by Katy Baker
Quinn shared his concerns. Coming this far south was a risky tactic. It took him mighty close to their neighbors, the Murrays, and there was no love lost between the two clans. But it was a risk he must take.
The three men had settled down in the lee of the hill. One of them started a fire and they'd begun cooking the rabbit they'd snared earlier. They seemed confident, relaxed, totally unaware that Quinn was watching them.
Quinn frowned. Something didn't fit. The men looked well fed and carried weapons that had recently been sharpened. They didn't look like the average brigand living in the wild and preying on travelers.
Quinn felt sure there was more to this. Somebody else, somebody powerful and with a grudge against the MacFarlanes was supplying these people with weapons and resources.
The brigands had mentioned a Lord John. Could it be John de Clare?
Will I never be free of that man? Quinn thought. Has he not done enough with taking Duncan from us? Must he still plague my family?
Quinn felt his body tense and forced himself to relax. It did no good thinking about that now. He had to focus on the task in hand.
He was just close enough that he could make out the men's muttered conversation. He strained his ears trying to pick up anything that would hint at their plans but they seemed to be bickering over who should cut up the rabbit.
"Hello?" a voice suddenly called from below.
Quinn turned his head to see a young woman approaching the dell. She'd come from the direction of the loch. " Hello! Sorry to interrupt your lunch."
Where had she come from? Quinn had scouted the area for miles around and there'd been no sign of a soul. She wore a shirt that hugged her figure in a way that was hardly decent, and trews that clung to her legs and seemed to be made of a thick blue material. She carried a leather bag and kept waving a small black object at the three brigands.
What was the lass doing? Had she lost her wits? Didn't she know brigands when she saw them? And what, by God, was she doing out here alone?
One of the brigands stood and approached the woman. Quinn listened tensely to their conversation although he couldn't understand much of what the woman was asking. Cell phone? Car? These were words Quinn didn't recognize. She must be a foreigner, a Sassenach perhaps, who didn't know their language too well.
And also didn't grasp the danger she’d put herself in.
Then suddenly the brigand grabbed the woman. In only moments he'd ripped the bag from her hands and pushed her roughly into the grass. Quinn was on his feet in an instant. The lass needed his help! He spun around and sprinted over to where he'd tethered Silver. He grabbed his bow from where it was tied to the saddle.
When he returned, the brigands had packed up their camp and were pushing the woman ahead of them from the dell.
Quinn quickly nocked an arrow and stood up so he was outlined against the sky. "Hold!" he bellowed. "Stay right where ye are!"
The men spun around, drawing their weapons.
"Let the lass go!" Quinn yelled.
"Piss off!" one of the brigands yelled back. “This is none of yer concern!”
Quinn released the string. His arrow sped towards its target, punching into the man's shoulder. With a yelp he dropped his sword and toppled to the ground where he lay writhing. The other brigands started towards him, yelling.
"Run, lass!" he bellowed. "Run!"
But she didn't.
Instead she grabbed her bag and swung it with all her might. It connected with the side of one of the brigand's head and knocked him out cold. That left one man standing - the leader. With a growl Quinn nocked a third arrow. But the man was stalking the woman and was too close - if he fired down he risked hitting her.
The lass backed up a few steps, holding the bag in front of her like a shield as the man approached.
"Ye'll pay for that!" he growled.
The woman suddenly dropped the bag, bent and pulled an object from inside. As the last brigand lunged for her, she whipped her arm towards his neck. Quinn saw something flash and then the brigand's hand flew to his neck.
"What did ye do?" he spat. "I'm gonna-"
He didn't finish the sentence. His legs went weak and he toppled face-first to the ground. The woman stared at the three downed brigands, her eyes wide with fear. Then she glanced up at Quinn standing on the hilltop.
Then she ran.
With a curse Quinn sprinted to his horse. He swung up into the saddle and kicked the black gelding into an urgent gallop.
He didn't blame the girl for fleeing. She didn't know that Quinn was trying to help her. For all she knew he might be one of the brigands. But he couldn't let her go running off into the hills alone. She was confused and frightened. Anything could happen to her.
He galloped down the hill. In her fright she'd made no effort to hide her tracks and her trail was easily visible in the trampled heather and footprints of her flight.
Quinn thundered over the ground, the wind sending his hair streaming out behind him. His eyes scanned the terrain, searching. She might have taken cover, trying to hide from him. He topped a rise and saw her up ahead. She was sprinting like she had the very devil on her tail. She held that strange little black box in her hand and was jabbing at it desperately with the fingers of one hand.
"Hold, lass!" he shouted. "I'll nae harm ye!"
She glanced over her shoulder and her eyes widened in terror. She redoubled her pace, pelting over the rough terrain without a thought for the obstacles that might catch her ankle and easily break a leg.
Quinn cursed. He urged the horse to greater speed. He overtook her and spun his mount around, intending to block her way but she merely swerved and went running off in the other direction.
Quinn kicked one foot out of his stirrup and then flung his leg over the saddle, jumping from the animal. He hit the ground and rolled, already running as he came back to his feet. He pelted after her.
She was fast but he was faster. Years of training and daily practice meant Quinn could run like this for hours if need be. He caught her just as she reached a clump of scraggly brush and stretched a hand to her shoulder.
"Stop, lass!"
She spun and her fist connected with his chin. "Leave me alone, you asshole!"
Then she was off again. Quinn rubbed his chin and took off after her. He was more than a little annoyed now. Did the lass not realize he was trying to help her? Had he not already said he meant her no harm?
This time he launched himself, grabbing her around the waist and taking them both crashing to the ground among the springy heather. She screamed - more in fury than fear Quinn thought - and fought like a wildcat. She punched and kicked and writhed and it was all Quinn could do to stop himself sustaining injury.
"Calm down, woman!" he yelled as they tussled amongst the heather. "I'm not going to hurt ye! I swear!"
He managed to grab her wrists and pin them to the ground on either side of her head. He straddled her chest and held her fast.
"Stop! I'm tired of getting hit by a bloody woman!"
The lass stopped struggling but she stared up at Quinn with defiance in her eyes. She was trembling and Quinn felt a sudden stab of guilt. It was no wonder she'd attacked him - he'd gone pelting after her like a mad man.
"My name is Quinn," he said in the same soothing voice he used with a spooked horse. "Quinn MacFarlane. I'm nae gonna hurt ye. Ye have my word. I'm not one of those brigands, lass. I've come to help ye."
She didn't reply. She just stared up at him, unblinking. My, but she was a beauty. She had olive skin and deep brown eyes like freshly turned soil. Her dark hair spread out in waves around her head. Where had she come from? And why did she behave so strangely?
"I'm gonna let ye up now but ye must give me yer word you willnae try to run again. It's nae safe for a woman to be wandering these hills alone."
"All right!" she cried. "I won't run. Just let me up!"
Quinn climbed to his feet and the woman scrambled up after him, backing away down
the trail. She still held the little glass thing in her hand, he noticed. Her bag lay off to the side amongst the heather.
"Ye could have stuck me with that thing the same as ye did with those brigands, lass. Why did ye not?"
She glanced at the glass thing and shrugged. "It's horse tranquilizer. Not enough to do any damage but it will keep him asleep for an hour or two. Do you have a phone? I need to call the police."
Quinn cocked his head. None of her words made any sense. "I didnae ken the least bit of what ye said, lass. Are ye speaking some foreign tongue? I didnae recognize half the words."
She stared at him as if he'd gone mad. Then she shook her head. "This is crazy," she muttered to herself. "Crazy." She dragged a hand down her face and pulled in a breath. "I didn't stick you with this because you shot that man and freed me. I guessed you weren't with them."
"Then why did ye run from me?"
"Are you kidding? A hulking guy in a Scottish fancy dress costume starts chasing me and you expect me not to run? What the hell is going on here? Who were those men? Who are you? What do you want?"
Quinn held up his hand. "Whoa, lass. Which question would ye like me to answer first? I told ye who I am. Quinn MacFarlane, brother to Laird Robert MacFarlane. Those three were brigands who've been raiding our outlying holdings. I was tracking them when ye came upon them. As for what I want with ye - nothing, lass. Only to see ye safe."
She blinked and then abruptly slid to a cross-legged position on the ground. With a groan, she pressed the heels of her hands against her forehead. "I was only out for a drive," she said. "I just wanted to see a bit of Scotland before I flew home. How can this have happened? It's like something out of a freaking horror movie!"
"Out of a what?"
She laughed. It was a little shrill, like she was on the edge of hysteria. "Let me guess - you haven't heard of horror movies?"
Quinn shook his head.
"Or the police? Or cell phones? Jesus, where have you been living? In a cave?"
"Ye shouldnae take the Lord's name in vain," Quinn scolded her. "And no, I havenae been living in a cave. I live in Dunbreggan, the seat of my clan, up by the mouth of the loch."
This didn't seem to reassure her. She squeezed her eyes shut and began taking deep breaths as if to calm herself. He squatted in front of her but didn't draw any closer. She was like a startled animal - one wrong move and she'd bolt again.
"Where are ye from, lass? Where are ye kin? If I can get ye back to them I will."
"I'm from America," she said, waving a hand when he gave her a puzzled look. "Don't worry about it. It's a long way away, over the ocean. I was at a conference in Edinburgh when I hit a deer. Listen, could you take me to a police station? I need to get my car back."
There she went again, using words he'd never heard. Maybe they were words used in this 'America'. He'd heard tales of such a place over the sea that the Spanish had discovered but didn’t know of anyone from that land traveling to Europe.
"I'm sorry, lass," he said, shaking his head. "But I've never heard of this 'Police Station'. Be that a keep? To which clan does it belong?"
"It doesn't belong to anyone," she said. "It's a place where the local police are based - you know, constables, lawkeepers, whatever the hell you call them over here. They'll have a phone! My god, I need a phone!"
Quinn ignored her taking the Lord's name in vain again. She had an odd way of speaking. Maybe it was normal in America. "Well I canna take you back to this Police Station for I dinna ken where it might lie. Nor can I leave you here. It's nae safe. Ye'll have to come with me till we can figure out what's to be done with ye."
"Come with you?" she said. "Come with you where?"
"To the keep where my brother is laird. He's a wise man. He'll know how to help ye."
She scrambled to her feet. She looked wary again, ready to run. "How do I know I can trust you?"
"I give ye my word ye'll nae come to any harm whilst yer under my protection, lass."
This didn't seem to convince her. What kind of place was this America where a man's word meant nothing to a woman?
Her eyes moved to something behind him and Quinn turned to see, Silver, his black gelding coming towards him. The animal, although well trained, was incredibly greedy. True to form, tufts of grass stuck out each side of his mouth as he munched.
"You shouldn't let him eat that," the woman said. "He'll get colic."
The sudden shift in conversation threw him a little. "Ye know about horses?"
"Yes. I'm a veterinarian. That's why I was at the conference in Edinburgh."
Quinn laughed, shaking his head. "Lass, yer gonna have to stop talking like that or else write down the meaning of half the words ye say."
The woman frowned. "You don't know what a veterinarian is? Um," she pursed her lips in thought. "A doctor. A healer. One that looks after animals."
Quinn had never heard of such a thing but at least she was talking instead of trying to run or fight. Progress.
"Well, be that as it may, I'd like to see ye try to keep Silver from eating whatever he likes. He's a headstrong beast and no mistake." He turned towards the horse, put his fingers to his lips and let out two short, shrill whistles. Silver pricked up his ears and then trotted over, gently nuzzling Quinn's hands, hoping for a treat.
The woman watched him, a slightly puzzled expression on her face as if she was surprised he'd be so gentle with his horse. Quinn had to force himself not to frown. People often misjudged him because of his size and his skill at fighting. Why would this woman be any different, particularly considering the circumstances of their meeting?
"Do ye have a name, lass?" he asked.
She bit her lip as if deciding whether to answer. Then she stuck out her hand. "I'm Darcy. Darcy Greenway."
Quinn took her hand and kissed the back of it. "Very pleased to make yer acquaintance, Lady Greenway."
Darcy seemed taken aback. "I..um..I...."
Her hand felt soft and warm in his. It was so tiny his fingers enfolded it easily. "Will ye agree to accompany me back to my clan's holdings, my lady? We can protect ye there until we can figure out how to get ye back to Edinburgh and yer kin."
Darcy pulled her hand from his. She took a few steps backwards, looking around as if for escape.
"I give ye my word I'll do ye nae harm nor will any member of my clan. Yer under my protection now." He drew his dagger and held it out to her, hilt-first. "And just in case ye doubt me, ye can have my dagger. You'll ride behind me on Silver and if I do anything ye dinna like ye can stick me with the knife. I canna say fairer than that."
Darcy reached out and hesitantly took the knife. It was an ornate thing, given to him by his brother, Robert, for his nameday.
"Quinn," she said his name as though trying it out on her tongue. "Can I ask you something?" She swallowed, seeming to gather her courage. "What year is this?"
"Year?" Had the lass taken a whack on the head? Had those ruffians hurt her more than he realized? "It's the year of Our Lord 1505," he said gently.
She turned pale. Her legs folded beneath her and she would have fallen if Quinn hadn't darted forward to catch her. She weighed next to nothing in his arms, like a fragile little bird.
"Are ye well, lass? Are ye hurt?"
She shook her head. "No. I'm fine. I just felt a bit weird for a minute there."
But she made no move to pull out of his grip and Quinn didn't let her go. Instead, before she could protest, he scooped her up and lifted her into Silver's saddle. He tied her bag to the side of the saddle and then swung up in front of her.
"Ye'll need to put yer arms around my waist," he told her. "I dinna want ye falling off and we have a long way to go."
She did as he instructed, resting her hands lightly on his hips. Well, it was a start.
"Do ye still have the dagger, lass?" he asked.
"I sure do," Darcy replied. "So you better not try anything."
That was more like it. More like the feisty littl
e thing who'd fought off him and the brigands.
"I wouldnae dream of it."
They set off at a steady walk. Quinn would have liked to go faster – those brigands might have come around by now – but he was afraid of jostling the lass too much or scaring her all over again. He scanned the area as they moved, searching for any sign of their enemies. Thankfully, there were none. This area, so close to the border of their lands was sparsely populated. The lass said nothing. Her hands were a reassuring touch against his hips and he could feel her presence at his back like a warm summer heat.
Quinn gritted his teeth in determination. He'd see her safely back to the clan and then he'd find a way to return her to her kin. She was under his protection and nobody was going to harm her.
Chapter 5
THIS WAS CRAZY. COMPLETELY crazy. Darcy was damned sure she must be losing her mind. Either that or she’d stumbled on some weird sect that chose to dress in medieval costume and give up all the trappings of modern life. It must be that. The alternative was too crazy to think about.
Think it through, she told herself. You're a scientist. Rationalize this.
In her experience the simplest explanation was normally the correct one. But that would mean Quinn was telling the truth and this really was 1505. Somehow she had been transported back in time over five hundred years.
"Are ye all right, lass?" Quinn asked.
His large, strong hands held the reins lightly and he swayed to the movements of the horse. He seemed completely at ease in the saddle as if he had been riding all his life. This close he smelt of wood smoke and leather with a faint trace of masculine sweat no doubt garnered through his pursuits of her.
"I-" Darcy began.
What the hell was she supposed to say to that question? Yeah, I'm absolutely dandy, thanks. I'm thousands of miles from home, hundreds of years from home, riding with a strange man, in a strange land, and I think I might be losing my mind.
Quinn seemed to sense her unease. "Tell me what happened to ye, lass. How did ye run into those brigands in the first place?"