wavered. “I know it won’t be as much fun traveling solo, but at least you’ll get to see and do all the things we’ve planned.”

“It won’t be any fun without you.”

“I’d feel the same way. But I’ll feel even worse if you stay home because of me. We’ve talked of nothing else for so long now. Please, Laurel. At least give it some thought.”

After hanging up, Laurel brooded. The money she would have to forfeit on the airline and hotel fees didn’t matter, but the hassle of time on her hands with no clients to deal with did matter. She’d go mad with nothing to do and time on her hands. Why not go ahead as planned? She’d be just fine traveling to Scotland alone. It wasn’t what she’d hoped for, but then, she mused, how much in life actually went according to plan? Besides, wasn’t she really good at being alone? She’d had plenty of experience.

She’d lost her parents when she was six, and had been raised by her grandmother. At eighteen she’d vowed on her grandmother’s grave that she would make her proud. To that end, after earning her business degree, she’d spent the past ten years working her way up the corporate ladder. There’d been no time for such things as romance, courtship, marriage. Oh, there’d been the occasional interlude with a coworker, or a friend of a friend, and she would wonder if this would be the one to change her life forever. But in time, as if by mutual consent, they would drift apart and move on. Laurel never looked back. And certainly never grieved the loss of something she’d never even had. She was very good at living her life on her own terms.

If, at times, she felt a twinge of regret at the things she’d had to sacrifice for success, she was able to nudge it aside. She made a very good living while enjoying a satisfying career. She had a circle of friends she could count on, and an enthusiasm for life that was the envy of all who knew her. That was enough to fill her life.

Her thoughts were interrupted by one of their tour group, a retired bank president from St. Louis. “What about a tour of the castle ruins and the ancient tower?”

Laurel nodded in agreement. That was what she wanted, more than anything. It was her fondest wish to walk through the ancient ruins. To get a sense of those who had lived and died here. After a lifetime of reading about them, she wanted a closer look.

Their leader shook his head. “Because of its age and fragile condition, we no longer allow tours of the original bones of the old castle and the tunnels beneath. It was built in the fifteenth century by the laird of the MacLennan clan, Conal MacLennan, who was called Con the Mighty by both his friends and his enemies. Though we don’t permit an actual tour of his early home, if you’ll follow me along this hallway, I’ll take you up to the adjoining tower. It offers an excellent view of the ruins below, and the Highlands spread out around it. In the tower room we offer a detailed map of the ancient castle as it once looked. For as far as the eye can see, this land once belonged to the Clan MacLennan, some of Scotland’s finest and fiercest Highland warriors.”

While the others moved ahead, Laurel stopped to study the portrait of Conal MacLennan. Now there was a warrior. His arms and torso were bare, revealing a body corded with muscles. He wore nothing more than a length of plaid, belted at the waist by a leather scabbard. In his hand was a jewel-encrusted sword. His forehead was broad; his features so perfect they could have been chiseled from stone. His eyes stared into hers with such intensity, she couldn’t look away. She marveled at the ancient artist who had captured his likeness so perfectly.

She trailed the others to a circular staircase. Up ahead she could hear the voice of their guide.

“If you’ll look to your left, you’ll see through that window the crumbling ruins of the original tower. It’s said that Con’s beloved wife fell or was pushed from that tower during a siege. Her body was never found, and the great laird of the MacLennan clan vowed to move heaven and earth to find her.”

Laurel heard a woman ask the question they all wanted answered. “Did he succeed?”

The tour guide’s voice drifted back. “Rumor has it that he roams the Highlands still.”

Laurel shivered before her attention was caught by an ancient tapestry that hung along the staircase. It must have been nearly ten feet high, and at least as wide. Their guide had said that all the tapestries in the castle had been made by the women who once lived here.

Since needlework had been one of the skills her grandmother had passed along to her, Laurel found herself tracing her finger over the delicate scrolls and circles and marveling at the patience of the women who had created such a work of art by hand.

She could imagine them sitting around the fireplace at night, heads bent, working needle and thread through the wool, forming the intricate patterns while their men sharpened the blades of their broadswords and dirks, and spoke in low tones of war.

What must life have been like in those primitive times, with the threat of invasion always hanging over them? Did the women weep when their men went off to battle? Or were they stoic, holding back their tears until they were alone in their beds?

Laurel thought of her grandmother, fueling a child’s imagination with bedtime tales that were both thrilling and romantic.

As Laurel started to turn away, a drop of moisture landed on the toe of her white beaded sandal. She noted with disgust that a dark stain had begun to spread in an ever-widening circle. She looked up, but could see nothing leaking from above. Bending, she touched a finger to the warm, sticky spot, and was stunned when she realized what it was.

Blood!

Where had it come from?

Curious, she took hold of the edge of the tapestry and moved it aside. It had been cleverly hung to hide a niche in the wall. At first Laurel thought the figure in the recessed area was a statue, until she had a quick impression of her own shock and surprise mirrored in his eyes.

Not a statue. A man. But this was no ordinary man. He was dressed in the manner of an ancient Highlander. His arms and legs were bare, with nothing but a length of plaid to cover his torso. But what caused her even more fear than the sight of this stranger was the sight of the very large, very deadly jeweled sword he was holding in a menacing manner.

She gasped and shrank back. Before she could flee, his hand snaked out, catching her roughly by the shoulder.

“No! I…”

Her cry broke off as she was caught by strong arms and yanked off her feet. She saw, to her dismay, the flutter of the tapestry as it slid closed behind her, engulfing her in darkness.

Without a word the man lifted her as easily as if she weighed nothing at all. Though she bit and kicked and fought him with all her might, she was no match for his almost superhuman strength. He tossed her over his shoulder and began racing along a darkened passageway.

Her cries and shouts of alarm bounced off the cavernous walls in an echoing chorus.

 

Laurel’s heart was pounding in time to his every footfall. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she realized that they were heading deep into the dungeons beneath the original castle ruins.

From the history she’d read, she knew that this was where the clans would gather during a siege. There were tunnels leading to various rooms that were large enough to shelter livestock, store grain, and permit entire families to live in safety within the castle enclosure while their men fought back intruders.

As they rounded a corner, the man came to an abrupt halt and in one fluid movement set her on her feet before shoving her roughly behind him. As Laurel took in a breath and prepared to flee, she heard the clash of steel upon steel, and looked up to see her captor facing a band of warriors.

There were nearly a dozen of them, their faces streaked with mud, their voices screaming words that were unintelligible to Laurel. But this much she understood: They were determined to kill both her captor and her.

Some of these men wore only animal skins to cover their nakedness. They lifted knives and swords menacingly as they surrounded their prey.

Laurel’s captor never even hesitated as he plowed through the circle of warriors, his sword cutting a swath of death and destruction through all in his path. Despite the fear that gripped her, Laurel couldn’t help admiring his courage in the face of such overwhelming odds. One after another, the attackers fell to his blade.

Just as it seemed safe, she watched in horror as two more attackers crept up from the shadows. “Behind you.”

At her shout, he turned and drove his blade through the chest of the one nearest him.

Seeing that the other was about to thrust his blade into her captor’s back, Laurel looked around for something, anything to use. Without even thinking, she yanked her cell phone from her pocket and tossed it as hard as she could. It caught the warrior on the side of his temple. Startled, he turned on her, ready to defend himself. It was all the distraction necessary for her captor to overpower the man. With an arm around his neck, he pulled a small, deadly knife from his waist and slit the attacker’s throat.

At the sound of hurried footsteps coming toward them, he again thrust her behind him before turning to await the next attack.

A warrior garbed in the same plaid as her abductor came to an abrupt halt. “Ye’ve come back, m’laird.”

“I have. To find barbarians in my own household.” The voice rang with righteous anger.

“They caught us by surprise, m’laird. Without your leadership, we feared all would be lost, but we managed to fight them off. This was the last of them. I’d feared they’d already made good their escape.”

“They would have, had I not been here to change their plans. See to them.”

Without another word, Laurel’s captor closed a hand over her wrist and hauled her through the carnage. They moved quickly along a darkened hallway and up a flight of stairs. At last he slowed his pace and stepped through a doorway into a suite of rooms that, though primitive, seemed surprisingly comfortable. The floors were covered with rushes. A cozy fire was burning in a massive stone fireplace. Around it were gathered chairs and settees strewn with animal hides.

The stranger drew Laurel inside before securing the door. When he turned, he surprised her once again by dragging her roughly into the circle of his arms.

“At last.” His words, raw and passionate, were whispered against her temple. “I thought I’d lost you, love.” His lips nuzzled her cheek, her jaw. “Oh, my bonny, bonny Laurel. I’ve been searching for you everywhere. The fear of what might have happened to you nearly caused my poor heart to stop.”

Without waiting for her reply, he lowered his head and kissed her long and slow and deep, like a man starved for the taste of her.

Laurel tried to push away, but she was no match for him. He seemed completely unaware of her resistance. Instead, caught up in the moment, his hands moved over her body while his fevered kisses smothered her protests until they died in her throat.

She was assaulted by such a rush of conflicting feelings, she couldn’t sort them out. Shock. Outrage. Fear. And somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind, the realization that she’d never in her life been kissed like this. Possessively, as though this man owned her, body and soul, and had the right to expect such passion in return. He touched her, held her, like one who already knew her intimately. His kiss spoke of desperation, and then, in the blink of an eye, of reverence, as though he held in his arms some rare and perfect creature that must be treated as the greatest of treasures.

Maybe it was a reaction to what she’d just gone through. Perhaps she was in a state of shock. Whatever the reason, though she tried to deny it, her body responded in a purely sexual way.

“I was lost without you, love. My heart was so shattered…” He ran hot, wet kisses down her throat, pausing to nibble the sensitive hollow between her neck and shoulder until her flesh nearly sizzled. Already a spark of heat skimmed her spine, adding to her jumble of emotions. How could she think, when this man’s kisses were doing such things to her?

But think she must. “Wait. Stop.”

At her words he lifted his head, but kept his hands at her shoulders, as though afraid to let her go for even a moment.

“How…” She had to struggle to find her voice. “How do you know my name?”

He regarded her with a humorous lift of the brow before gathering her close. His strong fingers began gently massaging her scalp. “Was it a blow to your head, my love? I’ve heard of such things during battle. Has it left you dazed?”

Again she pushed away, dragging air into her lungs. The press of his fingers through the tangles of her hair was far too intimate a caress. “Who are you?”

“Now I know you tease me.” His eyes crinkled. “I’m the lad you’ve loved since you were no more than a wee lass. And you’re my own true love, Laurel. The one I’ve cherished all my life. When I couldn’t find you after the siege, I was beside myself. Some said they’d seen you falling from the tower, but your body was never found. I’m afraid I went a little mad with worry. I searched the length and breadth of the forest, refusing to tend to my duties, or even to return to my fortress until I’d found you. But you’re home now.” He dragged her against him and kissed her full on the mouth. “Home to stay.” Against her lips he whispered, “Now come to bed, love. For I’ve been searching for you for such a long time, I’ve built up a powerful need.”

“But I…Wait.” She’d never felt so dazed, so disoriented, so thoroughly confused in her entire life.

How could this be happening? It was like a dream. All disjointed. Out of sync. But she was wide awake, and this was all too real. Those attackers had intended to kill her, and had ended up giving their lives. She’d seen the carnage with her own eyes. Had heard their death cries with her own ears. The brutality of that bloody scene was an image that would remain in her mind forever.

And this man, this stranger from another era, was also real. A warrior who seemed to have no fear of his enemy’s weapons. A warrior who was calling her by name, behaving as though he’d known her for a lifetime, and was preparing to take her to his bed.

She had to put the brakes on this now, before it went any further. “We need to talk.”

“Aye, love.” With no effort at all he lifted her in his arms and carried her across the room to the chaise, softened with animal skins and set before a roaring fire.

As he lowered her to the plush hides, he lay beside her and drew her into the circle of his arms.

With his mouth warm on hers he muttered, “We’ll talk. I give you my word on it. As soon as I’ve had time to offer you a proper welcome home, my bonny, bonny wife.”

Wife? He actually believed she was his wife?

Couldn’t he see that she was a stranger? Didn’t he question the difference in their clothes? In her strange American accent?

Yet he seemed to know her as intimately as she knew herself. He was prepared to make her welcome. And what a welcome. He pressed soft kisses to her temple, her brow, her cheek. And all the while his hands moved over her, at first soothing, then gradually exciting, until they were both aroused.

She had to put a stop to this before they crossed a line.

“You’ve made a terrible mistake. I’m not…” She struggled to make her brain work in sync with her mouth. “I mean, I am Laurel, but I’m not your Laurel.”

He merely grinned. “You’ve been mine since long before our families agreed to our betrothal, love. You were mine the minute I set eyes on you at market day all those years ago. You, with that dark tumble of curls around the face of an angel. I carried the look of you in my heart until the day I was old enough to speak to your father and mine, and arrange our future together. Now kiss me before I go mad with wanting you.”

His mouth moved over hers with a hunger that had the blood pounding in her temples.

“What about…?” Sucking air into her starving lungs, Laurel leaned up on one elbow, determined to distract him. She may not have the muscles to fight him, but there was nothing wrong with her brain. Thinking quickly, she stared pointedly at his shoulder. “What about your wound?”

He touched a hand to it, and stared without emotion when his fingers came away bloody. “’Tis nothing, love.”

“Nothing?” A lesser man would have been staggered by the pain of it. “It looks serious to me.”

“A barbarian’s sword. ’Twill be the last he’ll ever lift against a Highlander.” He made a sound of disgust. “I’ve been so blinded by the loss of you, I grew careless. But now that you’ve been returned to me, I’ll make it up to my people. I’ll concentrate on the safety of my clan, and should the invaders return, we’ll be ready for them.”

“What do they want?”

He looked at her as though she were daft. “What they’ve always wanted. Our flocks. Our crops. Our women.”

“Why don’t they have their own?”

“Bloody barbarians would rather pillage and steal from us than do the work involved to prosper.”

“Why do you wait for them to attack? Why not send your warriors out to find them before they wreak their havoc?”

Again that arched look before he smiled. “I promised my people peace and prosperity. It is not our way to take from others. But we will die before we will give in to the barbarians. It is my sworn duty to protect my people, my flocks, and my land from invaders. You and they would think little of their laird if I did not. And I would rather die than have you think ill of me, my beloved. Now that I know you’re safe, I’ll see them all routed from these shores.” He rubbed idly at his shoulder, giving Laurel the opportunity she’d been waiting for.

“You’re losing too much blood. Let me tend that wound.” She eased herself from the settee and glanced around the room. Spying a basin and pitcher, she motioned him to follow her.

With a sigh of resignation he crossed the room and plunged his arms into the basin while she poured water over the wound. “Woman, have you no heart? You know what I want.”

“And I want…” To wake from this nightmare, she thought. She bit back the words she’d been about to hurl and cautioned herself to speak with care. “…I want you strong and healthy.”

He gave her a mysterious smile that had her heart tripping over itself. “I’d be happy to show you both my strength and my health, if you’d but cooperate, wife.”

“One thing at a time.” She picked up a linen square and dried his arm, then looked around for something with which to disinfect the wound.

As if reading her mind, Con filled two goblets with ale. After handing one to her, he splashed some of his on his wound, gave a quick indrawn breath at the sharp pain, then drained his goblet.

He tore a length of linen into strips and bent close. “Here you are, my love.” His mouth brushed her cheek, causing the most amazing sensations to ripple along her spine. “You’ve always had such a light touch when tending to my needs.”

She took the linen strips from his hand. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for some antiseptic ointment and an antibiotic, not to mention a doctor to stitch this deep, bloody gash. This whole scene was so primitive. But since it was all she had, she would do what she could to stem the bleeding, and pray the wound healed without infection.

While she carefully wrapped a strip of linen around his shoulder and tied the ends, she couldn’t help but notice the perfect symmetry of his body. Despite the many battle scars that marred his flesh, his was the most beautiful body she’d ever seen. All hard, tight muscle and sinew, without the bulk of a bodybuilder. This was a lean, fit warrior, who would put the men in her New York office to shame, even though many of them spent hours each week with their personal trainers in a gym, sweating on their treadmills and exercise bikes to stay in shape.

She gathered her courage. “You are Con the Mighty? Conal MacLennan?”

“I see your memory is returning. A good sign. You had me concerned. Do you remember your name now?”

“I’ve never forgotten.” She couldn’t help grinning. “Laurel.”

“Aye. My beloved Laurel, of the Clan Douglas. What happened to you, love? Were you pushed from the tower as I’d feared?”

“I…don’t know.” She turned away to avoid those piercing eyes. How could she possibly make this man understand that she didn’t belong here? That she was caught up in some sort of mad dream, even though wide awake? “None of this makes any sense.”

At once his hands were at her shoulders, drawing her back against him. He circled his arms around her, his big hands resting just beneath the fullness of her breasts, causing a strange tingling deep inside her. She’d never known someone so powerful to be so gentle, so caring.

His words, spoken against her ear, vibrated with tenderness and passion. “You’re not to worry yourself about it, my love. The memories will come to you in time. These things often happen after a blow to the head.”

“But you don’t understand. I’m not…” She turned to him, intent upon explaining. But when she saw the look in his eyes, her mind seemed to go blank. No man had ever looked at her with such fierce, abiding love. Even if she didn’t deserve it, even if she wasn’t the one he really loved, she was helpless against such a tidal wave of feeling.

What must it be like to be completely, utterly loved? Hadn’t she always wondered? It would be so easy to pretend, for a little while, that she was the woman he really wanted. Yet she knew in her heart that it wouldn’t be fair to accept, for even one moment, the love this man meant for another. But, oh, how she wished it were so.

She took a deep breath. “There’s something you should know.”

“Aye, love?” He drew her close, his mouth pressed to a tangle of hair at her temple.

She could feel his breath, warm on her cheek. And his strong, steady heartbeat keeping time with hers. “I come from another time. Another place.”

“That would explain your strange garb.” He looked her up and down. “The barbarians took you with them and forced their clothes and customs on you.”

“The clothes are mine. I wore a business suit on the plane. And when we got here, I thought I’d just exchange the skirt for comfortable slacks while we took a tour of the castle.”

He smiled at her as if she’d just babbled in a foreign language. “How did you escape your captors?”

She sucked in a breath, determined to make him understand. “I didn’t need to escape. I was never…”

“Nay.” He touched a finger to her lips to silence her. “It matters not how you did it. It is enough that you are back where you belong. Here in my arms. Safe in my fortress. But know this. If they harmed you in any way, my love, I’ll make them pay in ways they will regret even after they lie in their graves.”

She shook her head, more determined than ever. “It isn’t like that, Conal.”

“Conal.” He gave her a wicked smile that had her heart actually fluttering. “Besides my mother, you are the only woman who dares to call me that.” He put a hand beneath her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You know what it always does to me. But then, that was your plan, love, was it not?”

“Con…” It was too late. His mouth claimed hers in a blazing kiss. As he lingered over her lips, tasting, devouring, she could actually feel the floor beneath her feet begin to dip and sway, until she was forced to wrap her arms around his waist or risk falling.

“There’s the Laurel I know and love.” He kissed the tip of her nose before lifting his head and taking hold of her hand. “You’ve tended my wound. We’ve quenched our thirst. Now, love, there is a hunger, deep and abiding, that must be fed.”

As he started toward the settee there was a quick rap on the door.

Con looked up in annoyance. “Enter.”

A young warrior with red hair, his handsome face clean-shaven, paused in the doorway, looking from Con to Laurel. For a moment he seemed so startled at the sight of her, dressed in her man-tailored slacks and white shirt, he couldn’t seem to find his voice. For the longest time he merely stared in stunned silence.

Finally he managed to say, “I see ye’ve found her.”

“Aye. Just beyond the wall of the keep. She’d managed to flee her captors and was making her way home. What is it, Duncan?”

When the man continued to stare at Laurel in silence, the warrior standing behind him pushed him aside. “Ye must come, m’laird. Our warriors caught one of the barbarians.”

“That’s grand. Bind him, lad. I’ll see to him later. There are…” Con turned to Laurel with a burning look. “…things here I must see to before I deal with him.”

The warrior gave a quick shake of his head. “Ye’d best come now, m’laird. The intruder has made wild claims that his leader knew before the attack how to breach our defenses.”

Con’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “Is he saying there’s a traitor in our midst?”

The warrior nodded. “’Twould seem so, m’laird. But you know these barbarians are sworn to never speak the truth.”

Duncan suddenly composed himself enough to say, “Leave me alone with him and I’ll get the truth out of him before I slit his throat.”

“Nay. I want him alive.” With a hiss of anger, Con released Laurel’s hand. “I’m sorry, my love. I have no choice but to deal with this immediately.”

Laurel felt a sense of elation. She’d won a reprieve. But even as the thought rushed through her mind, she wondered at the chill she felt when he released her.

Con lifted a hand to her cheek and gave her a look so loving, so tender, she could feel herself blushing. “I’ll send Brinna to tend to you until I return.”

“Brinna?”

“The lass from the village.” He took hold of her hands. “’Twill all come back to you in time.” He seemed torn between duty and desire. “I waited so long to find you. I hate to leave you for even a little while.” He surprised her by pressing a kiss to each of her palms before closing her fingers over the spot. “Until I return, hold this as a token of my love.”

He turned and strode from the room.

Laurel stood perfectly still, wondering at the way her heart behaved in response to the simple touch of this man. She ought to be terrified by this entire situation. Instead, almost from the beginning, this strange, primitive warrior had been able to put her at ease.

What patience he showed for the woman he believed to be his wife. What passion. What a deep, abiding love.

Still, she had no time for romantic notions. The capture of one of the intruders had given her a chance to escape. She dare not squander this opportunity. She would use the moment to slip away before the girl from the village arrived.

There had to be a way to get back to her own world.

She opened the door, peering around anxiously before stepping from the room.

Though she’d been too shocked to pay much attention which direction they’d taken through the darkened passageways, she was fairly certain she could find her way back. Like anyone who lived and worked in New York City, she had a keen sense of direction.

A short time later, after becoming lost in a maze of darkened passageways, and retracing her steps many times, she spied a doorway up ahead. Though it wasn’t the niche behind the tapestry, she was hopeful that it would lead to freedom. Shoving the heavy wooden door open she stepped outside and stared around in confusion.

There were no ruins. No tumbled stones. Instead, the once ancient fortress and tower now rose up like a gleaming beacon in the fading light of evening. The newer additions to the castle, which housed the five-star hotel and restaurant, were nowhere to be seen. They had completely disappeared, like ghostly wisps of fog over the loch.

She became aware of something else. An eerie silence seemed to have settled over the land. Except for the call of an occasional bird, and the hum and buzz of insects, there was no sound. No planes overhead. No cars or trucks. No curving ribbon of driveway leading to the fortress. No people milling about. No lights, except for a flickering candle at several of the tower windows, and far off, in the distance, the fairy lights of what appeared to be a village.

Civilization as she knew it had disappeared. Now there was only this towering fortress. And around it, a wild and primitive Highland wilderness.

Time hadn’t stopped; it had been reversed. Laurel could see nothing familiar or comforting. Though she looked the same, and felt the same, she had fallen into some sort of time warp, with no apparent way out.

She stared around to convince herself that she wasn’t dreaming. She could feel the breeze on her face. Could smell the dank, rich tang of freshly turned earth, and the wonderful fragrance of baking bread wafting from the castle. And she could still taste Con, strong and dark and mysterious, on her lips.

If this wasn’t a dream, if this was truly happening, it wasn’t some mere accident. Laurel was far too pragmatic for that. Hadn’t she always believed that everything that happened in life had a rhyme and reason?

How did she happen to come to this particular castle, only to learn that she shared the same name as the laird’s wife?

It had to be Fate.

But why?

Was there a mystery to be solved? A life to be saved?

Would her actions here alter the course of history? Or at least the course of the MacLennans’ history?

Deep in thought, recognizing that she had nowhere else to go, she turned and let herself back into the castle. This time she managed to find her way back to the suite of rooms with no trouble.

She stepped inside and began to pace.

She wasn’t dreaming. This was actually happening to her. But why? What was her purpose in all this? And how could she best fulfill this strange new role that had been thrust upon her?

For now, she decided, until she could find a way back to her own world, her own time, she would watch and listen and hope to learn what she was meant to do here.

She no longer feared for her life. Despite this primitive existence, she felt safe here in Con’s castle.

Con the Mighty.

Though she may be safe from the intruders, there was something else, equally dangerous. Her own foolish heart. For as handsome and intriguing as Conal MacLennan may be, he was wed to another. Trying to avoid giving in to his obvious charm may prove to be the greatest challenge of all.

“My lady.” Laurel’s musings were interrupted when the door to her chambers was opened and a young woman hurried inside carrying an armload of clothing.

“Brinna?”

“Aye, my lady.” Because her hands were occupied, the young woman nudged the door closed with her hip before laying the clothes carefully across the chaise.

When she turned, it was obvious that she was out of breath from her efforts. She was taller than Laurel by a head, with flaming hair and icy blue eyes.

She gave her mistress a brittle smile. “I didn’t believe it when the laird sent word that you’d been found.”

“And why is that?”

“You’ve been gone so long, we were certain you were dead at the hands of the barbarians.” She made it sound like an indictment, as though Laurel had somehow chosen to be kidnapped and that her return had merely created more work.

Remembering her manners, the servant gave a slight bow. “Welcome home, my lady.” Her words, spoken quickly, were anything but welcoming.

“Thank you.” Laurel glanced at the array of garments. “Are these for me?”

“Aye, my lady.” The girl was openly staring at Laurel’s strange clothing. “’Tis true then? You were indeed captured by the invaders. Did they treat you badly?”

Laurel looked away. “I’d rather not speak of it.”

“Of course. Forgive my boldness. I’m sure you’ll want nothing left to remind you of your captors.” The young woman indicated a soft, white wool gown. “You will feel better when you are dressed in your own clothing.”

While she helped Laurel out of her slacks and shirt she made disapproving sounds about the strange bra and bikini panties underneath.

“Barbarians.” She spat the word. “Why did they bind you so?”

Laurel bit back a smile and managed to shrug. “I suppose it’s their custom.”

“If you’d like, my lady, I’ll gladly toss these in the fire.”

Laurel caught her hand. “I’d rather keep them.”

“Aye. To stoke your hatred of the ones who treated you so shamefully, I’d wager.” The girl tossed the bloodstained clothing to the floor with a look of disdain before helping Laurel into fresh undergarments. A soft, delicate chemise that tied in front with ribbons. Wool hose. And finally a gown of unbleached wool, with a low, rounded neckline and long narrow sleeves that fell in little points over the backs of her hands.

When she was dressed, Brinna led her to a stool. “If you’ll sit here, I will dress your hair.”

Because there was no mirror, Laurel had no idea how her hair looked, or what the lass would do to it. Not that it mattered. What she needed was information. Something that would tell her how she’d come to be here, and how to get back home. But this girl seemed so sullen, so distant, she wondered where to begin.

“Are there any other fortresses in this area, Brinna?”

“None, my lady. For as far as the eye can see, the land belongs to none but the MacLennan Clan.”

Laurel pushed aside the little twinge of regret. She’d hoped to find yet another castle in the area that might offer a way home. A room, perhaps, that would resemble the tower stairs where she’d slipped into this other dimension.

“How long have you served the laird in his castle, Brinna?”

The girl’s hands paused in their work. “You’ve known me all my life, my lady.”

“Of course. But I can’t seem to recall…”

“Oh, aye.” The girl clapped a hand to her mouth. “The laird warned that you suffered some lapses in memory.”

“Perhaps you can help me remember, Brinna. Tell me about your…our village.”

“Ours is a prosperous village. In my grandfather’s day, our people roamed the Highlands to avoid the invaders, refusing to settle in one place. The laird persuaded us to build our huts here, for the soil is rich and the crags and hills make us impervious to attack. Under the laird’s protection our crops grow lush, and our herds of sheep grow fat. But now the barbarians have once again found us, and there is talk among the villagers of leaving this place and seeking a haven elsewhere.”

“Where would they go?”

Brinna shook her head. “I know not where.”

“Don’t they trust their laird to protect them?”

The girl’s voice held a trace of anger. “When you disappeared, the very heart seemed to go out of our laird. He could think of nothing except finding you. Because of it, he could no longer look out for the welfare of his people. When he left on his quest to find you, he charged his half brother with the care of the castle and our village and even of your son until he returned.”

Laurel’s head swiveled. “I have a…?” She paused to consider her words more carefully. “My son? Is he here in the castle?”

“Aye, my lady. In the chambers of the laird’s half brother, Fergus, and his wife, the lady Dulcie.”

“When will I see him?”

“My lady Dulcie insists that the lad bathe before he comes to you.”

Laurel started to rise. “He doesn’t need to be clean. I want to see him now.”

“Soon.” None too gently, Brinna eased her back to the stool. “Donovan rode with his uncle and the warriors during the attack, and they spent many days in the forest. The lad returned looking more like a barbarian than a Highlander.”

“He rode with the warriors? How old is Donovan?”

Brinna’s hands went still. “Why, he is ten and two, my lady.”

Twelve. She’d expected a two-or three-year-old.

Laurel sensed the girl’s disapproval over the fact that she couldn’t even recall her own son. To cover her unease, she began firing questions at Brinna. “Do Fergus and Dulcie have children?”

“Alas, they have not been blessed with wee ones of their own. But they lavish much love on your son.”

“Is Fergus as capable a warrior as the laird?”

Brinna’s voice rang with pride. “No warrior compares to the laird. Not even the laird’s man-at-arms, Duncan, though they are old and dear friends.” The girl paused. “Not that any of us blame my lord Fergus for his lack of battle skills. He wasn’t privileged to learn to be a warrior from his father as was the laird. Nor could he be faulted that the barbarians chose this time to attack us. They couldn’t have known that our laird was away, searching for his wife. But because of the laird’s distraction, the invaders managed to inflict much pain and death before they were driven off. The entire village is rejoicing at the knowledge that our laird has returned, for it was surely his presence that caused the last of the invaders to flee.”

Her words had Laurel’s mind working overtime. The warrior with Duncan had told Con that there may be a traitor in their midst. That could mean that it had been no coincidence that the attack had come when the laird was distracted.

Could it be that the plot went deeper than that? Had someone deliberately pushed the laird’s wife from the tower and spirited away the body, hoping that Con the Mighty would be so distraught that his people would be easily overcome without his leadership? If the love of the laird for his lady had been common knowledge, there were many who could have predicted his reaction to such a loss.

Or had she been watching too many cop shows on TV recently? The clever detectives always uncovered hidden agendas among the petty crooks and thieves who preyed on the good and the helpless. But, Laurel reasoned, evil was evil, whether in the fifteenth century or the twenty-first. And most crimes were committed for simple reasons. Greed. Passion. Jealousy.

Was someone jealous of Con? Of his position as laird, perhaps? Had someone lusted after his wife? Not likely, since they’d used her disappearance to distract him. But then, she could have been cooperating with his rival. Still, Laurel couldn’t help but believe that a man who loved as deeply as Con the Mighty would be deeply loved in return. She found it hard to believe that the Laurel he adored so completely would betray him.

If not his wife, then someone close to him. Someone he trusted, who could cooperate with the barbarians without fear of being discovered.

What did Con have that someone else might want? From what little she’d seen, he shared his wealth with all the clan. This fortress was open to all the villagers. In times of siege, this was their home. They shared their crops and herds.

If not possessions, perhaps power? Did someone else hope to be laird? Since a Highland laird was chosen by the will of the people, that would require turning his people against him.

Some might see his search for his wife as abandonment of the people who depended on him. Would that be cause enough for them to turn against him?

Laurel decided to pursue this angle, and see where it led.

“Are there places in your village that I frequently visit?”

The girl thought a moment. “The stalls on market days. You especially enjoy the bits of ribbon and lace.”

“Market days. Conal mentioned it as the place we met as children. It sounds like a pleasant place to be.”

“It is, my lady. The entire village turns out, even the warriors and lads.”

“So Conal and Donovan go with me?”

“Aye. They wouldn’t think of missing. And though you disapprove, the laird and young Donovan always manage to find an extra coin to buy some sweets.”

Laurel began to relax. Except for the time difference, it would seem that people were the same here as they were in the twenty-first century. Working, playing, fretting over their loved ones’ health while they enjoyed a special treat.

“Where else do I frequently visit?”

“The huts of the villagers whenever a wee one is born. The women all remark on your lovely handwork. Your bonnets and coats and blankets are highly prized by the village women.”

“I sew?”

Brinna regarded her thoughtfully. “Aye, my lady. You sew a very fine seam.”

Laurel thought about the tapestry. Was there some significance there? Hadn’t she been admiring the handiwork of the women who’d made it when she’d discovered Con hiding behind it? Could his Laurel have been one of the women who’d helped to create that tapestry?

Brinna set aside the comb. “I have dressed your hair so often, my lady, and always I am pleased at the way it curves just so around your face.”

Laurel went very still. It was yet another thing she shared with Con’s wife. Neither Con nor Brinna could tell that they had an imposter in their midst.

Or was she?

What did she really know about reincarnation? The theory had long fascinated her. The thought of returning, to live one’s life again, and being given the opportunity to right some of the wrongs, was something she’d often played with in her mind. But it had always been mere fantasy. She’d never given serious thought to it.

Hadn’t she always felt a particular kinship with ancient Scotland, especially the Highlands and this castle? But her love for this place had developed because of her grandmother’s bedtime stories. They had simply fueled a little girl’s imagination.

Or had there been more to it than that?

After a lifetime of Highland lore, she could no longer tell which came first—her love of all things Scottish or the intriguing tales her grandmother wove that whetted her appetite for more.

Could she actually be the missing wife of Con the Mighty? Had she once lived in this long-ago era?

How else to explain the disappearance of the modern sections of the castle, and the reemergence of the ancient keep? She certainly wasn’t imagining the fact that life as she’d known it had been swept away in the blink of an eye.

She lifted her hands to rub her temples, where the beginning of a headache throbbed. There were too many theories, too many possibilities, whirling through her mind. And all of them troubling.

This mind of hers, always able to see all sides to an argument, always willing to look at all the possibilities of a thorny issue, had helped her climb to the very top of the corporate chain. But there were times when it was a curse instead of a blessing.

“I see you are suffering one of your spells.”

“Spells?” Laurel’s head came up sharply.

“Those sudden pains in your head. You’ve suffered them since you were a lass. That is why many in the village fear you as a witch.”

“They do?”

She turned to see a look in the girl’s eyes that had her puzzled. It wasn’t so much fear as wariness.

Again she pressed her hands to her temples. “You know I’m no witch, Brinna.”

“Here.” Brinna took Laurel’s hands and lowered them to her lap, before pressing her own fingers to Laurel’s temples and massaging gently.

Laurel leaned back and gave a sigh of pure pleasure. “Oh, that feels heavenly.”

“’Tis what I’ve always done to soothe you, my lady.”

With her eyes closed, Laurel tried to clear her mind. But the thought of all her similarities with the laird’s wife continued to taunt her.

Was it possible that she had once been Laurel of the Clan Douglas, who lived in the fifteenth century, as wife to Con the Mighty, Laird of the MacLennan Clan?

Had something happened to cause her to somehow become mired in a kind of limbo, lost between centuries?

If so, what had brought her back now? Was there some critical event about to happen that required her participation?

Would she be given the chance to do something good? Something noble?

Maybe it wasn’t about her at all, but rather this laird. Would she be the one to urge Con to travel a path he wouldn’t otherwise consider? A path that might forever change his life and reverse the course of history?

Or…a nagging little thought tormented her…was she simply losing her mind?

Laurel and Brinna looked up at the sound of a quick rap on the door.

It was thrown open and a lad came rushing in, looking much the way a puppy would, all happy and wriggling with excitement. Quick as a flash, he crossed the room and flung himself into Laurel’s arms.

“Mother! I couldn’t believe it when I heard the news. Father and I have been so worried. What happened? Where have you been? We’ve been looking…”

“Donovan.” A woman stood framed in the doorway, watching with a look of disapproval. Though she didn’t raise her voice, her tone was pure ice. “I told you not to ask too many questions. Remember what the laird said. Your mother suffered a blow to the head that has left her frail.”

“Sorry.” The boy quickly straightened.

Before he could pull away, Laurel caught his hands and held him to her. “Nonsense. I’m not at all frail. Just forgetful. Now, let me look at you.”

He was the image of his father. Tall and straight as a young sapling, with dark hair curling softly around his shoulders. He shared his father’s eyes as well. Dark and piercing, with a hint of teasing humor in their depths. The length of plaid he wore belted at the waist revealed thin arms and legs, with just the beginnings of muscles. Any mother, Laurel thought, would be proud of such a fine, handsome son.

“Oh, you look so good.”

Her words brought back his smile, warming her heart as nothing else could.

She turned her attention to the woman in the doorway. She was young, plump as a ripe peach, with pale hair that fell in corkscrew curls to below her waist. Her eyes looked a little too wide, a little too wary, as though they were beholding a ghostly specter. She wore a pale woolen gown loosely belted, with a dagger tucked into the sash at her waist. Had all the women of the keep adopted this fashion since the invasion? Or did she fancy herself a female warrior? Except for the dirk, she looked too pale, too utterly feminine to do battle.

“You would be Dulcie.”

The woman stepped closer, lips pursed in disapproval. “You remember?”

Laurel gave a quick shake of her head. “Not really. But Brinna has told me that you and Fergus have been caring for Donovan, and for that I’m so very grateful.”

The woman dismissed her gratitude with a wave of her hand. “Why wouldn’t we care for him? We are, after all, family. We could not love Donovan any more if he were our own son.”

Laurel squeezed the lad’s hand. “I can see why.”

Dulcie studied Laurel with a critical eye. “How is it that you managed to escape the barbarians, when so many others perished at their cruel hands?”

“I wish I knew.” Laurel pressed her fingertips to her temple, where a shadow of the headache lingered.

Seeing it, Dulcie took a step back. “I can see that you are not yet recovered. We will leave you.”

As she started to turn away, Laurel placed a hand on the boy’s arm. “Stay awhile, Donovan. I want to hear all about…” She hesitated, then amended, “…all the things you’ve been doing while I was gone.”

Dulcie’s voice was sharp. “You need your rest. The laird will be furious if he learns that the lad stayed overlong and made you weary.”

Laurel’s voice was equally insistent, though she fought to keep any sign of impatience from her tone. The last thing she wanted was a catfight between herself and this woman who might prove to be a valuable ally. “I assure you, nothing will soothe me as much as a visit with my son.” She emphasized the last words, leaving no doubt that she had no intention of letting the lad go.

“You will remember not to tire your mother.” Dulcie shot him a warning look before taking her leave.

Brinna made ready to stay, until Laurel suggested that she and her son wished to be alone.

The young servant hesitated in the doorway. “Shall I bring you and Donovan refreshments, my lady?”

“Thank you. That would be grand.”

As the girl hurried away, Laurel turned to Donovan. “At last. Now that there are no distractions, we can speak freely. I want to hear all about you. Tell me everything.” At his quizzical look, she amended, “Tell me everything you’ve done since I’ve been away.”

The lad settled down at her feet, his eyes grave. “Father and I were so worried when we couldn’t find you. I begged to be allowed to join him in the search, but he ordered me to stay with my uncle.”

“He was only looking out for your safety, Donovan. It was hard enough losing a wife. Think of a father’s pain if his son should disappear, as well.”

“Aye. That’s what Father told me. But I hated having to be here, knowing you were lost somewhere in the forest, and at the hands of those wicked barbarians. All I wanted was to be with you. To comfort you. To protect you. If I’d been there, I’d have fought them as Father taught me, until there were none left to harm you.”

Laurel felt her heart melt at his vehemence. What woman could ask for more than such devoted love?

“Don’t dwell on it. I’m home now.” She touched a hand to his head. “Where were you when the barbarians invaded?”

He looked up, eyes bright with excitement. “I was asleep in the chambers of my uncle. I awoke to hear the cry of alarm that they were storming the fortress. At first I thought I was surely dreaming. No barbarians would dare enter the fortress of Con the Mighty. But then the voices grew louder, and it was impossible to ignore the battle cries.”

He lowered his voice. “Had it not been for the many villagers who had taken refuge here at the keep while Father was away searching for you, all would have been lost. Somehow the invaders had slipped past the guards and were already fanning out along the many passageways. A village woman, awakened through the night by the cry of her babe, was the first to spy a barbarian, and sounded the alarm. ’Twas taken up by other women and children, and then by their men. The ensuing battle was fierce and bloody. When we rousted them, Uncle Fergus permitted me to ride with him on the chase through the forest, hoping to capture some of the invaders alive.”

“Would your father have approved you being exposed to such danger?”

The boy laughed. “You and Father are far too protective. As Uncle Fergus was quick to point out, I’m more man than boy now. If I’m ever to learn the ways of a warrior, I must leave the safety of the fortress and ride with the men into battle.”

Laurel could see the pride burning in his gaze, and felt a sudden flash of worry. Despite the dangers, he was absolutely fearless. Leave it to the young to feel so invincible. He didn’t see the danger of facing the swords of the invaders. He saw only the adventure, the pride in having taken part in securing his father’s fortress.

A few years from now, when he’d had his fill of bloody battles, his words would no doubt come back to haunt him.

Even though he wasn’t hers, she couldn’t help but worry about what the future held for this lad, and for all the lads of the village, who would have a lifetime of wars ahead of them. Scotland’s history was a bloody one. Barbarians from across the sea. The British just beyond their borders. And even their own. Clan against clan. But how could she possibly warn him, when all of those threats had not yet come to be? There was no way she could explain her knowledge of the future to this innocent lad. And so, though it cost her to keep silent, she decided to change the subject.

“Do you get on well with your uncle and aunt?”

The lad nodded. “Well enough. Except when my aunt speaks against my father.”

Laurel’s interest was instantly piqued. “Why would she do such a thing?”

“It isn’t only my aunt. She claims that many in the village feel that Father was not doing his duty to his people by deserting them in their hour of peril. But as I pointed out, Father had no way of knowing when or if the barbarians would attack. He knew only that his life would be meaningless without you, Mother.”

Laurel huffed out a breath. “That should have been obvious to them. To anyone who dared criticize Conal for what he did.”

Seeing her sudden flash of temper, the boy chuckled. “I should have known what your reaction would be. You have always been Father’s fiercest defender.”

She blushed. “Have I?”

“Aye. The love you share is spoken of with great interest by all. It makes me proud to hear the way the villagers speak of you and Father, and the love that burns between you.”

She met his look. “You know that you are equally loved.”

His smile was quick and radiant. “Aye, Mother. For you and Father have made it abundantly clear.”

“What do you know of the relationship between Fergus and the laird? Brinna told me that Fergus wasn’t trained in the art of battle by his father.”

“’Tis true. Father and my uncle shared the same father, but had different mothers.”

“How did Fergus come to live here?”

“When word of his mother’s death reached Father, he asked his half brother to share the shelter of his fortress.”

“How old was Fergus when he joined the laird’s household?”

“Ten and three. My uncle often reminds me that he was the sole protector of his mother until she died. By the time he was brought to live in the laird’s fortress he needed no one to come to his aid. But he is grateful that Father is willing to share his home and his clan, for his life alone with his mother was a lonely time for him.”

Laurel’s mind was working overtime. It seemed the classic sibling rivalry scenario. The successful brother, doted on by both mother and father. The outcast, craving the love of a father, and now, though sharing the brother’s largesse, still smarting from those years of neglect. “Do you sense that Fergus resents the years he was forced to care for his mother, without benefit of a father?”

“I know not. He rarely speaks of those days.”

They both looked up at a sharp rap on the door.

It was opened to reveal a warrior poised in the doorway.

At once Donovan was on his feet. “Uncle.”

Intrigued, Laurel studied the man who was staring at her with such open curiosity.

At the sight of her, his jaw had dropped. “I’d not have believed had I not seen with my own eyes.”

Fergus looked nothing like his half brother. Where Con was tall and dark, Fergus seemed pale by comparison, with fair hair that fell to his shoulders, and eyes the color of a cloudy sky. He wasn’t nearly as tall as Con, but he was broad in the trunk and shoulders, and his arms rippled with finely honed muscles.

Laurel could imagine those strong arms wielding a dirk or broadsword with deadly accuracy.

“Fergus. Will you join us?” She held out her hand, but he remained in the doorway, his face registering no pleasure at the sight of her. If anything, he seemed to be regarding her with open suspicion.

“My lady.” He gave a slight bow. “The laird said you are not yet recovered from your ordeal.”

“I’m fine, as you can see.”

“It is customary for the barbarians to render their captives unable to escape, either by breaking their legs, or otherwise inflicting enough pain that they have no choice but to remain.”

“Then I consider myself indeed fortunate to be here.”

Abruptly he composed himself and turned to the lad beside her. “Your father summons you to join him in the stables.”

The boy’s face came alive with delight. “Does this mean we will resume our search for the barbarians?”

“I know no more than you. I was in the village when a rider ordered me to return to the fortress. Come, lad. It wouldn’t do to keep the laird waiting.”

Donovan paused to brush a kiss over Laurel’s cheek. “Forgive me, Mother. I must go.”

“Of course you must.” She closed his hand between both of hers. “I so enjoyed our visit, Donovan. Promise me you’ll return.”

“Aye. Though I know not when. I am at the bidding of my father.” He shot her a radiant smile before following his uncle from the room.

As the door closed behind him, Laurel leaned her head back and closed her eyes, deep in thought.

Of the people she’d met thus far, there were only two she felt she could trust completely. Con and Donovan. Father and son. Both had been desperate to find their long-lost Laurel. And both were elated at her return.

It was impossible to fake that kind of love. The man and boy were deeply devoted to the lady Laurel.

The same couldn’t be said for the others. Brinna, Dulcie, and Fergus all seemed not only astounded by her sudden reappearance, but also somewhat dismayed by it. Which only suggested to her that one or all of them may have had a hand in the disappearance of the laird’s wife.

Still, she could be wrong. They could be simply too overcome to express their true emotions. Which would mean there could be others who had been involved in the lady Laurel’s disappearance.

Until she could learn more about these people who surrounded Conal and Donovan, she intended to trust no one but herself. She would watch and listen. And learn all she could about the secrets they kept hidden in their hearts.

She was more and more convinced that this thing that had propelled her back in time was no mere accident. She was here for a reason. Perhaps she was sent here to help Con the Mighty determine the identity of the traitor in their midst. Or maybe she was meant to use her knowledge of the future to educate his people in some area in which they were lacking.

Whatever the reason, she had no doubt it would be revealed to her in time.

For now, she must be cautious. She must be attentive to all that was said. And to all that was left unsaid, as well.

She struggled to ignore the tiny thread of uneasiness that curled along her spine.

Someone had gone to great pains to get rid of the laird’s wife. The first Laurel may be already lying dead somewhere in a shallow grave. If that were the case, for as long as she continued to pretend to be that woman, her life was equally in danger.

She had no doubt that those who’d been willing to kill once wouldn’t hesitate to kill again, given the opportunity.

And so she would watch and listen, and do all she could to protect herself until this dream, this nightmare, this…crazy twist in time was resolved.

“My lady.” Brinna glanced around in puzzlement. “Is the lad gone, then?”

“I’m afraid so. He was summoned to join his father in the stables.”

The serving girl set down the tray she’d retrieved from the refectory. “Cook baked Donovan’s favorite scones.”

“I’m sure he’ll happily devour them as soon as he returns.”

Brinna straightened. “Cook sends word that she and the servants are planning a lovely banquet this eventide to welcome you home, my lady.”

“Thank them for me, and tell them I look forward to it.”

The girl understood that she was being dismissed. “Aye, my lady. Will you rest now?”

Laurel nodded and pretended to stifle a yawn. But as soon as she was alone, she moved around the suite of rooms, hoping to learn anything she could about the woman who had recently occupied them.

Atop a small cabinet she found needles and a skein of yarn. In a drawer were a series of brushes and pots containing various plant and tree dyes. It would appear that the laird’s wife had also been an artist. Laurel thought about the tapestry, and the lovely drawings set amid the embroidery, depicting everyday life in the castle. She was convinced that some of the work on that tapestry had been done by Laurel’s hand.

Intrigued, she opened a wardrobe and studied an array of gowns, both day-and nightwear, as well as a shawl, a bonnet, and several lengths of ribbon that would have been useful as colorful sashes. Holding each gown to her, Laurel realized that she and the laird’s wife had been the same size. That should hardly surprise her, since everyone who had seen her so far had mistaken her for the missing woman. Still, now that she was touching Laurel’s clothes she was once more reminded of the fact that this was not some harmless game. While she was here, feeling safe and pampered, the laird’s wife was being held somewhere against her will. Or worse, dead—her abductors smug in the knowledge that their victim would never be able to reveal their villainy.

Except that she was back, and walking among them.

Whether they believed in ghosts, or bought into her story of an injury-induced lapse of memory, sooner or later, they would feel compelled to dispose of her, in order to protect their involvement in this wicked scheme.

While Conal and Donovan were rejoicing in her safe return, they might be tempted to relax their guard. She could afford no such luxury. She would have to remain alert to every danger. Not the least of which, she thought with a sigh, was the laird’s determination to take her to his bed. If it weren’t for Laurel’s damnable sense of right and wrong, that much, at least, could have been satisfying indeed. But the thought of lying with a man while his wife was in grave peril was repugnant to her. And since she couldn’t make him believe that she was not his beloved Laurel, this promised to be the most dangerous threat of all.

She looked up when the door was thrust open and the man she’d just been thinking about stepped into the room.

His eyes were narrowed in thought, his mouth a grim, tight line of concentration.

“What is it, Conal? What did you learn from the prisoner?”

“Not nearly enough. With my sword at his throat, he admitted that he’d known in advance how to slip past the guards, and which passageways would take him to the chambers of the villagers, so that they could be silenced before sounding the alarm. But he denied knowing the name of the one who’d given such information, claiming that only his leader had that knowledge.” Con tossed aside his sword and dirk and filled a goblet with ale, drinking deeply.

“Do you believe him?”

He shrugged. “When a man is about to die, he has no reason to speak falsehoods.”

“Where is the prisoner now?” She held her breath, wondering if the blood on Con’s sword belonged to the unfortunate prisoner.

“I left him with Fergus and Duncan. Fergus is convinced that he can make the barbarian give up his secrets.”

Laurel felt an involuntary shudder at the thought of what the prisoner would be forced to suffer. “And if he’s telling the truth and truly doesn’t know the name of the traitor?”

Another shrug of those powerful shoulders. “Then he will welcome his death.”

Laurel had a sudden fear. “What about Donovan? Dear heaven, you didn’t leave him there to witness such brutality?”

Con managed a smile. “Always the fierce she-bear when it comes to our son. Have no fear, my love. I sent Donovan to the village to fetch the apothecary.”

“For your wound?” Without thinking, she touched a hand to the clean linen that bound his shoulder.

He closed a hand over hers. “Nay, love. For yours.”

“Mine?” She tried to draw away, but he held her fast. “I have no need of any medicine.”

“I want the apothecary to see to the blow to your head. Brinna told me that you could not even recall our son.”

“It was…” Laurel’s mind raced. “It was a momentary lapse. Nothing more. I’m a little confused. But I certainly don’t need anyone examining my head.”

“Then you’ll submit to it for my sake.” He gathered her close and pressed his mouth to a tangle of hair at her temple. “I cannot bear the thought that you’ve been harmed by those barbarians, my love.”

She tried to ignore the sizzle of heat that curled along her spine, but it was impossible. Though she had no right to his affection, she was being drawn ever closer to the heat of his passion. Sooner or later she was bound to become incinerated.

What a way to die.

She felt the bubble of laughter rising up to her throat as she wrapped her arms around his waist and decided to stop fighting it and just give herself up to the pleasure. Pushing aside the nagging little guilt that tugged at the edge of her conscience, she lifted her face for his kiss.

“Did I call you a she-bear?” He brushed her lips with his. “I should have said vixen.”

She was about to make a teasing reply when she felt his quick intake of breath a moment before he crushed her to him and kissed her with such intensity, she had no choice but to give herself up to it.

And then she was lost.

Lost in a haze of sensations unlike anything she’d ever before experienced. How could one man’s lips bring so much pleasure? At once sensual and worshipful. As though she were the most alluring goddess ever created. Whispering over her face, her neck, her throat. Promising a banquet of delights. And his hands. Those big, warrior’s hands that could wield a sword with such power now moved over her as softly, as gently, as though she were fragile glass. His fingers sought out each line and curve of her body with the absolute certainty that every part of her belonged to him.

They were so lost in each other it took them a moment to realize that the door to their chambers had opened.

Two heads came up sharply. Two chests rose and fell as they struggled for each ragged breath.

Duncan stood in the doorway, looking completely unapologetic about having violated the laird and his lady’s intimacy.

“M’laird.” He gave a quick bow of his head, though his gaze remained on Laurel. “Yer presence is requested in the great hall.”

“Nay, my friend. Tell Cook that Laurel and I will sup alone in our chambers. I’ve yet to welcome my wife properly.” Con kept his arms around Laurel, holding her when she attempted to draw away.

Seeing that he was being dismissed, the handsome young warrior cleared his throat. “The staff and villagers have planned a banquet to celebrate the lady’s return.”

Though Con said not a word, Laurel could hear the growl of frustration in his words. “Is there no way to stop this?”

Duncan gave a shake of his head. “The hall is already filled with villagers, ready to feast. ’Twould be an insult to send them home now.”

“Aye.” Reluctantly, Con released Laurel and gave a wry smile. “Come, my love.” He caught her hand and led her out the door and along yet another hallway. As they walked, he leaned close to whisper, “I dare not curse the Fates that are keeping us apart, since those same Fates brought you safely home, wife. Besides, sooner or later, the others will need their beds. And when they do, I’ll show you all the love I’ve been storing up just for you.”

Laurel found herself shivering, and wondered whether it was caused by fear or anticipation.

 

When they reached the great hall, they were joined by a beaming Donovan, who emulated his father and offered his arm to his mother.

“The apothecary is here, Father.”

“For now, he’ll join in the celebration, and see to his work another time.”

Con’s words had Laurel relaxing. She’d been given a reprieve.

As she stepped through the doorway of the great hall, Laurel realized with a start that she hadn’t been at all prepared for the pageantry of the occasion. A bonfire of burning logs blazed on a hearth at either end of the room, casting a fiery glow over all. The room was filled to overflowing with men and women seated at long tables, while serving wenches scurried about filling goblets. There were shouts and bursts of raucous laughter that erupted around the hall. But when Laurel was spotted standing between her husband and son, the voices became a roar like thunder that threatened to shake the very timbers soaring high above.

“Welcome, m’lady.”

“Here she is now. Welcome home, Lady Laurel.”

“To our lady.”

Goblets were lifted. Men raised their swords in a salute, while many of the women wiped away tears of joy as she moved slowly through the crowd.

Against her ear, Con whispered, “See how they love you?”

Laurel ignored the rush of heat as his breath fluttered the hair at her temple. “From the sound of them, I’d say the ale has been flowing freely for some time.”

He chuckled. “And why not? They’ve fretted and suffered right along with their laird. Now is the time to celebrate our good fortune.”

A little girl rushed forward and thrust a bouquet of wildflowers into Laurel’s hands. Touched, she knelt and drew the child close while pressing a kiss to her cheek.

When she straightened, she saw the girl’s parents openly weeping.

What had Con’s wife done to make these people love her so? Laurel thought about Brinna’s words. It would seem that, despite living an ordinary life, visiting neighbors on market day, knitting a little coat and bonnet for a new baby, the lady Laurel had found a way to endear herself to the villagers.

Was there a lesson here? Had she ever really cared about the needs of her friends, or had she squandered all her energy on the pursuit of her career? Did she have anyone in her life willing to abandon everything to search for her? Would her friends openly weep if she were to return after a mysterious absence?

There was no time to ponder such things. Con and Donovan led her through the throngs to a table set on a raised wooden dais, so that it could be seen by all in the room. They climbed the steps and Con held her chair, then took his place at the head of the table, with Laurel to his right and Donovan to his left.

He signaled for Fergus and Dulcie to join them. Looking pleased, they left their table and climbed the steps before taking their places beside Laurel. The warrior Duncan was likewise summoned, and he and a tall, thin woman approached. While the woman bowed slightly, Duncan introduced her to Laurel as his betrothed, Mary. Before Laurel could offer a word of greeting, Mary reached out and caught both her hands, lifting them to her lips.

“Praise heaven that you’ve returned to us safely, m’lady. I felt as if I’d lost my own dear sister. And now you’re back, and we have reason to smile again.”

“Thank you, Mary.” Overcome, Laurel had to swallow the lump that threatened to choke her.

Beside her, Fergus studied her with a keen eye. “You look pale, my lady. Are you not yet recovered?”

“Perhaps just a bit overwhelmed.” She lifted a goblet to her mouth and drank, hoping the ale would settle her nerves.

With Con on her left and his half brother on her right, Laurel was able to observe them in close proximity for the first time. While servants moved slowly about the room, offering trays of plump partridge, thick slices of mutton, and bright red salmon, freshly caught in the nearby river, the two men spoke in solemn, hushed tones.

Fergus looked past her to his brother. “The barbarian died without another word.”

Con nodded. “I expected as much. If he knew more, he’d have spoken of it rather than lose his life.”

“I wasn’t quite finished with him, but Duncan had had enough, and ended his life before I could ask more.” Fergus studied his half brother. “Will you lead an army to find the invaders?”

Con stared out over the crowd. “I haven’t the heart to ask these men to leave their families once more, when they’ve only now returned.”

Fergus frowned. “Could it be that you’re not willing to leave your own family, now that what was lost has been returned to you?”

Laurel turned to glance at Con’s face, but instead of taking offense at the taunt, he merely smiled and touched a hand to Laurel’s cheek. “Would you be willing to leave such as this, brother?”

Fergus, close beside her, heard his wife’s hiss of annoyance and turned to her before saying to his brother, “Then perhaps you’d allow me to lead an army against the barbarians while you…grow soft in your pleasures.”

Con’s eyes narrowed, the only sign of annoyance. “We will speak no more of war this night. Have you forgotten that this is a time of celebration?”

“I forget nothing.” Fergus glanced over his shoulder at a serving girl offering a basket of bread still warm from the oven, and scones drizzled with honey.

Filling his own plate and that of his wife, Fergus turned away from Laurel and bent to Dulcie. The two spoke in low tones, and though Laurel couldn’t hear the words, she had the sense that their voices bore traces of anger.

Throughout the meal, tankards were filled again and again. The more the crowd drank, the louder grew their laughter. And the bolder became the villagers, as one after another of the men got to his feet to sing the praises of the lady Laurel, and to drink to her health.

At one point, Con signaled for Brinna to approach.

At his whispered command, she touched Donovan on the shoulder. “I’ll take you to your chambers now.”

The boy turned to his father. “Do I have to leave?”

“Aye. A young warrior needs his sleep.”

“But I’ll miss the rest of the speeches.”

Con laughed. “When you’ve heard one, lad, you’ve heard enough. Go now.”

The boy obediently nodded, before bending to kiss his mother’s cheek. “Good night, Mother. I’ll come to your chambers on the morrow.”

Laurel watched as he followed the serving girl from the hall, and wondered at the curious warmth around her heart. Though he wasn’t really hers, she felt a glow just looking at him.

“We’ve raised a fine son.” Con’s voice rang with pride.

Again, that sudden warmth, though she knew she had no right to this man’s praise.

After some urging by Dulcie, Fergus stumbled to his feet. At once a hush fell over the crowd.

Fergus turned to his brother and the woman beside him. His words were halting at first, and it was clear that he felt awkward speaking to the crowd. “Let us drink to the laird, who was inconsolable at the loss of his beloved wife.”

The crowd was on its feet, shouting and draining their tankards, while servants scurried about, refilling them.

“And let us drink to the lady Laurel, who has returned to her rightful place beside her husband, and has restored the laird’s happiness.”

Again there was much shouting and drinking.

Con leaned around Laurel to clasp his brother’s hand. “I thank you, Fergus. It warms my heart to know that you share my happiness.”

Fergus looked glum. “’Twas Dulcie’s suggestion. For me, the happiness is clouded by the knowledge that the invaders go free, while we make merry in this place.”

“There is time enough to make war, my brother.” Con closed a hand over his brother’s clenched fist. “We will speak again on the morrow. But for tonight…” He stood, and the crowd fell silent. Catching Laurel’s hand, he drew her up to stand beside him. “I am thankful to the gods who have restored my heart to me. My wife and I are thankful for your love and loyalty. Now we retire to our chambers.”

There was much laughter and knowing looks.

Con held up his hands for silence. “As for the rest of you, let the feasting continue through the night.”

The crowd gave a roar of approval. Amid much clapping and stomping of feet, he led Laurel down the steps and through the great hall until, when the massive doors closed behind them, the sound of the crowd became little more than a low rumble.

Together they climbed the stairs to their chambers. As they stepped through the doorway and closed the door, Laurel found herself nearly trembling with the raw emotions assaulting her.

Most troubling to her was the knowledge that she wished, more than anything in this world, that she could give in and enjoy the pleasures this man was planning.

This man, who was another woman’s husband.

It was a thought that greatly troubled her even while the man himself was more tempting than anyone she’d ever known in this world.

Or in the world she’d left far behind.

A fire burned in the hearth. It was the only light in the room, sending flickering shadows dancing across the walls and ceiling. The fragrance of evergreen and wood smoke perfumed the air.

Con took Laurel’s hand and led her through their chambers and past a closed door into a room beyond, where a figure lay amid a tangle of animal hides.

Staring down at the sleeping lad, Con squeezed her hand. “Each time I behold what you and I made together, my love, my heart is filled to overflowing. Is he not perfect?”

Too overcome to speak, Laurel merely nodded. How many times had she had just such a vision in her mind? A vision of standing, hand in hand with a man and staring at the face of their sleeping child. How often had she wondered what it would feel like to be a mother? To have a special someone who would love her unconditionally? The sight of Donovan, hair tousled, face angelic, stirred her heart as nothing else ever had.

“Poor Donovan suffered the loss of you as much as I did. But I was too lost in my own grief to give him the comfort he deserved.”

Laurel touched a finger to Con’s lips to silence him. “Don’t punish yourself so harshly, Conal. The boy loves you so much that the only thing he wants is to be like you in every way.”

He surprised her by taking her hands in his and lifting them to his mouth. “That isn’t possible, for he has been shaped as much by you as by me, love. And because of you, he shall be a far better man than I. Kinder. Wiser. Stronger.”

Laurel was moved to tears. How was it that this man’s words, and the mere brush of his lips on her flesh, could have this effect?

Seeing the depth of her emotions, he led her out of the lad’s chambers and closed the door before drawing her toward the warmth of the fire.

In their sleeping chamber, which could be seen through the open doorway, the soft animal hides had been turned down on the pallet, revealing snowy white linens.

On a side table stood a decanter of pale wine and two crystal goblets.

Con filled their glasses and crossed the room to hand one to Laurel. Though she was already feeling the effects of the ale from the feast, she accepted the goblet from his hand and absorbed the heat of his touch as his fingers brushed hers.

“The villagers drank to you, my love. Now I drink to us.”

“To us.” She echoed his words and sipped, before setting aside the goblet and straightening her shoulders. “About us, Conal, there are things I have to tell you.”

“Aye, my love. And things I must tell you, as well.” He followed her lead and set his goblet beside hers. “But all the words can wait. My feelings for you cannot.”

As he reached for her she placed her hand on his chest. “You need to hear me.”

“And I shall. But first, I have to kiss you, or my poor heart will surely stop beating.” He dragged her close and covered her mouth with his, pinning her hand between them.

She could feel the pounding of his heart. Could taste the urgency as he deepened the kiss. Could sense the hunger in him as he plundered her mouth, giving her no chance to speak, or even to think.

This kiss was different from all the rest. Before, his kisses had been tempered with tenderness, gentleness. But now there was something deeper, darker. A depth of passion and need. Driving, desperate need.

Her head was spinning. The ale? Or the potency of his kisses? She wanted to be sensible. Needed to be. For she owed it to him to tell him the truth about herself, now, before all was lost.

But she was quickly losing control of the situation.

“You can’t imagine the things I was thinking as I searched the forest for you, love.” He held her a little away, staring deeply into her eyes so that she could understand.

The pain she could see there left her stunned and reeling, touching a chord deep inside her soul.

“Oh, my love.” He drew her close and began pressing soft, moist kisses across her cheek, to her ear, where he nibbled and whispered, “Dear heaven, in my mind’s eye I could see you at the hands of those barbarians. Enduring pain, humiliation, death.”

“Stop, Conal. You mustn’t torture yourself with…”

He ran light, feathery kisses down her throat and across her shoulder. “You’ve no idea the images that played through my mind. They caused me greater anguish than any wound I’ve ever endured in battle. I would rather die at the hands of my enemies than have to bear the loss of you again.”

She struggled to catch her breath. Against her will her fingers curled into the plaid at his chest, drawing him closer. She had a desperate need to cling to him and never let go. She knew better than to give in to these feelings. This would surely lead to madness. But here she was, playing with fire. And welcoming the heat. His passion fueled her own, until she was drowning in needs.

She moaned as he changed the angle of the kiss and took it deeper. Her blood heated and pulsed as his hands, those strong, clever hands, moved over her, tempting and arousing. She felt a rush of pure adrenaline as his head dipped lower, to the soft swell of her breast. Despite the barrier of her wool gown, she could feel the heat of his lips as he began to nibble, to suckle.

She knew she’d allowed him to cross a line, but there was no fight left in her. She was weary of trying to hold back. Tired of fighting him, and her own desperate desire. The truth was, she wanted what he wanted. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to give in to the pleasure, and go with her feelings.

At her gasp of pleasure he lifted his head and kissed her long and slow and deep. Against her mouth he muttered, “The wound to my heart was far worse than any injury from an enemy’s sword or dirk. I know in my heart that if I hadn’t soon found you, my own life would have ended. I hadn’t the will to go on without you, Laurel.”

“We have to talk. There are things you need to know about me.” She sucked in a breath and brought her hands to his chest, hoping for one last chance to tell him everything, before she lost control.

But he was beyond listening. Beyond reason. Beyond anything except the passion that had become a beast inside him, fighting to be free.

“The time for words is past, my love.” With his mouth on hers he backed her against the wall and kissed her until they were both gasping for air.

She was hot. The flesh at the small of her back, where his hand was resting, was on fire. Even her blood had turned to molten lava, flowing hotly through her veins. She longed to be rid of the heavy clothes that only added to the heat.

As if reading her mind, he released her only long enough to take hold of her gown with both hands and tear it in two before allowing the remnants to fall to the floor. The sound of the fabric ripping could barely be heard above the pounding of their two hearts.

“Oh, Laurel. My beautiful, perfect Laurel. I’ll have the village women make you a score of gowns to replace this one. But I must have you now.”

With a moan she cupped his head and offered her mouth in a kiss that spoke of hunger and need and a desperate desire to forget everything except this man, this moment. She’d never known a man who could ignite such passion with but a touch.

There were dozens of arguments flitting through her mind. She was an imposter who had no right to this. And what about his right? The right to know the truth about her, and where she came from. The right to make an informed decision about the woman in his arms. Would he hate her in the morning, if she let this opportunity pass?

That thought stopped her for an instant. But as he deepened his kiss, even that last thought was swept from her mind. For now, for this moment, nothing mattered except this man, this kiss, and this hard, driving need that had taken her over the edge of reason.

He brushed soft, butterfly kisses across her shoulder, then lower, to the swell of her breast. This time, without the gown as a barrier, his mouth closed around one erect nipple.

Her knees buckled, and she would have slipped bonelessly to the floor if his hands hadn’t been holding her. Hands that moved over her with all the skill of a long-lost lover who knew every part of her as intimately as he knew himself.

“You’re so beautiful, Laurel. My wife. My life. And you’re mine. All mine.”

Stunned, she clutched at him as he found her, hot and moist, and drove her to the first stunning peak.

“I love watching you. In the firelight you look like a goddess. My goddess of love.” His mouth moved over her body, making her tremble with need.

She was desperate to touch him as he was touching her. She reached a hand to tug aside the plaid. It slid to the floor to join her gown.

“Conal.” She struggled to speak over a throat gone dry at the sight of him. His body, lean and muscled, took her breath away. But it was his eyes that held her. Eyes dark and dangerous that seemed to see into her very heart, stripping her soul as bare as he’d stripped her body.

The darkness, the danger in those eyes excited her as much as any touch.

Trembling, she offered her lips and he took them with a fierceness that startled them both. And then they were lost in a swirling tide of pleasure.

The world beyond this room no longer mattered. The invaders, bent on destruction, and the traitor who had invited their evil, would be dealt with another time. The revelers in the great hall, consuming copious amounts of food and ale and sending up an occasional cheer, were forgotten. The world Laurel had left, and the strange one she’d entered, faded as they came together in a firestorm of passion.

No man had ever touched her like this. With lips and tongue and fingertips. One moment so gently she felt like weeping. The next, in a frenzy that had her pulse racing, her breath backing up in her throat. Taking her higher. Faster. Further. Until she moved in his arms, steeped in pleasure, eager to give as much as take.

With each touch of those clever hands, with each kiss, they were driven even further into the tide of madness.

Though the sleeping pallet was mere steps away, it seemed an impossible distance. He caught her hands and drew her to the floor, with only their clothes and the animal skins to cushion them.

Laurel could feel the tension humming through him. A tension that matched her own.

Driven by a need for release, she lay beside him and wrapped her arms around him, holding him to her.

“Take me, Conal. End this unbearable need.” When she lifted her face to his, he allowed his gaze to move slowly over her.

“Aye, love. ’Tis the same for me. A need too great.” His eyes were deep and unfathomable as they stared into hers. “Look at me, Laurel.”

Her eyes were fixed on him as she gave herself up to him completely.

“I want to watch you as I love you. I want you to watch me, and know this. I love you always. Not just until death, but for all time.”

When he entered her she kept her eyes steady on his, though her vision was blurred by tears. “And I…”

Her mouth opened. Her lips formed the words, but there was no time to speak as she wrapped herself around him, needing to move with him, climb with him.

Their breathing grew labored as they moved beyond words, beyond thought, beyond her world or his.

On the hearth an ember exploded into millions of tiny light fragments, mirroring the explosion of two hearts and souls as they seemed to reach the sky and shatter into millions of tiny star fragments, before drifting slowly back to earth.

It was the most incredible journey of their lives.

 

“Forgive me. I was too desperate.” Con kissed away the tears that trickled from the corner of her eye. “I couldn’t take the time with you that you deserved.”

“That isn’t why I’m weeping, Conal.” She reached up to run a finger over the frown line between his brows. “I was just so touched by your declaration of love. You see, I don’t deserve it.”

“Love is not something we deserve. It simply is. I have loved you since I was no more than Donovan’s age. I will continue to love you until these Highlands disappear from the earth. Do you not see? My love for you is never ending, Laurel.” He smiled. “My father would surely agree. The first time he met you, he told me that the lass who had stolen my heart was a very old soul.”

Laurel sat up, framing his face with her hands, staring deeply into his eyes. “Did he really say that?”

“Aye.” He grinned. “Why do you find that surprising?”

“Because my grandmother used to say that to me. She often told me that I was an old soul. I was never quite certain what she meant by it.”

“Nor I.” Con drew her down, wrapping her close in his arms. “But I like to think it means that our souls have been united since the beginning of time.” He stared into her eyes. “You’re aptly named, my love. With the light that dances in those eyes, you could be our very own mountain laurel, freshly picked from the Highland hills. I love you, my mountain laurel. Now and forever, my darling.”

She drew in a ragged breath, wondering what would happen to all his declarations of love when he learned the truth about her.

But not now. Not tonight. What they had just shared was too special, too earth-shattering, to spoil the moment. She was still so stunned by their lovemaking that she wasn’t willing to risk this glow to the harsh light of reality.

Instead, she snuggled closer, wanting, needing, to draw out these special feelings for a while longer.

When she sighed, he drew her into the circle of his arms and pressed his mouth to a tangle of damp hair at her temple. “This is where you belong, my love. Here. Safe. With your heart beating in time to mine.”

“Oh, Conal.” She buried her face against his chest, breathing him in. “If only it could always be.”

“Trust me, my love.” He moved a little away, and tipped up her face for his kiss. Against her mouth he whispered, “As long as we have our love, nothing can ever separate us again.”

And then, with tender touches and gentle kisses, he dried her tears and led her on a slow, easy journey back to that place known only to lovers.

“My love.” Con’s sleep-roughened voice, so close to her ear, had Laurel struggling to pull herself up from the deep, deep warmth of perfect contentment.

“What is it?”

“I must leave you. Duncan has alerted me that the barbarians are massing on our border.”

“Another attack?” She sat up, shoving hair from her eyes, to see Con tucking a knife into his boot before taking up his sword. “Wait, Conal. There was no time last night…” A lie, she knew. There’d been all the time in the world, for they’d spent the entire night in each other’s arms. But she had been reluctant to spoil their lovemaking with the things he needed to hear. He’d been so tender, so in tune with her every need. For this one special night she’d felt like a pampered, protected goddess.

Now she felt a sense of urgency. She would simply have to tell him her fears, and pray they didn’t fall on deaf ears. “I need to warn you.”

“As you do each time I go to battle.” He chuckled. “I’ll be watchful, my love.”

“No.” She caught his arm. “It’s more than a simple warning. I believe my presence here has a deeper meaning.”

“After the night we shared, I’d be a fool to argue with that.” She saw the teasing light in his eyes and realized that her words were lost on him.

“Conal, you must listen to me. I believe that I was sent here to save you from those who would destroy you.”

“Sent here? By the very ones who had captured you?”

“I don’t know who sent me, or how I happened to be here now. Call it Fate. But I know things that you don’t know. I want to keep you safe.”

“Are you saying you would ride at my side into battle against the barbarians just to keep me from harm?”

“I would, if I were a warrior.” It was the truth, she realized with sudden clarity. Though she had no right to his love, this man had become so important to her, she would gladly ride into battle to save him from harm. “That isn’t what I meant. The invaders aren’t the only ones bent upon your destruction.” She saw a blur of movement in the doorway, where Duncan could hardly mask his impatience to be off.

She began speaking faster. “Think about it, Conal. The prisoner hinted that there was a traitor who had betrayed you to the barbarians. Someone within your fortress wants you dead.” She took in a deep breath, determined to plunge ahead, no matter what the consequences. “I believe the traitor is your half brother.”

He recoiled as though she’d slapped him. Then, taking a breath to compose himself, he touched a hand to her cheek. “I know the two of you have been at odds before, over Donovan, and the fact that you would keep our son a wee babe forever, while Fergus is determined to shape him into a warrior. But think about it, love. Fergus pushes him to become a warrior only because he wants the best for the lad. Know this, Laurel. Though Fergus and I had separate mothers, my brother shares my blood. I would trust him, not only with my life, but with the lives of those I hold most dear.” His voice lowered, for her ears alone. “You need to sleep now, love. I gave you no time to rest at all last night, for want of my own pleasure. When we’ve vanquished the invaders, I’ll return and show you, with much more patience, just how much I love you.”

“Please listen, Conal.”

From the doorway came an impatient voice. “Ye must go, m’laird.”

“Aye, Duncan. You’ll alert the others?”

“I will.”

Conal tore himself from Laurel’s arms and strode out behind Duncan, closing the door firmly behind him.

Laurel listened to the sound of their booted feet retreating along the passageway. Too agitated to sleep, she raced to the window and watched as the Highlanders milled about the stables until their leader strode into their midst. Within minutes they’d mounted their horses and were riding out in single file, gradually disappearing into the swirls of morning mist that shrouded the lochs and fells.

She paced the floor, arms crossed, mind awhirl. Hadn’t she always considered herself a smart woman? She’d learned every trick in the book to persuade educated men, who thought they knew everything they could about every issue, to listen and accept her point of view. Yet she’d failed miserably to make the most important man in her life hear what she had to say.

The most important man in her life.

That thought caught her by surprise. When had this happened? How had she gone from New York sophisticate to medieval woman locked in the throes of love and domesticity? And why?

The why was easy enough. Conal MacLennan. Con the Mighty. He was everything a man should be, no matter the era. Strong. Brave. Gentle. Compassionate. A born leader, and yet humble enough to care about everyone under his responsibility. He had only to smile at her and she went all weak and feminine. But this wasn’t some simple, wild vacation fling. This was serious. War and its bloody aftermath. Life and death.

She’d been yanked out of her comfortable life and dropped into the fifteenth century for a reason. It seemed reasonable to believe that she had something to teach these people who had become so important in her life. And teach them she would, even if they didn’t want to learn.

To do that, she must begin by being honest about herself. To that end she discarded Laurel’s night shift and dressed in her own clothes—the lacy bra and bikini underwear, the white, man-tailored shirt and designer slacks, before slipping her feet into the sexy sandals that still bore the stain of Con’s blood.

She walked to the door and peered around. Assured that no one was about, she started along the passageway until she found the stairway to the tower.

She would return to the scene of the crime, in the hope that she would find enough incriminating evidence to prove, once and for all to Conal, and to anyone else who would listen, that her suspicions were correct.

Laurel climbed the stairs and paused with her hand on the tower door. It stood slightly ajar. Though a faint flickering light shone from within, she couldn’t tell if it came from a candle or the dawn light. Believing the room to be empty, she was about to enter when she heard the sound of whispered voices from inside.

She froze in her tracks and strained to hear.

There appeared to be two people speaking. One a man, the other a woman, and both vibrating with passion.

The woman spoke first. “You’re sure of this?”

“I know what I saw. She was dead before we tossed her body in the hole. But even if she were to revive, she could not have clawed her way out of the dirt that covered her in that grave. ’Twas far too deep.”

“Then this woman is an imposter.”

“Or the spirit of Lady Laurel, come back from the dead to avenge her death.”

There was a moment of silence, as though they were contemplating the possibility of such a thing.

“If that be so, why did she not accuse us at once?”

“Perhaps she wishes to taunt us first. Or to wait for us to take a misstep.”

“Or perhaps her mind was permanently damaged by that blow to the head.”

“There is that. Either way, an imposter or a spirit, she must be stopped.”

“How?”

“The same way we stopped her before.”

“Knowing what she does now, she would never be persuaded to climb to the tower again.”

“We will give her no choice.”

“But how…?”

“Leave it to me.” The woman’s voice was a hiss of scorn. “I know the one thing she cannot resist. Now go. And see that you do as instructed as soon as you are far enough from the fortress to be seen.”

Hearing footsteps draw near, Laurel looked around for a place to hide. Just then the door was thrown open and she found herself pinned between the heavy, wooden door and the cold, hard wall.

With her heart slamming against her ribs, she heard a servant call out a greeting. “Would ye wish to break yer fast this morrow, m’lady? M’lord?”

As they descended the stairs Laurel heard their voices, though she couldn’t see their faces.

“I’ll take a meal in my chambers.”

“I mustn’t tarry. I must join the laird on his hunt for the barbarians.”

“Aye, m’lady. M’lord.”

As they disappeared from sight, Laurel wondered if her poor heart would ever stop racing. Filling her lungs deeply with air, she stepped cautiously into the tower room, leaving the door open behind her in order to make a quick exit if necessary.

The only furnishings in the room were a rough wooden table and chair. A taper burned in a sconce along the wall, its flickering light doing little to dispel the gloom. The stone walls gave off a chill, as did the narrow windows overlooking the Highlands below. With no panes to buffer it, the wind whistled into the tower with a mournful sound.

Despite the chill, there was a stench here. Death, Laurel thought with a shudder. She studied the stone sill, and the dark stain that had spilled down onto the floor.

Blood. She was certain of it.

Just standing in this room, Laurel felt her stomach lurch. With her hands pressed to her middle, she crossed the room and paused at a window. A dark cloud crossed the sun, blocking its warmth. At once the hairs at the back of her neck prickled, sending a series of shivers along her spine.

Had she been here before? Had she met a horrible fate in the tower? Was this why she was having such a violent reaction to this place? Or was this natural, considering the bleak setting and the bone-chilling cold?

She’d been a fool to come inside. Now that the partners in crime had left the scene, she must do the same. And never come back.

As if to mock her decision, the door slammed shut with a resounding crash. She was so startled she let out a cry and went rigid with shock.

When she was able to compose herself, she took a deep breath and moved to the door. The heavy latch had slipped into place, and though she tried, she couldn’t budge it.

Had one of the two conspirators returned, only to find her here? It would have been an easy matter to slam the door and throw the wooden brace into place, locking her in.

The thought that she’d made it so easy for them to take her prisoner had her clenching her teeth in anguish. Fool, she berated herself. Stupid fool.

To dispel her fear, she stiffened her spine. “You won’t get away with this.”

She leaned her weight against the latch and felt it lift. Though her hands were trembling, she managed to turn the knob and inch the heavy door open.

It had been the wind after all.

Free of the tower room she raced down the stairs and didn’t stop until she reached the laird’s chambers.

Once inside, she felt almost giddy with relief.

“My lady.” At the sound of Brinna’s voice, she jumped, and turned to find the servant placing a tray containing meat and bread and a goblet of wine on a table.

Beyond the open door, she saw Donovan in his chambers, tossing a length of plaid over his shoulder, much the way his father had earlier that morning.

Brinna studied her mistress clad in the hated clothes of the barbarians, and was quick to note the pallor upon Laurel’s cheeks.

She lifted a brow in distress. “What has happened, my lady?”

“Nothing. I…” Laurel picked up the goblet and drank while she stalled for time. What must she look like to this simple village lass, wearing garb from another century?

As she set down the goblet, she realized that she need not explain herself. She was the laird’s woman. The mistress of the castle. “Donovan and I will take our meal on the balcony.” She picked up the tray and walked through the sitting chamber and out onto the balcony, with the lad trailing.

Brinna stood in the doorway, looking thoroughly confused. “Will you need anything more, my lady?”

“Nothing, Brinna. Thank you.”

Laurel waited until the door closed behind the servant before greeting the boy. “Did Brinna tell you that the barbarians have returned?”

“Aye, Mother.” He nibbled some bread and meat. “She said that Father and my uncle are even now battling the invaders in the Highlands. You should have awakened me. You know it is my fondest wish to be with them.”

Laurel took a deep breath. “And so you shall.”

Donovan’s eyes went wide. “You will let me go to war?”

She nodded. “And I intend to go with you.”

The boy was clearly shocked by her suggestion. “What are you saying? Father would never permit you to face the dangers on the field of battle.”

“There are things I know that I must tell your father.”

“You can tell him when he returns from battle.”

Laurel shook her head. “I fear he will never return unless I tell him what I know to be true.”

The thought had struck on her way back to these chambers. The last words spoken by the woman had sounded most ominous. The conspirators wanted Conal dead, as well as his wife. What better way than for one of his own trusted men to kill him and make it appear as though he’d been killed by the barbarians?

“Then you will tell me, and I, in turn, will carry your words to Father.”

Laurel smiled. He was so like Conal. He had a clever mind and a firm resolve. But she was equally firm. She would not be dissuaded from her plan of action this time.

Lifting a sword and knife from above the fireplace, she handed the sword to Donovan, while tucking the knife into the pocket of her slacks.

The boy stared at the sword in his hand. “This belonged to my father when he was a lad. And to his father before him.”

“Now it is yours. I know you’ll handle it with honor.” She drew in a breath. “Hurry to the stables and prepare two horses, Donovan. We ride together to your father.”

She watched as he danced away. Then she turned and began readying things she might need on the battlefield. She filled a sheep’s bladder with ale for disinfectant. She carefully folded clean linen for dressings.

Again she thought about the medical miracles available in her own world, and the amazing skills of twenty-first-century surgeons.

Time was too precious to waste on wishful thinking. Gathering her meager supplies together, she tied them into a bundle and dashed from the room, eager to join Donovan.

If indeed Conal was being led into a trap, she needed to do all in her power to arrive in time to warn him.

As Laurel raced down the stairs and out the door toward the stables, she was glad to be rid of that clumsy gown and in her own clothes. Though she’d felt elegant, almost regal, wearing Laurel’s gowns, there was something to be said for the freedom of modern slacks and a shirt.

As she drew near, she saw two horses grazing near the doors to the stable. What was Donovan thinking? They should have been saddled and ready to ride by now.

Perhaps he was accustomed to the services of a groom, who would no doubt be riding with the warriors.

She set down her bundle and hurried inside, ready to lend a hand.

“Donovan? What are you up to?”

There was no answer.

Laurel looked around. Then, spying a stall door standing open, she stepped inside. Her heart stopped. Lying in the dirt was the lad’s sword.

He’d been so proud to carry it. So eager to join the warriors in battle. There was no way he’d have willingly tossed it carelessly to the ground.

Willingly.

The word sent a splinter of ice along her spine.

Had someone accosted the laird’s son? But why?

The two in the tower room had been scheming against her and the laird. She’d never given a thought to the safety of the boy.

With a cry she turned and retraced her steps to the fortress. Once inside, she took the stairs two at a time until she was standing once more in the laird’s suite of rooms.

“Donovan.” She crossed to the boy’s sleeping chambers.

The room stood empty.

As she stormed across the room she saw a scroll. A knife had been thrust into the center of the scroll, pinning it to the lad’s sleeping pallet.

She grasped the knife and freed the scroll. The words made her blood freeze in her veins.

We have your son in the tower. Come alone or he dies.

The traitors had given her no time to seek out Conal’s help. No time to think of a plan to save the boy. Instead, they were using the invasion by the barbarians to distract Conal while they worked their evil.

That innocent’s life was in her hands. Unless she did as they bade, she had no doubt of Donovan’s fate.

As she started along the passageway that led to the tower stairs, she could feel her skin begin to crawl with the knowledge that she must once again enter that hated tower room. Everything about that room made her violently ill. Now she understood why.

After all her grand thoughts of teaching these ancient people the knowledge acquired through the ages, it all came down to the most basic of all facts.

This day she must die as she had once before, in this very place. This was her fate.

For there was no doubt that she would willingly exchange her life for the lad’s.

 

“Donovan.” Laurel flung open the tower door and cried out his name at the shocking sight that greeted her.

The lad was seated in a chair, wrists and ankles bound. Blood oozed from a cut over his eye. His eye was swollen half shut, the tender flesh already turning a sickening shade of black and blue.

It would seem the lad had put up quite a fight. Yet the woman standing behind him bore not a single mark. She’d used an accomplice, no doubt, to overpower Donovan.

As Laurel started toward the boy, Dulcie pressed the blade of her knife to his throat.

“Stay away, or I’ll slit him like a lamb to be slaughtered.”

“He’s your nephew, Dulcie. You told me you love him like your own. How can you bear to see him harmed?”

“This is your doing.” The younger woman’s words were spoken between clenched teeth. “Had you not returned, the lad would have been allowed to continue to live in his ignorance. But you’ve made that impossible.”

Laurel fought to keep her tone reasonable. “You don’t have to do this, Dulcie. Just allow Donovan to leave this place, and you can do with me what you will.”

“Oh, I have every intention of killing you.” The young woman’s eyes narrowed with fury. “But now the lad must die also. He knows too much to be allowed to live. It’s all your fault. If only you’d stayed dead.”

Donovan’s head came up sharply. “Mother, what does she mean by this?”

Laurel saw the way the knife remained firmly pressed against his throat. She needed to distract the woman from her intentions while she figured a way to free him. “Ask Dulcie.”

The lad swallowed and felt the scrape of her blade on his flesh. “You thought my mother dead?”

“I’ve been assured of her death by the one who killed her.” She glared at Laurel. “How did you escape your grave?”

Laurel took a tentative step toward her. “Perhaps I’m a spirit, come back for vengeance. Have you thought of that, Dulcie?”

The young woman instinctively stepped back before firming her resolve and moving close behind the lad again. “Spirit or no, I’ll kill him if you come closer.”

“What good will that do you? Can you honestly believe that his father will calmly accept the death of his son without seeking retribution?”

“His father will die this day before he can return to the fortress.”

Dulcie’s words cut like the knife in her hand.

Laurel saw the look of anguish in Donovan’s eyes and wondered if the same expression was mirrored in her own. “How can you be sure the barbarians will win?”

The young woman laughed. “I see that you are not as quick-witted as you claim.”

At Laurel’s puzzled look the woman’s smile grew. “War is indeed a way to end a laird’s life without question. But suppose there is no war? The wise man invents one, to cover his deed.”

“I feared as much. There is no invasion, is there?” Seeing the slight nod, Laurel caught her breath. “Conal will soon tire of the empty chase and order his men back to the fortress.”

Dulcie gave a smug smile. “Sometimes, in order to gain power, a man must first gain the trust of the one in power.” Her smile faded. Her tone sharpened. “And in order for a woman to gain the power, she must charm a man into doing her bidding.”

“This was all your idea?” Laurel studied the young woman with new interest. At their first meeting, Dulcie, pale and somewhat vapid, had struck her as surly, but not threatening. Now she was revealing herself to be both shrewd and cunning. And thoroughly evil.

“I am cursed with a man who would be content with nothing more than a hovel, as long as it was filled with his woman and pack of bairns.” She spat the word as though it were vile.

“Is that why you and Fergus remain childless?”

Dulcie merely smiled. “There are ways to prevent a babe. There are certain women in my village who know which herbs to take for such things.”

“And so you’ve withheld a child from your husband, in order to force him to do your will?”

The young woman threw back her head and laughed. “Again you prove your ignorance.”

Before Laurel could comment, Dulcie shot her a look of triumph. “I am with child. And now, my man will do whatever pleases me, if…” she added in silky tones, “…he wishes to see his bairn thrive.”

Laurel felt a wave of sickness. The evil in this room was a living, palpable thing. She no longer knew whether it was the tower or the woman standing before her. Both had the power to strip her of whatever strength she had left. But for Donovan’s sake, she needed to fight back.

Dazed, disoriented, she thought about the knife in her pocket. What good would it do her if it cost the boy his life? She had to find a way to distract this evil woman.

Dulcie lifted the blade from Donovan’s throat and used it to point to the window across the room. “You know what you must do. Go.”

When Laurel hesitated, she slid the knife across the boy’s flesh in one swift motion. He cried in pain and Laurel watched in shock as a thin line of blood began oozing from the wound.

“The next will be fatal if you disobey me again. Go to the window ledge.”

At Dulcie’s command Laurel forced herself to move, despite the fact that her rubbery legs were threatening to fail her.

She needed to get closer to Donovan and Dulcie, not farther away. But to disobey the woman’s command would cause the boy to die anyway.

With each step her mind was awhirl with ideas.

If only she could think of a way to get Dulcie to leave Donovan’s side. It was their only chance.

She had but one option. She was prepared to fight this woman to the death, if necessary, in order to spare the lad’s life.

 

Con reined in his mount. “How many did you see, Duncan?”

“A score or more, m’laird.”

“Where could they have gone?”

“Hiding in the brush, I’d wager.” Duncan urged his horse along the trail, using his sword to move aside the low-hanging branches of the trees that hugged the ground.

Fergus, riding ahead with several warriors, splashed through a stream, sending a spray of water into the air. On the other shore, he paused, and looked toward the laird before shaking his head.

The morning sun had burned off the last wisps of fog that had been hanging over the loch, leaving the sky a clear, cloudless blue.

Duncan looked up, shielding the sun from his eyes. “A fine day for fighting.”

“Or loving.” Frustrated, Con thought about the night he’d spent in Laurel’s arms. He’d wanted to spend the morning with her, kissing her awake, and then perhaps stealing yet another hour in their bed before having to face the day.

And here he was, doing the very thing he’d been doing on the day she’d disappeared, lost to him for what had seemed an eternity.

How long had she been gone? He’d lost track of the time. Days had turned into nights, each one an endless round of torment, wondering if he would ever be able to hold his beloved in his arms again.

When his man-at-arms finished searching the trail ahead, Con waved him over. “Duncan. I would confer with you.”

“Aye, m’laird?”

“There’s been no sign of the barbarians. ’Tis time to return to the fortress.”

“A while longer, m’laird. I sense them somewhere nearby.”

Con had always trusted Duncan’s instincts. The man was a fine warrior, as well as a devoted friend.

“Fergus.” He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted.

His half brother turned, then wheeled his mount and galloped up to where Conal and Duncan were mounted. “Aye, Con? What is your wish?”

“Any sign of the invaders?”

“Nay.” Fergus shook his head. “Unless they were on foot, for there are no fresh horse droppings.”

Con nodded. “I agree. Duncan wants us to continue the search. What say you?”

Fergus shrugged. “If you so order it, I suppose I could take some of the men and go on.”

Duncan smiled his encouragement. “Aye. No sense in wasting the day.”

“’Tis settled then.” Con clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder before turning to Duncan. “Will you ride with them?”

Duncan decided instantly. “I ride with ye, m’laird.”

“Always watching out for me, are you?” With a smile, Con turned his horse toward home.

Duncan remained, watching until the others disappeared into the forest before wheeling his mount.

Ahead of him on the trail, Con was deep in thought when he abruptly slid from the saddle and knelt to study a trail of fresh prints in the dirt.

Deer, he thought in disgust. Not horses.

At that very moment an arrow sang out, just missing him, and landed in the trunk of a tree overhead. Had he been astride his mount, the arrow would surely have caused a mortal wound.

He ducked behind his horse and looked around. The trail was empty. He felt a moment of triumph. The one who’d fired would be caught in a trap, for somewhere behind him, Duncan was bringing up the rear.

Pulling himself into the saddle, he quickly backtracked, but found no invaders.

He came across Duncan kneeling in the dirt.

Alarmed, he was on his feet within seconds, hurrying to his friend’s side. “Did they get you, too? Are you hurt?”

“Aye.” Clutching his arm, Duncan got slowly to his feet.

Though the forest trail was shaded, a glint of sunlight found its way through the canopy of leaves and reflected off something shiny in the warrior’s hand.

Caught unawares, Con didn’t react quickly enough as he brought up his arm to block the thrust of the knife. The blade found its mark, lodging deep in his chest. Pain ripped through him, dropping him to his knees.

As Duncan stood over him, watching the blood spill from his wound, Con brought his fist into the warrior’s groin.

With a sharp hiss of pain, Duncan fell to one knee. At once Con was on him. The warrior wheezed out a breath, then struggled to his feet, with Con’s arm wrapped around his neck. Duncan realized that, though his friend was mortally wounded, he was in for the fight of his life.

“Why?” Con’s knife was already in his hand, lifted to his old friend’s throat.

“’Twas all part of the plan.”

“What plan?”

“To distract you, while your wife and son die.”

“Nay!”

Con wasn’t even aware of his blade slicing through flesh and bone. He had no recollection of the limp body dropping to the ground as he turned and weakly pulled himself onto the back of his horse. He saw nothing but a haze of shadows through the mist of fury mixed with terror that glazed his eyes as he urged his mount toward the distant fortress.

The pain of his wound was forgotten. His only thought was that he had to be in time to save those he loved, or his life would be forever meaningless.

Once at the fortress, Con slid weakly from the saddle and stumbled inside, his feet too numb to feel the stairs that led to his chambers. Finding it empty, he looked about in desperation, when the flutter of a scroll caught his eye.

Picking it up, he read the words before crumpling it in his fist. With a vicious oath he drew his sword and raced up the steps to the tower, praying that he wasn’t too late.

Hearing the approaching footsteps, Dulcie looked up in anticipation. “I was beginning to think…” When she saw Con in the doorway, her eyes widened in stunned surprise. “You! You’re alive.”

“Aye. And the murdering bastard who thought to use his position of trust now lies dead in my place.”

Though the woman paled, she kept her wits about her, continuing to hold the knife to the lad’s throat.

Con saw the blood that oozed from his son’s wound, staining the front of the lad’s plaid. He lifted his sword menacingly. “Release Donovan at once.”

“You will stay away, m’laird, or my blade will sever the lad’s head from his shoulders before your sword can stop me.”

Con could feel his strength waning, and knew that he had to act quickly, or all would be lost. The wound was draining him so that even a puny female like Dulcie would soon be able to best him in battle.

Leaning heavily on his sword, he struggled to keep from swaying. “Why, Dulcie? What is it you want?”

She smiled now. “I see my laird is as compliant as his wife, while I hold the lad’s life in my hands. You will do whatever I tell you, rather than see your son killed before your eyes.”

Through gritted teeth Con demanded, “I ask you again, woman. What is it you want?”

“What I have always wanted. Power.”

“And you think to have it by killing me and mine? What of the villagers? Do you think they will stand behind the woman who robbed them of their laird?”

“Your death will not be laid at my hand. ’Twill be blamed on the barbarians.”

“And these?” He indicated Laurel and Donovan. “Will their deaths be laid at the feet of the barbarians, also?”

“It will appear that a lone invader was able to slip into the fortress. Perhaps I will have a few others join these two in death to make it look like a proper invasion. Brinna, I think.” She was speaking to herself now, as though unaware of the others in the tower room. “And Cook. She never forgot that I was once the daughter of a slut, before coming to live in the laird’s fine fortress.”

“You’re mad.”

“Am I? Then think of this. Once the proper time for grieving has passed, the villagers will choose a new laird.”

“The one you had chosen to replace me now lies dead in the forest.”

“If you expect me to go limp with remorse over the death of Duncan, you are sadly mistaken, m’laird. I was only using him to do my bidding.”

“Duncan was my friend. How did you get him to do your bidding?”

When she said nothing, he turned to Laurel for an answer. “Can you explain it to me?”

Laurel stared across the room at the evil woman. “She knows how to give a man his most cherished possession.”

He arched a brow. “And what would that be?”

“A child.”

He turned to Dulcie in astonishment. “You are with child? It is Duncan’s?”

She merely smiled, the smug little cat smile of a woman with many secrets.

His eyes frosted over. “Have you forgotten that you’re still wed to my brother? Does Fergus know?”

Laurel stepped up beside him and drew a handkerchief from her pocket, pressing it to stem the flow of blood from his chest. “Don’t you see, Conal? She and your brother are in this together.”

He closed a hand over hers. “Nay, my love. I know in my heart that Fergus has no knowledge of this evil deed.”

She gave a sigh of impatience. “There’s no time to argue the point, Conal. You’re wounded.”

“’Tis nothing.”

She studied her handkerchief, already soaked with his blood. His skin had turned an ominous shade of gray.

Her voice lowered with feeling. “You said that once before. But this time, I can see that the wound is grave.”

He drew in a breath and turned to Dulcie. “When your husband learns of your deed, he will see you punished, even if it be by his own sword.”

Again that smug smile as she whispered, “Like Duncan, Fergus will do my bidding.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“It is as you said. I am still wed to your brother. He is the logical choice to replace you. Without anyone to say otherwise, he will believe the bairn his. He has long yearned for a child. He would never do anything to harm its mother.”

Laurel saw a shadow in the doorway and knew she had to act quickly to distract Dulcie.

She took a step toward her. “You know how the laird and I love Donovan. Release him and we’ll do whatever you ask.”

“Do you think me a fool? Do not come closer.” Dulcie kept the blade of her knife against Donovan’s throat.

In defiance, Laurel took yet another step, keeping the young woman’s attention focused on her and away from the door. “You’re enjoying this sense of power, aren’t you?”

“Aye. I knew the lad would be your weakness. You and the laird will do as you’re told, as long as this precious life hangs in the balance.”

“Wouldn’t you do the same?” She had to keep this madwoman talking. Had to figure out a way to wrestle that knife from her hands.

“Only a fool lets someone, anyone, have power over her. I’ll not put anyone else ahead of my own life.”

“Not even the child you carry?”

“The child will live within me only as long as it serves my purpose.” Dulcie gave a dry laugh. “I told you that there are women in my village who know what herbs to take to conceive a child. There are plants that can take life, as well. And I know all of them. Now then.” Her tone shifted. There was a note of finality in her voice. “We will do what we came here to do.”

Laurel kept her gaze fixed on Dulcie. “You mean you’ll do what you did the last time I disappeared? When you had me thrown from the tower window?”

Dulcie gave a quick laugh. “Aye. Only this time, when I’ve finished with these two, I shall go below stairs and drive the laird’s sword through your heart myself, to assure that you’ll never again return.”

Caught up in her sense of power, she pointed dramatically with the knife. “Climb to the balcony rail. Now! ’Tis time for you to leave us.”

Con used that instant of distraction to reach out and kick his son’s chair out of Dulcie’s reach. At the same moment, Fergus, who had been watching and listening from the open doorway, charged across the room with his sword lifted.

Laurel, believing that Fergus meant to kill Con, pulled the knife from her pocket and leapt into the fray, determined to protect the wounded laird, even if it meant losing her own life.

Seeing what she intended, Con snatched the knife from her hand just as Fergus brought his sword through Dulcie’s heart.

Stunned, Dulcie could only stare at him in horrified silence as she dropped to her knees.

Fergus stood over her. “I knew you didn’t love me when you agreed to our betrothal. I knew in my heart that had I not been kin to the laird, you’d have never looked at me.” His hand curled into a fist as he watched the blood spread in ever-widening circles down the bodice of her gown and onto the floor. “But I was lonely. All my life I’ve been alone. And seeing the love between my brother and his wife, I foolishly believed that if I loved you without asking anything in return, it would be enough.” He lowered his head in shame and disgust. “Now I know that you’re incapable of loving, because you can’t see beyond your own selfish ambition.”

“Fool,” she cried. “You have killed not only me, but your bairn, as well.”

“No more lies, woman. I stood just outside the tower door and heard everything. The child isn’t mine. Nor would you have ever permitted it to live.”

With her last breath, Dulcie spat at him. “I would have made a better laird than you or your…” Whatever else she’d been about to say was lost as she gave up her life.

Fergus felt for a pulse at her throat. Finding none, he turned away, unable to even look at her.

Together Con and Laurel untied Donovan, and with tears of joy and relief, gathered him into their embrace.

Still weeping, Laurel crossed to Fergus, catching his hand in both of hers. “Forgive me, Fergus, for doubting you.”

“Knowing what I do about Dulcie, you had every right to believe the worst of me.”

“Mother!”

At Donovan’s cry, Laurel turned to see Con drop to the floor, his hand clutching his chest. Blood spilled in an ever-widening river from between his fingers.

“Oh, my darling.” Laurel used his plaid to mop at the blood, but there was no stopping the flow.

She stared in horror at the blood that spilled from his wound. So much blood.

Fergus dropped to his knees beside his brother. “What can I do?”

“Promise me that you will love Donovan as your own.”

“I swear. He will grow to be a Highlander you will be proud of.”

“I can ask nothing more.”

The two men clasped hands. As Fergus stepped away and drew Donovan with him, Laurel caught Con’s hands in hers. “There are things I must tell you, Conal. I’ve tried so many times, but now they can’t wait.”

“Aye, love.” Pain glazed his eyes. His skin had lost all its color.

“My name is Laurel Douglas. But I’m not your Laurel. I come from another world. The twenty-first century. Something happened. I don’t know what, but somehow I found myself here with you. I thought I was sent here to teach you all the things we’d learned in the past hundreds of years. I thought I could change the course of history. I didn’t mean to…” She paused, struggling to find the words. “I had no right to your love. And now, if you should die, it’s all been for nothing. Oh, don’t you see? None of this makes any sense if you die.”

Despite his pain, he managed a weak smile. “I care not where you came from, love. You’re my Laurel. My own true love.”

“But I…”

Though it cost him, he touched a hand to her cheek. “It matters not where you were, or how long we were separated, we belong together. As for all that you would teach me, think of this: Perhaps you were really sent here to learn.”

“To learn what?” She was fighting tears now. She could feel them, tightening her chest, struggling to break free of the hard, tight lump in her throat. She bravely swallowed them back.

“Perhaps over the centuries you’d forgotten what it is to be truly loved. Perhaps you came back, not to teach, but to learn.”

Her eyes went wide as she digested the truth of his words.

“But if that’s so, and if you truly love me, you can’t die. You can’t leave me, now that I’ve found your love.”

“I have no choice. My wound is mortal. But know this.” He stared into her eyes, willing her his strength. “Love such as ours never ends, even in death. It lives on for all time.”

She could no longer hold back the tears. They fell freely, spilling down her cheeks, running in rivers down the front of her shirt.

“I can’t bear to lose you, now that I’ve only just found you, Conal.”

“I’ll never leave you alone, my love. Will you trust me in that?”

She wiped her tears and clasped his hands. “But you’re dying. How can you be with me if you…?” She swallowed back the word she couldn’t speak, and managed to whisper, “I’ll try to believe, Conal.”

“You must believe it. I will be always with you, my love. Until the end of time. And beyond.”

She felt his hands go slack in hers. And though his eyes were still open, the light had gone out of them.

Shattered, Laurel continued to kneel beside him, her hands holding his in a death grip, as her tears mingled with his blood.

As if from a great distance she felt a touch on her shoulder, and looked up to see Fergus, his arm firmly around Donovan’s shoulders.

“The lad and I will fetch the women of the village to prepare the laird for burial, my lady.” He added softly, “They will stay with you, for you cannot be alone now.”

“Thank you, Fergus.” Laurel caught Donovan’s hand, squeezed.

He lifted her hand to his lips, before trailing his uncle from the room.

When they were gone, she pressed a kiss to Conal’s lips. Already they were cold and unresponsive.

Drained beyond belief, she stretched out beside him and gave in to a feeling of profound exhaustion and grief.

Laurel awoke from a deep sleep and looked around, hoping against hope to discover that everything she’d experienced was just a dream. Instead, she felt her heart sink as she realized she was in the fortress chambers, on the sleeping pallet she’d shared with Conal.

Conal. The pain of loss was like a knife to her heart.

In the other room, Donovan and his uncle were talking in low tones.

Bits and pieces of the previous day began flitting through Laurel’s mind, as if in a nightmare. The burial of Con the Mighty, with clan members from all over the Highlands arriving to pay their respects. The women offering her food, ale, quiet comfort. The whispers about Dulcie and the shame she brought upon her husband, whom she married only because he was kin to the laird.

Laurel could recall speaking softly to Fergus, determined to let him know that, despite her earlier misgivings, she trusted him completely. She’d told him repeatedly how much his brother loved him. He, in turn, assured her over and over that he wished to honor his brother’s memory by helping teach Donovan to be a brave and honorable Highlander.

When the villagers declared Fergus to be their new laird, he announced to the clan that he would remain so only until Donovan was old enough to claim the title. And he asked that Laurel continue to be regarded as mistress of the fortress. Though she was honored and touched by his declaration, she had refused, saying that one day he would meet a woman worthy of him to fulfill that duty, as would her son when he reached manhood.

Lying very still, Laurel thought again about the things Con had told her before he died. What a fool she’d been, thinking she’d been sent here to teach these poor, ignorant people all the fine things her world had discovered through the ages. She’d been the student, learning about the most basic of all lessons—life and death, honor, integrity, and most of all, love. Real, abiding love, not the stuff of movies.

“You’re awake, Mother.” Donovan hurried over and knelt beside her as she sat up, tossing aside the covers.

She was surprised to see that she was still wearing her clothes from the previous day. Why had she clung so tightly to her twenty-first-century uniform? As long as she was here, why didn’t she simply give in and wear the garb of the other women?

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Not long.” Fergus walked up to stand behind his nephew. “You insisted upon remaining with the others while they mourned the laird. It was only when we insisted that you lie down that you gave in to exhaustion.” He gave her a gentle smile. “You should sleep awhile, my lady.”

“Maybe later.” She got to her feet and offered her hand to Fergus. “Thank you for your love and loyalty, and for all that you’ve done for Donovan.”

“I give you my solemn vow, as I gave to my brother on his deathbed, that I will do all I can to serve you and the lad. And I will do all in my power to see that Donovan becomes a Highland laird worthy of the love of his clan, for I love the lad like my own.”

“I know you do. And that greatly eases my mind.” She drew Donovan into her arms and kissed him. “Your father died knowing you would live a life that brings him honor.”

“I will, Mother. I will make you and Father proud.”

“I’m already proud of you. I couldn’t be more proud.” She started toward the door, then paused and turned. “I need to go to Conal’s grave. Alone.”

“I understand, my lady.” Fergus drew an arm around the lad’s shoulders.

Laurel studied the two of them and felt a sense of relief that Donovan had such a fine man to see him through the grief and loneliness that was bound to follow.

She walked along the passageway until she’d left the fortress. Conal’s grave was but a few short steps away.

As she knelt beside the fresh mound of earth, it occurred to her that one day a new castle would be built over this very spot. It seemed a fitting tribute to the man who had taught her about true love.

She thought of his words, on the night they’d made love.

As long as we have our love, nothing can ever separate us again.

And then came the realization that, though he’d told her often how much he loved her, she’d never said the words to him. At first, she simply hadn’t realized how much he meant to her. And by the time she knew just how deeply she loved him, there hadn’t been time.

“Conal.” She wasn’t aware at first that she was speaking the words aloud. She was simply compelled to say all the things that were in her heart. “I don’t know when it happened, or how. But I do know that I lost my heart to you. I tried not to. I didn’t feel worthy. But your love was so pure, so honest, and so all-consuming, there was no way I could deny it. I simply fell in love with you. Completely. Your life and your death have affected me so deeply, I’m not sure I’ll ever recover. I love you, Conal. I will spend a lifetime missing you so…”

The words died on her lips as a wild rush of wind sent her hair flying about her face. A dark shadow seemed to blot out the sun. Darkness overtook the land, and Laurel shot to her feet, trembling in fear.

The darkness frightened her until she saw a bright light moving toward her.

Seeing it, she felt a strange sense of peace, along with a hint of anticipation. As though the light was a symbol of life. Of hope. Of all that she’d been longing for.

As the light drew near, she blinked against its brightness. At first she’d thought it was a torch, but this light didn’t flicker like a flame.

An electric torch, she realized. A high-powered flashlight.

She looked around, dazed and more than a little confused, only to realize that the ancient fortress was no longer towering in the background. In fact, it was nowhere to be seen.

She was back in the five-star hotel, which had been built over Conal’s gravesite. She was once again standing in front of the tapestry.

The voices of their tour and guide had faded away. The only sound to break the stillness was the tread of footsteps on the highly polished wood floor.

A man approached, surrounded by a halo of light. When she lifted a hand to shield her eyes from it, he lowered the flashlight away from her face.

“Sorry.” The voice was deep and cultured, with a hint of Scottish burr. “We’ve had a power failure, but only in this wing, apparently. An electrician is already working on it. Looks like you got separated from your tour group. They were ushered to the dining hall in another wing of the castle. Lucky for you, I thought I’d make certain no one was stranded in the darkness.”

Couldn’t he see that she’d been crying? Wasn’t he wondering about the bloodstains on her clothes?

Laurel glanced down at herself and realized that she looked exactly as she had when all of this adventure had begun. Her slacks and shirt as neat and tidy as if she’d only now put them on.

But not quite.

He pointed the flashlight toward her sandal. “Is that blood? Have you injured yourself?”

“It happened…” She wondered how she could possibly explain to him all that had occurred, when she couldn’t even explain it to herself. “It happened some time ago.”

“Are you certain? I assure you, if you’ve been harmed in any way, I’ll make it up to you. As the current owner of MacLennan Castle, it’s my duty to see to even the most minor of inconveniences.”

She peered at him in the dim light. “You’re the laird?”

There was a hint of laughter in his voice. “That’s what I would have been called in earlier times. Now I’m just plain Conor MacLennan, the eighth Earl of Heath, and Lord of the MacLennan Clan. Just a fancy way of saying I’m the innkeeper. And you are…?”

“Laurel Douglas.”

“Laurel.” He lifted the flashlight to her face. “That’s a special name in our clan. But I’m not surprised. With the light that dances in those eyes, you could be our very own mountain laurel, freshly picked from the Highland hills. We wear the laurel as our heraldic badge.” He pointed the light to his lapel pin in the shape of a laurel leaf.

His words, so like those spoken by another, had her head spinning. To settle herself, she reached out and touched a hand to the wall.

And then she thought of Conal’s words as he lay dying:

I will be always with you, my love. Until the end of time. And beyond.

Oh, Conal. You kept your word.

“I beg pardon. Did you say something?”

Laurel studied the way he was dressed, in a navy blazer and gray pants, the collar of his white shirt open at the throat. “Just thinking aloud. I’d have expected the lord of the castle to wear a kilt.”

“I do, for formal occasions.” He paused. “Since you’ve missed dinner with your tour, why not join me for a bite of supper in my suite?”

“You actually live here?”

“My family has called this place home for hundreds of years.” He offered his arm, and though her mind was reeling from all she’d been through, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to place her hand on his arm and move along by his side.

Within minutes they’d passed through the portrait gallery and had moved on to the private section of the castle, which was off-limits to the public.

They rounded a corner and blinked against the light of the hall sconces.

“Good. It seems the electrician has restored power all through the castle.”

Laurel glanced over at the man beside her. “Do you make it a habit to invite guests to your suite for dinner?”

“As a matter of fact, you’re the first.” He smiled down at her, and in the clear light she saw Conal’s eyes, Conal’s smile. Her heart did a series of somersaults in her chest, and she wondered that she could still breathe.

“It’s the strangest thing.” Conor paused outside the doors to his suite of rooms and tipped up her face, staring deeply into her eyes. “But I feel as though I’ve been waiting for you all my life.”

Laurel wondered at the lightness around her heart.

She would never know if all the things she’d experienced in the fortress were real, or if they’d been the result of some sort of extreme fear when the power went out, leaving her alone in the dark without the comfort of her tour group. But this much she knew. Because of her introduction to Conal MacLennan, and the adventure they’d shared, she was a different woman from the one she’d been before arriving here. Whether real or a figment of her imagination, Con the Mighty had taught her to believe in love.

Laurel returned Conor’s smile. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Well then.” Instead of moving aside, he remained just so, watching as the light in her eyes deepened.

The smile he gave her was absolutely dazzling. “I can’t wait to give you a proper Highland welcome.”