She stumbled backwards until her knees met the bed, a silent, fervent prayer on her lips. She turned away from him, not ready to face his anger, and not sure what she could say to convince him she wasn't a witch. What proof did he think he had? How was she going to explain to him where she really came from? He'd never believe it. It would surely induce him all the more into believing that she was a witch.
Iain reached out to grasp her arm and swung her around to face him. His expression was a mask of stone. He moved closer until he left her no room to move at all. Trapped between the bed and Iain's large form, she forced herself to meet his gaze head on.
"Now," he nudged her just the tiniest bit so she sat down hard on the bed. She had to strain her neck to look up at him, "explain yourself and your purpose here." His angry gaze swept over her, "and I shall know if ye lie to me." His voice, though soft, held an ominous quality.
"I'm not sure where to begin." Her voice was no more than a weak, tremulous whisper, though she tried hard to make it confident and sure. Her stomach churned with anxiety and her pulse quickened erratically at the thread of warning she couldn't miss in his deep tone.
"I ha'e a suggestion for ye," Iain pulled a chair close to the bed. "Why dinnae ye start at the beginning," he leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his massive chest, "how did ye come to be on my lands?"
"That's a very good question." She mumbled, catching the edge of barely controlled anger in his voice. It was the same edge that her brother got when something really upset him and it took almost all his willpower to stop himself from breaking something, or worse, someone. Impaled by his steady gaze, she shook her head. "One I really wish I could answer, but I can't. I don't know how I got here."
"How could ye nay know how ye got here?" His eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Did ye walk? Did ye ride? Did someone bring ye here? Or did ye fly in?" He arched a brow at her.
"I really don't know," she repeated, with a helpless shrug. There wasn't much else she could say. It would all come back to the fact that she just didn't know. She'd been asking herself the same question all day, when she'd finally come to terms with the fact that she had indeed somehow landed herself in seventeenth century Scotland. She wished she did know the answer, because if she did, she could return home the same way she arrived.
"Ye mean to tell me ye have absolutely no idea how ye came to be here?" He snorted. Then changed tactics. He lowered his voice, speaking gently, "ye can trust me, lass. Just tell me how ye got here, and whence ye came from and I'll see ye are returned. No harm will come to ye, I promise."
"I know I sound like a broken record, but all I can tell you is I don't know."
"Ye arenae a torn parchment." Iain wrinkled his brow at her,
"That's not what I meant." How could she explain? She shook her head. "I meant I can't tell you how I got here. You can question me about it a million different ways, and a dozen different times. You can ask me until you're blue in the face, but all I can say is I don't know. All I know is, I went to sleep in one place and woke up in an entirely different place." Now there was the understatement of the century if ever she'd heard one, she thought, but didn't say it out loud.
"Scots have nay painted their faces blue in at least four centuries," Iain snorted, "mayhap more. And how can ye go to sleep in one place and wake up somewhere else? 'Tis nay possible, lass." He arched a brow at her, "Unless ye are a witch."
"I'm not a witch. I just don't have any idea how I got here."
"Is there anything ye do know?"
Kris wasn't sure he was ready for the answer to that particular question, so she kept silent.
"Why dinnae we start with your name." Iain leaned toward her, his eyes hard. "Do ye know that much at least? Your full name, lass," he warned.
She paused. "Armstrong." She gave him Hailey's last name before she could stop herself. There was no way she would tell him she was a Campbell, so she gave him the first name that came to mind. "My name is Kristianna Armstrong." Kris didn't really want to lie; she hated liars and lying. It always led to trouble and more lies. In this instance, however, she figured it just might save her life. Hailey was English, after all. Kris just hoped that if Hailey's family tree came back this far, they were not very well known in the highlands of Scotland.
"Ye are a Sassenach?" His face became a marble effigy of contempt.
"I'm American." Kris shook her head. Well, so much for the hope he wouldn't know that name. Still, being English had to be better than being a Campbell at this particular moment.
"American? Ye are from the English Colonies?"
"They're not run by England anymore. But they were once the Colonies, yes."
Iain sighed and ran his hand over his face. He would let that matter drop for the moment. Mayhap later he could figure out what she meant by that later. First he had more question to put to her.
"Do ye know where your home is?"
"Of course I do. I just told you I'm American. I'm from America."
"But ye have no idea how ye got from this America and came to be on my land?"
"Well, I know how I got here from America, but I don't know how I got to this particular place."
Iain sighed and leaned forward once more, clearly exasperated and striving for patience. "This is getting us nowhere. I dinnae seem to be asking the proper questions, so why dinnae ye just tell me what ye do know and we'll take it from there."
"I'm not sure you'll believe me," Kris eyed him warily; not at all sure she should tell him where she was from. Or more to the point, when she was from.
"Lass, I promise ye, no harm will come to ye, if ye will only tell me the truth. E'en if ye are from one of my enemies, I will see ye are returned to your family."
She stared at him a moment, judging the sincerity of that statement. What the heck. What's the worst he could do? Not believe her? She wouldn't be any worse off than she was now. Unless he stuck her in his dungeon until he could gather enough wood for a really big bonfire with her as the main course. She held up a hand to stop him before he could speak.
"You already think I'm a witch. If I tell you what you want to know, I don't want to end up being slow roasted over a spit."
"I dinnae really believe ye are a witch, lass." He said at last. "Everyone knows that witches are ugly wi' long, gray, stringy hair and bent backs."
"Okay," Kris thought she caught a twinkle in his eyes, but it was there and gone so fast, she couldn't be sure. She took a deep breath and dove in with both feet. "I'm gonna trust you. But I have your word, right?"
Iain nodded and gestured for her to proceed.
"Here's what I know then. My name is Kristianna Ca…Armstrong." She stumbled a bit, but recovered fast, praying Iain hadn't noticed. She would wait to see how he took this bit of information before she confessed to being a Campbell. "I'm an art-history major at Brown University in Boston where I'm working on my master's degree. I just turned twenty-three years old, and," she paused for the big finale and took another deep breath, "I was born in Quincy, Massachusetts in 1985." She sat back a bit and folded her arms over her chest. There, let him chew on that bit of information.
Iain sat back in his chair, stunned disbelief etched on his face. Kris watched him carefully, prepared to bolt if necessary. She could almost see her words sink into his brain. He ran his hand through his hair, rubbed that same hand over his face, then stroked his chin as he regarded her carefully.
"I'm nay sure I understand…" he began, but Kris cut him off.
"Really? What don't you understand? I thought I was pretty clear." Kris shrugged with a bravado she did not feel, "but if I need to explain more, fine, how's this? When I went to bed the other night, it was the year 2008, when I woke up two morning's ago, it was the year 1604." She raised a single brow at him, "is that clear enough for you now?"
"Are ye trying to tell me," Iain started then stopped and stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. He stood and strode to the fireplace, stared into the fire a moment, looked back
at her, repeated his actions twice more before he returned to his chair. "Are ye telling me that ye think ye are from the future?"
"Yes," Kris rolled her eyes then nodded, "that's exactly what I'm telling you. And I don't just think it, I know it."
Iain snorted. "Wheesht, ye hit your head, dinnae ye lass? 'Tis why ye spout such a tale." He looked at her like she'd lost any wits she might have had, then grunted in disbelief. "Ye should try another one. This one isnae fit for e'en the worst minstrel."
"It's not a tale. It's the truth!" Most of it she amended silently, and added a silent prayer of forgiveness for giving Hailey's last name as her own. She didn't want to see his reaction if he ever discovered she was really a Campbell, no matter how many centuries removed she was from the present Campbell's, or past Campbell's. Whichever the case was.
Just thinking about that gave her a headache. She shivered at the thought and went on the defensive. "And don't look at me like I'm crazy, either, because I'm not."
Iain rose from the chair again to glare down at her. "Ye have either lost your wits or ye are a spy after all. Mayhap a spy for the Sassenachs."
"I'm not a spy and I haven't lost my mind either." Good Heaven's, she was in bigger trouble than she'd first realized if he believed her a spy. She froze as fearful images of what they did to spies built in her mind. It would be way better if he believed she'd lost her marbles. She should have known it, telling a lie always led to bigger trouble.
"Your Sassenach name leads me to believe ye a spy, but I know ye hit your head. That can lead one to many fanciful imaginings."
Kris shook her head, "I'm not a spy, and I'm not out of my mind either. I know exactly what I'm talking about and where I'm from. Scotland is supposed to be full of magic isn't it? You know, the fae, Nessie and all that. Why is it so hard to believe me? I don't have any proof of what I say at the moment, but it's the truth." Ninety-nine percent of it anyway. She looked up at him, but he hadn't budged.
He stood over her, arms crossed in front of his chest, muscles bulging, obviously trying to intimidate her. Her mood veered sharply from fear to anger. She was tired and her head still ached from the golf-ball sized knot on the back of it. To say she was irritated was putting it mildly. She was not about to let this Scottish laird, who could pass for a linebacker, continue to scare and terrorize her. She'd never let any of her brothers bully her and she'd be damned if this guy would get away with it.
"Well," she jumped up from the bed and met his glare with one of her own. "for now you'll just have to take my word for it."
"Huh," Iain scoffed, "do ye think me dull witted enough to take the word of a woman, especially a Sassenach woman? I'm not completely foolish, nor am I stupid enough to be believing anything a Sassenach might say." He returned the chair to the small table and turned to leave.
Kris jumped in front of him, blocking his path to the door. "My last name might be English, but my mother is a MacGregor, so that makes me a MacGregor as well." She poked her finger none to gently in his chest to emphasize her words.
Iain crossed his arms in front of him, his eyes darkened dangerously, and he snorted in derision, "and what self-respecting MacGregor, not mention Scotsman, would lower himself, or herself as the case may be, enough to be wedding herself to a Sassenach?" His words were loaded with ridicule and his contemptuous tone sparked her anger further.
"How dare you," Kris spat, "you think anyone who isn't Scottish is less than you are? You think just because I have English blood in me that I'm not worthy to live and walk on this earth, just as you are? You think you're better than me because you're a man and I'm not? Well I have a newsflash for you, buster, the world does not revolve around Iain MacGregor. It's not all about you." She finished with an icy glare in his direction.
* * *
Iain stared at her in stunned surprise, rendered speechless by her outburst. He wasn't sure what shocked him the most, the tears that shone in her eyes, or the fact that he wanted to comfort her.
He watched her for a few silent moments. Her tears tore at his heart. He reached to brush away a tear that left a trail down her cheek. If there was one thing he could not abide, it was to see a woman cry. Whether out of sadness or anger, it did not matter; he especially hated it knowing he had been the cause of those tears. He'd already experienced her tears once and did not care to see a repeat of the like.
Kris tore away from his touch as if he'd burned her, a choked cry coming from her. Iain clenched his hands at his sides, wondering silently if he'd just lost what few wits he had. He wanted to comfort her, to hold her and kiss away her sobs, but found himself at a loss as to how or why her weeping affected him that way. She was a Sassenach. He should not want to soothe her at all.
Kris whirled back around to face him, tears still glistening on her lashes. "If I had some kind of proof to offer you, don't you think I would? I would gladly offer you any and all evidence I could get my hands on that I'm not a spy, that I really am from the future." She held out her hands in supplication, "if you could just give me a bit of time, I'll think of someway to show you I'm telling the truth."
Iain looked down at her, stealing himself against her tears. "I know of nothing I would accept from a Sassenach as proof that ye arenae lying."
"Look, all I'm asking for is some time. I'll think of something you'll accept. Would it kill you to give me the time I'm asking for?" She spoke with as reasonable a voice as she could manage, though it fairly choked her to do so.
Iain sighed. He was suddenly very tired. The silence filled the room. He looked at the ceiling, but no divine help was forthcoming. He looked at Kris again, her eyes still bright with unshed tears, and came to a decision, though it went against his better judgment.
"Nay, 'tis no' too much to ask of me, I suppose. I will gi'e ye the time ye ask for." He spoke grudgingly and with cool authority. "But," he continued before she could thank him, "I dinnae trust ye." He wanted to make that part perfectly clear. Whether to her or to himself he wasn't sure.
"Thank you for at least giving me some more time." Kris whispered with a sigh of relief. She offered him a tremulous smile. He would give her time to find proof. She really hadn't expected him to trust her. Maybe he would after learning she spoke the truth. Well, mostly the truth. Damn, she thought silently. She knew that lie was going to haunt her with guilt.
Her smile was lethal. If someone had punched him in the gut, the effect would have been no less. Her smile, though slight, lit her face and revealed a small dimple on her right cheek. Her tears had been one thing, but her smile, no matter how minuscule, almost undid his firm resolve.
He didn't need a woman in his life he reminded himself yet again. He'd had two too many already.
"How much time do I have?" she asked, licking her lips nervously.
"I must think on that." Iain strode to the door, "I shall return when I have made my decision." With that, he stalked out of the room, afraid to stay a moment longer, afraid of what he might do if he looked any longer into her hope filled green eyes.
* * *
Kris heard the soft click after he shut the door. Afraid of what he'd done, she raced to the door. She turned the knob, unsurprised to discover he'd locked her in. She pressed her ear to the door at the sound of voices on the other side. The door was too thick to make out exactly what was said, but she was certain she heard Iain's deep baritone. Whatever he said, it couldn't be good.
She sighed and leaned against the door. How in the world was she going to come up with anything to prove she told the truth about being from the future? It would be almost impossible. She crossed the room and flopped onto the bed, immediately deciding never to flop again. The lumpy bed was not conducive to flopping.
She rubbed her head and turned her mind to figuring out how, where, or even what she could find for evidence. She could tell him of all the things she knew about, like planes, cars, computers, et cetera, but would he believe her? Doubtful. It would probably make him think her even more delusional.
"Damn." She swore in frustration. There had to be something she could do, some way to convince him. If she had her backpack with her, that would help. There was evidence aplenty in there. Unfortunately, it was still in her room at the castle in the future and she was stuck in the past.
"Wait a minute." She sat up with a start, too quick she realized and put a hand to her head. The quick movement made Kris' already aching head spin. What had made Iain think she was a witch in the first place? He'd waved something in her face, but had tucked it into his sporran before she'd gotten a good look at it. What was it, and more importantly, where had it come from?
Now there was a question she'd ask him first thing. As soon as she could get out of this room.
Chapter Seven
"No one is to go in or out of that room."
"Aye, Laird," the guard acknowledged the command with a nod.
Satisfied his order would be followed, Iain returned to his own chamber. He threw the strange pack a dark look of disdain before he sank down heavily into the chair by the fire. It could not be possible. No one could travel through time.
True, her accent was passing strange, unlike any he'd ever heard before. There were times she seemed to lose her Scottish accent altogether. From that he gathered she had not grown up in the highlands. But nor was her accent that of a Sassenach either. Others might suggest she came from the lowlands, but Iain had traveled there a time or two, and could understand people there without too much trouble.
At times it took Iain a moment or two to puzzle out what she said. She used words he'd never heard before, even in all his travels, but if he listened close, he could get the basic gist of her words and their meaning. Most of the time, leastwise.
The way she'd been dressed when Raibert found her was also more than passing odd. Not to mention that portrait he still carried in his sporran. 'Twas unlike any he'd ever seen before, and he'd seen many.
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