by Katy Baker
Just a dream, she told herself. Just a dream.
It didn't help. She crossed to the window and threw open the drapes. It was just getting light and through the window she could see the Highlands stretching into the distance.
She gulped. The enormity of her situation closed in. She was miles and years from where she should be. She must get home. There was no other choice.
Keep calm, she told herself. Reason it through. Find an explanation. How did you come to be here?
She thought back to the events of the day. Everything had been going fine until she hit that deer on the road. Then she'd followed it through that stone arch and everything changed.
That's it, she thought. The arch. That must be the portal. If I can find it again, it will take me home. It's on the shore of the loch so logically all I have to do is follow the line of the shore.
She closed her eyes, trying to calm her nerves, but images of the shadow creature from her dream formed in her mind, making her heart thump with fear. Pulse racing, she crossed to the wardrobe. She had to go now, before anyone was awake. Fear leant urgency to her steps.
Luckily her own clothes had been stored in the wardrobe. Hurriedly she changed into her jeans, t-shirt and boots. Lastly, she swung her bag over her shoulder, lit the candle and hurried to the door.
The corridor outside was dark and empty. She inched along it and down the steps into the main hall. She froze at the bottom when she realized people were sleeping down here, curled up in their cloaks round the fire. She crept around the edge of the hall, careful to make no sound and reached the door which she pulled open just enough for her to slip through.
Once outside she headed for the causeway. The only people she saw were the guards on the battlements. She waited until their pacing took them away from her and then scurried down the causeway as fast as she could and took a left turn along the shore of the loch, heading south towards where she hoped she'd find the stone archway.
She cast a look over her shoulder as she walked. Dunbreggan rose out of the loch behind her, candles flickering in some of the windows. Was Quinn in one of those rooms? How would he react when he discovered she'd gone? A twinge of guilt twisted her insides. These people had been nothing but kind to her and here she was, leaving without even thanking them.
Running away again, Darcy? she thought. No! she answered herself harshly. I'm not running away. I'm running towards something. I'm running home.
But as she made her way out into the sleepy countryside, she felt like a coward.
Chapter 8
QUINN HAD A BAD NIGHT. He'd tossed and turned, twisting the sheets around himself and falling into fitful slumber only to jerk awake and begin the whole process again. No matter what he tried, he couldn't get his thoughts to settle. Thoughts of the brigands and the danger they posed to his clan. Thoughts of what they would do to counter it. But most of all, thoughts of the dark-haired stranger who'd burst into his life so suddenly yesterday.
He'd so badly wanted to speak to her before she retired last night. Lord help him, he'd wanted to do much more than that and it had taken all his willpower to keep his attention fixed on his brother as he watched from the corner of his eye as she went up to her room.
He'd made an oath that he'd protect the lass, and that meant shielding her from clan gossip as much as any other danger. It was bad enough that he'd ridden in with her without warning yesterday, which sent tongues wagging no doubt, but if he started paying her attention as well, it would no doubt confirm her opinion of highlander men and Quinn was determined to change her mind in that regard.
So he rose early, dunked his head in the bowl of cold water on his washstand, donned his plaid and made his way downstairs for breakfast. As he emerged into the great hall his eyes were already scanning the room for Darcy. She wasn't there.
Well, he couldn't blame the lass for sleeping in. She'd been through quite an ordeal.
He made his way over to the main table, calling greetings to the few people who were up before him and sat in his customary chair next to his brother's. Old Angus, one of the castle's serving staff brought him a bowl of porridge and a mug of ale which he set to heartily.
A short while later Alice entered the great hall. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, scanning the room and chewing her lip. She looked worried. Before Quinn could say anything, she turned around and went back up the stairs.
Quinn shrugged. Women.
But a short time later Alice appeared again, this time with Rebecca in tow. The two women looked around anxiously as if searching for something.
A spike of alarm went through Quinn. Pushing back his chair, he strode over to them.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
Worry shone in Rebecca’s eyes. "It's Darcy. She's gone."
Quinn's stomach flipped over. "Gone? Whatever do ye mean?"
"I mean she's nae in her room. All her things have gone. She must have slipped out in the night or early this morning."
Quinn found himself cursing under his breath and forced himself to stop. His heart was suddenly beating very rapidly. He spun on his heel and strode towards the main door. Rebecca kept pace with him.
"Where do ye reckon she's gone?" she asked. "And at this ungodly hour?"
"She's trying to get home," Quinn replied. "She did seem pretty determined yesterday."
"Home?" Rebecca asked. "Ye mean Edinburgh? It isn't safe for her to travel there alone!"
"I know that," Quinn growled. "Ye know that. It seems Darcy Greenway doesn't know that, despite how many times I've told her!"
He pulled the doors open and took the steps into the courtyard two at a time. Rebecca halted at the top, watching him go with an anxious look on her face.
"Spare me from headstrong lasses!" Quinn growled as he strode towards the stables. "Especially headstrong lasses who dinna have the sense of a bairn!"
DARCY WASN'T FINDING the going as easy as she'd hoped. In the twenty-first century the shores of the loch were riddled with footpaths, many of them made nice and wide for tourists. In this century, there were no tourists of course and what trails they were seemed to be animal trails rather than anything made by human feet.
She found herself struggling through heather-covered terrain. The ground was hummocky and kept threatening to trip her if she wasn't careful where she put her feet. As much as possible she walked on the tiny strip of beach on the loch’s edge but more often than not, the shore was steep sided, forcing her inland.
It was just her rotten luck that the day had turned into one of those rare days where the sky was an unbroken arch of blue, the sun a blazing white ball and the wind non-existent. As a result, by midmorning she was sweaty and panting, made worse by the heavy bag she carried over one shoulder.
"Damn it all!" with a grunt of annoyance, she dropped the bag onto the heather and turned around, taking in her surroundings. There was not a soul in sight. On the far side of the loch she saw a thin column of smoke that might indicate a settlement but her only company were the swallows who flitted low over the heather, catching insects.
Dunbreggan was many miles behind her. Darcy wasn't sure how far she'd walked or how far she had to go before she reached the stone archway. When riding with Quinn yesterday she hadn't taken much notice of how long the journey to Dunbreggan had lasted.
She slumped onto a tussock to take a breather. She was hungry and thirsty. In her haste she hadn't even stopped to pack food and drink and as a result she'd eaten nothing since the night before. If she didn't reach the stone archway soon she'd be drinking from the loch and be damned with the consequences.
A noise caught her attention. She went very still, listening. There it was again. The jingle of tack and soft stomp of horses’ hooves. Darcy sprang to her feet, looking for a place to hide.
Her only option was a small outcrop of rock several paces ahead. She ran, hunched over to avoid notice, picking up a branch that had washed up on the loch shore. It was a poor weapon but it was better than nothi
ng.
Heart pounding, she ducked behind the outcrop, pressing her back to the damp stone.
Ye belong to us now, lass, said the voice from her dream in her head.
No, she told herself. It's not the brigands again. It can't be!
Her pulse was roaring so loudly she could hardly hear anything else. Carefully she peeked out. She stifled a curse as she saw her footprints, so obvious in the wet sand, leading straight towards her.
She waited. Then she heard it. The tell-tale thud of hooves hitting the turf. Her heart fluttered. She dropped her bag to the ground and gripped the branch in both hands. If this was another group of brigands she'd give them a headache they wouldn't forget!
The hooves stopped. For a long time there was silence. Darcy remained stock-still, willing them to move on, to not bother peering behind the outcrop. She crept forward and peeked out.
A horse stood on the other side. It was so close all she could see was its hindquarters and tail that swished at the flies. A man knelt in the sand by the horse. He seemed to be examining her footprints.
Instinct kicked in. There was no way she'd be taken unawares again. She leapt out of her hiding place with a cry, brandishing the branch. The horse shied, throwing up its head and whinnying. Darcy smacked the branch against the man's head with a dull crack.
If she expected him to crumple to the ground she was sadly disappointed. He cursed then spun and grabbed the branch before she could pull it back for another swing. He yanked on the branch and Darcy was pulled forward. She staggered, only just catching herself before she went tumbling to the sand. The man came at her, hands reaching. Darcy ducked under his outstretched arm and aimed a punch at his stomach. He grunted in surprise and Darcy took the opportunity to spin on her heel and start running.
Or she tried, at least.
The man spun as well, his movements quick and sure, and grabbed her arm, pulling her back towards him. Strong hands grabbed her waist and flung her onto her back on the sand. Darcy shrieked in fury and scrabbled to get up but the man threw his weight on top of her, straddling her chest and grabbing her hands which he pinned to either side of her head.
"Ye seem to be making habit of attacking me, lass," said the man. "It's twice in two days I've had to pin ye like this. I’m starting to ken ye don’t like me much."
Darcy froze as she recognized the voice. She went limp and looked up into the man's face for the first time.
It was Quinn.
A lump was forming on his forehead from where she'd smacked him. His hair fell forward and lightly brushed Darcy's face. Those blue eyes, so close they dominated her vision, were filled with a stern annoyance.
"I...um...I..." Darcy spluttered.
"Couldn't have put it better myself," Quinn growled.
He stared down at her, his chest heaving from their brief fight. The breath caught in Darcy's throat. He was so close she could feel his breath on her skin. Involuntarily her lips parted.
Quinn leaned down, his own breath quickening, and for the briefest of moments she thought he was going to kiss her. And for the briefest of moments that's what she wanted more than anything else in the world.
But then Quinn blinked. He cleared his throat. "I...um...I..."
"Isn't that my line?" Darcy asked, raising an eyebrow.
He pulled back, releasing her and climbing to his feet. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand then pulled Darcy to her feet.
She stood, a little dazed, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
"Are ye well?" Quinn asked hoarsely. "Yer not hurt?"
"Only my pride," she replied.
Quinn didn't reply. His expression was stern. "Why did ye run, lass? Were we not hospitable enough for ye? Did we not welcome ye into our household?"
Darcy chewed her lip. "Of course you did. Everyone was lovely. It's just that...it's just..."
Quinn crossed his arms. "Aye?"
Darcy struggled for words. The images from her dream flickered in her memory. She pushed a hand through her hair and slumped onto the sand. "I got scared so I ran," she admitted. "My friend reckons it's what I always do. Perhaps she's right." She looked up at Quinn. "No matter how kind you've all been, I don't belong here. I have to get home."
"So why didnae ye come to me about this?"
"Oh right, like that would have worked. You'd have said, okay, that's fine. Here's a horse and some provisions. Safe journey."
"Nae, I would have stopped you leaving."
Darcy threw up her hands in exasperation. "Exactly! You seem to think you have the right to tell me what I can and can't do! Well I've got news - I don't answer to you!"
Quinn's frown deepened. "I made a vow to keep ye safe, lass! Do ye expect me to just let you go wandering off where you might get yerself killed?"
His tone sounded like the one her father used to use when she'd done something he disapproved of. "That's the point: you don't get to 'let' me do anything, damn it! If I want to go wandering off and get myself killed, that's my own business!"
She wasn't sure that last statement really added to her case but was suddenly furious. With this man who thought he could tell her what to do. With this place that was so alien to everything she knew. With the whole god-damned freaking situation.
"Bah! Ye dinna talk sense, woman! Listen to yer words! Ye sound like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum!" His blue eyes sparked with anger. "I thought I'd helped a sensible, mature, self-reliant woman, not a spoilt child!"
"How dare you? You know nothing about me!"
"Nae," Quinn agreed. "But I was hoping to learn more. Seems yer determined I won't." He bent down to pick up her bag and stomped to his horse where he tied it to the saddle. "Come on. Nae matter what ye say I canna leave ye out here alone. If ye be so determined to get home I'll try to help ye get there."
Darcy, ready for another angry retort, hesitated. "You'll help me? After you've just ridden out here to stop me?"
"Aye."
The anger leaked out of Darcy. This man managed to wrong foot her at every turn. First, he'd ignored her at Dunbreggan as though she was totally unimportant. Then he'd ridden to her rescue only to start ordering her about. Now he was offering to help her. She opened her mouth and shut it again.
"But didn't you say it was close to Murray lands?"
"Aye."
"And isn't it dangerous for any MacFarlane to go there?"
"Aye."
"But you're willing to escort me anyway?"
"Didnae I just say so? I made a vow, lass. I said I'd protect ye and I will, nae matter how much ye rail against it."
Darcy absorbed this in silence. Quinn watched her. He'd gone from angry warrior to patient protector in an instant. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.
"And what would happen to us if we were found on Murray land?"
Quinn shrugged. "Who knows? It depends on whether John de Clare really has taken over the lairdship. If he has it won't end well. He's an evil man who's sworn vengeance on the MacFarlane clan."
Darcy pressed the heels of her hands against her forehead. Her anger became shame. She'd been thinking only of herself, only of how desperately she needed to get back to the archway. Yet Quinn, who'd come after her when he could have easily have left her to her fate, was willing to take her into enemy territory, despite the cost to himself.
Quinn laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Are ye all right, lass? I didnae mean to frighten ye. I would never let the Murrays hurt ye, no matter what-"
"It's not that," Darcy said.
She looked up at him. His expression was so sincere. Quinn MacFarlane seemed sincere in everything he did.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have run away. I should have told you what I planned and listened to your advice. It's just that...this is all so confusing."
And you most of all, she thought.
"I understand, lass," he said. "Sometimes we find ourselves in roles and situations which dinna seem right at all but we're in them nonetheless and
have to make the best of it." He sounded as though he spoke from experience.
Darcy opened her mouth to ask him about it but he turned away and took the reins of the horse.
"So what will it be, lass? Do ye still wish to travel south? Or will ye consent to return to Dunbreggan with me until we can find a safe way to return ye to yer kinfolk?"
Darcy sighed. "After all the trouble I've caused you still want to take me back? I wouldn't blame you if you left me out here to my fate."
He raised an eyebrow at that. "I canna say I have nae been tempted. Rebecca would have my hide though. She's taken quite a shine to ye."
"Well in that case, I'd better come back with you, hadn't I? It's best not to deny a pregnant woman what she wants unless you want to end up on the wrong side of her temper."
Quinn snorted. "Don't I just know it, lass."
Darcy tipped her head back to look up at him. He watched her, saying nothing. Tentatively, she reached up and gently ran her fingers over the bruise forming on his temple.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. "For hitting you, I mean. I thought you were one of those brigands."
"Forget it," he whispered, his eyes fixed on hers. "I get worse every day in the practice yard."
Quinn's skin felt smooth and warm under her fingertips. She reached up and brushed aside one of the braids that framed his face. Quinn made no move to stop her. He leaned forward and Darcy's eyes slid closed, lips parting slightly, breath quickening.
Quinn cleared his throat and stepped back. "We...um...we'd better get going," he muttered. "Rebecca will be worrying."
"Yes. Of course. Get going. Good idea," Darcy replied, a little flustered.
Quinn held out a hand to help Darcy into the saddle. Darcy ignored his offered help, set her foot in the stirrup and swung easily onto the horse. Did Quinn think she'd never ridden before? She was a vet for pity's sake!