Laird of Her Heart (Dundragon Time Travel Trilogy Book 1) (2 page)

Maggie sighed and set out for the woods, but turned back to waggle a finger at her cousin. “You better not forget the pineapples on that pizza.”

Jenny’s grin was disarming. “You better take a flashlight,” she chirped. “Last time it took me a couple hours to find him.”

* * *

Maggie was glad she’d brought the flashlight, because even though the sun was still sinking, once she got deep into the trees, it was hard to see. And Mop was small. Why old women went for the tiny yippy dogs was a mystery. In Maggie’s mind it wasn’t a real dog unless it could knock her down.

She shined the beam into the scrub and called him. “Mop? Moppie? I have nom noms for you.” She didn’t. It was a lie. But it hardly mattered since the stupid mutt didn’t even speak English.

She heard a bark from her right, little more than a canine taunt. She growled to herself and forged off in that direction. And yeah, there he was, dancing around in circles. But when she neared, he took off again.

This happened several times, luring her deeper and deeper into the woods. She hoped she could find her way back since for some reason the dog refused to use the path.

“Mop, get your ass over here,” she bellowed when she just missed him again. Not that she was getting annoyed. But she was.

Maybe her frustration penetrated his tiny little brain, because the next time she spotted him—in a clearing—he stood still, waiting for her to approach. Her steps slowed as she neared. Not because she wanted to sneak up on him, but because the clearing where he stood was…strange.

She couldn’t put her finger on why it sent shivers up her spine, but it did. Though the trees surrounding it were large and dense, nothing grew here. The forest floor was dirt—not even ferns or mushrooms or moss. To her surprise, she realized there were what looked like ancient stones circling it. When she stepped between two of the pillars, a bolt of electricity shot through her. When she touched one, it happened again. She drew back and studied it, noting the markings on the face of the column. She didn’t understand the symbols carved there, even though, as a historian, she’d studied hieroglyphics and cuneiform. These markings were unfamiliar. Rune-like, perhaps.

Very curious.

And fascinating.

Funny that she’d never found this place as a child, when they’d played in these woods, but maybe she’d never come this far before. She glanced at the sky, but it was blotted out by the canopy of trees. Still, she could tell it was getting dark. Too late to explore this interesting site, but she would come back tomorrow, if she could find it again.

“All right, you imp,” she said, heading for Mop. “Let’s go have some pizza.” She tucked the flashlight into her pocket and scooped him up, but he yelped and wriggled from her grasp. To her complete and utter annoyance, he skittered away again.

She made a sound, a growl or a snarl or something like that, and started after him but at that moment, the clasp on her locket broke and it fell to the ground.

It was an old locket—no one really knew how old it was as it had been given to Grandma when she’d been a girl—but it was precious because Grandma had treasured it. And she’d given it to Maggie. She huffed a sigh and bent to pick it up.

Perhaps she bent too quickly, or perhaps she was weakened by lack of food—surely the pizza had arrived by now—but her head spun and she lost her balance and fell.

And fell.

And fell.

Barraged by a swirling welter of movement, blinded by flashing lights and stars flickering before her eyes, she tumbled. For some reason, the image of Alice plummeting into the rabbit hole flickered through her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, tightened her hold on the locket and tried to focus on quieting her pattering pulse.

She’d never fainted before. Was that what this was?

How mortifying.

She landed with a thump, one reminiscent of waking with a jolt from a falling dream.

Sucking in a deep breath, she opened her eyes…and then closed them again as bright sunlight scored her corneas. What the—?

“What have we here?” A deep voice in a thick brogue echoed through the trees. Maggie sat up like a shot and scraped the hair from her eyes and stared at the man standing before her. He was tall and broad, with dark riotous curls and a fierce expression. He was dressed in strange clothes made of wool and had simple leather boots on his feet. He held a large bow with an arrow pointed at her heart.

Another man captured her attention. He was ferocious as well. In fact…they all were. No fewer than six rough and feral and thoroughly
unwashed
men surrounded her in a semi-circle.

It occurred to her that, though she was still in a circle of stones, they were not the same stones…and the forest was different. These trees were leafy where the ones at home had been firs. The angle of the light was off and the air…tasted different. She knew something very strange had happened, but her mind was having a hard time processing what it could have been.

Where was she? What had happened? Was this a hallucination? A dream? Had she died? Was this heaven? The men were certainly handsome enough for it to be.

And why was she still…tingling?

“What is it Declan?” One of the men asked.

The first man—the leader—looked her up and down. His lip curled and he sneered, “What is it? Why, a Cameron spy of course.”

CHAPTER TWO

Maggie yelped as, without warning, the burly warrior named Declan whipped her up into his arms and tossed her over his shoulder. To her dismay, she lost her hold on the locket and it fell into the thick grass.

“Wait,” she cried. She wriggled to get free, but his grip was too hard. When she pummeled his back with her fists as he strode from the circle of stones, he chuckled. The beast. But to be fair, he was so large, it would have felt like a kitten batting him. “Put me down.”

“I willna,” he said. “The Macintosh will decide how you die.”

All right. That shut her up. For a second. “Die? Why do I need to die?” What the hell had she ever done to him?

The man following, an enormous blond with a scar tracking his cheek, bent down to peer at her. “The Macintoshes doona tolerate spies.”

“I’m not a spy.” Seriously. She wriggled more and Declan smacked her ass.

Smacked her ass.

She’d kill him when she got free. Just kill him.

“Yer wearing the Cameron colors,” the blond said in a growl. “And the Macintoshes doona—”

“Right. I know. The Macintoshes
doona
tolerate spies.” Her head was starting to spin from being upside down and jounced around with each step. Her temper was on a short leash. “But honestly, if I were a spy, would I wear the Cameron colors? It seems a little counterproductive in my opinion. I mean, if I’m
spying
and all. I might as well wear a t-shirt that says, oh, I dunno,
honk if you love spies
.”

His brow rumpled but he didn’t respond. At least, not to her. “She speaks strangely,” he complained to Declan.

Her captor snorted a laugh. “She dresses strangely too.”

“Aye. She does at that. I’ve heard the Cameron lasses are a wild lot, but I had no idea—”

“I’m. Not. A. Cameron.” She reached out and smacked the blond, but only because he came close enough. He reared back and gaped at her—as though he’d never been smacked before—and then he quickly moved out of range.

It hardly mattered, because, apparently, they had reached their destination, a camp on the edge of the woods. The sounds of nickering horses and clanks of pots gave her her first clue—she was facing the other way, after all.

Her second clue was that Declan dropped her on the ground. She landed with an oof. She glared at him. He didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. “Go get my brother, Ewan,” he barked, and the blond trotted off to one of the larger tents.

When she stood and brushed off her jeans, Declan bristled and she shot him a sardonic glare. Did he think she was stupid enough to run away? For one thing, these enormous men had her surrounded. For another, she never ran. Not if she could help it.

Instead, she made a quick survey of her surroundings. The camp was little more than a huddle of tents with the forest on one side and a sweeping plain on the other. A small herd of horses was hobbled to one side and a deer roasted over a pit fire. An entire deer. Before she could silence the thought—she often had that problem—she said, “You killed Bambi.”

Declan’s brow rumpled. “I dinna kill anyone.” And then he asked, “Who is Bambi?”

“Never mind.” She crossed her arms and turned away, pretending to ignore them. But she wasn’t. She was aware they were all staring at her like she was a curiosity in a zoo, but she was taking in tiny details as well. Like the fact that their clothes were all handmade and simple. Their hair appeared to have been cut by Edward Scissorhands and most had beards, which were scraggly and long. But it was their weapons that really gave her pause.

One held a crossbow dating from the thirteenth century. Another had a Macintosh dirk that resembled one she’d seen in a museum. Declan had a simple calfskin sporran tied to his belt.

Odd. Could she have wandered into some Renaissance faire? But no, it had been evening when she stepped into the woods and now it was daytime. Early afternoon. And the forest surrounding Grandma’s home went on for acres. It couldn’t be—

“So.” She flinched as a deep, melodious voice wafted to her on a ribbon of humor. Shivers danced through her, along with a prickling sense of premonition. “Ye have captured a Cameron spy?”

She turned slowly and froze as her gaze landed on
him
. On that so-familiar face. Broad, handsome, savage. Much more captivating than the sketch had been. Much more captivating by far.

She must be hallucinating. She had to be.

He was the hero of her dreams come to life.

Dominic Dundragon, Laird of the Macintosh clan.

Large, looming and in the flesh.

Her head went woozy. Her vision blurred. And then, for the first time in her life, she fainted. For real this time.

* * *

No one caught the girl when she fell. Dominic shot a glare around the circle and the lot of them winced. As well they should. “Where did you find her?”

“Sleeping in the
ciorcal cloiche
.”

“Sleeping there?” An odd place to sleep. He tipped his head to the side and studied her. Her clothes were odd, made of materials he’d never seen, from the Cameron blue of her trews to the blousy tunic covered in flowers. Her shoes were strange as well, made of a hard black substance and peppered with holes. But nothing captured his attention as much as her face. She was beautiful. Her features were delicately hewn, her hair was jet back and her neck was slender and swanlike.

His gaze flicked downward and he swallowed heavily. Aye. Her face was captivating, but not nearly as stunning as her form. Though she dressed like a man, there was no denying she had the curves of a woman.

And what a woman. He’d never met the like. Never clapped eyes on a creature so bewildering and…alluring.  Lust, and something, else rose within him. She was—

“You ye think she’s a fairy?” Young Duncan piped up.

Snorts rounded the circle. They were all braw warriors. Not one of them believed in fairies. Probably.

“Nae,” Ewan said. “More likely an elf.”

Dominic glared at him. “She’s no’ an elf. She’s a girl.”

Ewan scrubbed at his beard. “She looks like an elf.”

“More like a fairy,” Tavish said.

“Bean-Nighe more like.” This, from Harry.

Declan gave a growl. “She’s no’ Bean-Nighe, fairy nor elf. She’s a spy.” He turned to Dominic and glowered. “We should run her through.”

Dominic didn’t know why the prospect set up such a churn in his belly.

“Before we run her through, we should fook her.”

He whirled on Tavish, who reared back at the ferocity of his scowl. Dominic had no idea why he scowled, but the prospect of this lot fooking her made him want to rip someone limb from limb. Possibly Tavish.

His cousin blinked. “Well?” He waved at the girl. “She is a comely lass.”

“She’s a spy,” Declan spat.

Dominic attempted to calm his thudding pulse. “What makes you think she’s a spy?”

“She’s wearing the Cameron blue.”

He scrubbed his face with a palm. “If she were a spy, do ye’ think she would proclaim her loyalties so?” Would she be so conspicuous in it?

Ewan chuckled and shot a smirk at Declan. “That’s what
she
said.”

“No doubt that is what a spy would say, were she captured. We should run her through before she awakes.”

“We’re
no’
running her through.”

Declan opened his mouth to protest, but Dominic cut him off with a slash of his hand.

“When she wakes up, we will question her. Try to discover who she is and what she’s doing on our lands. What did she say when you asked her?”

A red tide crept up his brother’s cheeks, confirming Dominic’s suspicion. “I dinna ask.”

“You dinna ask.”

“Nae.”

He turned to Ewan. “Take her to my tent and tie her securely. And Ewan?” he barked when his kinsman leaped forward to do his bidding, hauling the woman into his arms as though she were a ragdoll.

He paused and shot Dominic a curious glance. “Aye, laird?”

“Be gentle.”

For God’s sake. Be gentle.

* * *

When Maggie woke up, she was in a musty old tent. There was a rickety table and two chairs on the far side, but the bed was little more than a pallet, a pile of furs on the ground. It took a moment for her to remember what had happened. It took longer for her to accept it.

Even though she was here, living it, breathing it, it was inconceivable that she had traveled through time and space to
him
. As though drawn to him like filings to a magnet.

Or something.

She decided to try and be logical about it, or as logical as she could be. She sat up and looked around, taking stock of the period clothing tossed on a trunk, the weave of the tent material and the leather bindings that held it to the poles. There was no doubt she wasn’t in Kansas anymore—or Seattle—but it was the fact that
he
was here that really made her head spin.