Page 15 of Highlander’s Claim

“Don’t. I don’t mind. I’m not really hungry, anyway.”

Nervous jitters turned and twisted her stomach as questions spun inside her head. Had she really traveled in time? Was there some other reasonable explanation for all this? For meeting the man that woman had called the love of her life? For being dragged across the sea on an ancient ship, bound and gagged and pointed at? For being called a faerie and a whore because of the length of her dress?

No electricity. No cars. No running water. No technology of any kind.

And if this all was true—which she still couldn’t believe—but if it was…

What about her appointment? Her last chance to have a baby?

She had to return to Achleith. If that rock had made her travel in time, it must work to send her forward once again. She felt her knees jiggle under the table, from nerves but also from the chill air. Despite it being summer and the fires in braziers all around, the great hall was cold.

“Who are those friends of yers?” Aulay asked, startling her.

What should she say? If she wanted to return to that island, she needed him to believe her. To relax around her and not think that she was some sort of a threat. His people had told him to lock her up in a dungeon—and if he did, any chance of escape would disappear. All those huge warriors would be very effective at keeping her in place. And she knew better than to provoke a band of armed men.

Which meant she probably shouldn’t keep insisting she was American. And she definitely shouldn’t say a word about time travel. She should tell him what he wanted to hear. Something believable and innocent.

Let him lower his guard. Then she’d run.

“They were women. Like I said, my friends and I were on our way to Ireland…”

“To celebrate something… Did ye say a divorce?”

“Yes. I did say a divorce. What I meant was that we were on a pilgrimage to Ireland to pray that the divorce doesn’t happen for my friend.”

“A pilgrimage?” He looked her all over, making her skin burn. “In this?”

She gave a long, heavy sigh. How many times can a person regret their choice of clothes?

“Yes,” she said.

“All right.” He eyed her carefully, his piercing gaze scanning her like an X-ray machine. “Where were ye headed for the pilgrimage?”

Well, shoot. She had no idea what pilgrimage sites there were in Ireland. She needed to do something with her hands to give herself time to think. She cut another piece of soft salmon and lifted it to her mouth with her fingers. She couldn’t taste what she was chewing.

Ireland…

St. Patrick, of course!

“To the St. Patrick’s site.”

He leaned with his elbows over the table and pinned her with his gaze. Her feet grew cold. He was onto her. “And pray tell, where is that St. Patrick’s site?”

Argh! With her hand shaking, she picked out a long fish bone between the flesh and laid it neatly on the trencher.

“On St. Patrick Mountain, of course,” she said. “Have you not heard of it?”

“Nae.”

She snatched the cup of ale and emptied it quickly. It tasted almost like root beer, not even that alcoholic. And surprisingly delicious. The beer made her head spin pleasantly. For better or for worse, she felt braver. “Well, who made you an expert on Ireland, anyway?”

He chuckled and took another sip. “Are ye always like this?”

“Like what?”

“Ye dinna let a man be right?”

Anger hit her in a scorching wave. That hit way too close home. Wasn’t that exactly what Tom had told her over and over? He could never get a break with her. He could never feel relaxed with her. She always grilled him about things and never left him alone.