Page 18 of Highlander’s Claim

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Aulay was a despicable man. A monster.

Jenny had spent what felt like a lifetime in this dungeon. There was no way to tell without windows. Had it been one day? Two? Three?

At some point, the fire in the brazier had gone out, and she’d been in complete darkness for a long, long time. Then someone had come and relit the brazier and brought her more stonelike bread and water. They hadn’t replied to her questions about Aulay, her demands to be let go, to be seen by the laird.

Now, as she sat on the cold bench in the goddamn worst dress she could ever have chosen, wrapped in the blanket that Aulay had brought her and staring at the pointy medieval shoes—which, at least, were practical—she sighed.

She must have traveled in time. What other explanation to this insanity was there? Unless she had a brain tumor that gave her horrible hallucinations.

And if she had, indeed, traveled in time, what were her options? She needed to be back in New York on July 21, or she’d miss her appointment…and then she would need to wait for the clinic to have a cancelation. It could be months to get a new spot. And then her eggs might already be gone.

Tom and she had tried to get pregnant for a while when she was thirty-five, but nothing had worked because of her endometriosis.

Since IVF was not successful, her younger sister, Holly, had now agreed to become a surrogate and had an appointment to start taking hormones.

She imagined how it would be to have a baby and hold it. She’d always wanted to be a mother, to have a family.

She’d grown up in a happy family. Her mother and father loved each other and adored Jenny and her two sisters. Happy Christmases where no one felt forced to come out of obligation. Thanksgivings when Jenny felt truly thankful for her family. Her mom always said, “All we want is for you girls to be happy.”

Even now, she talked to her mom and dad two to three times per week. She visited her nephews and nieces for their birthdays no matter what.

As she’d watched her sisters marrying men they loved, becoming mothers…

She’d wanted it, too.

She’d always thought she could have it all—a career and a family. And she loved her job treating sick children. She knew she was brought into this life to be a doctor, only she’d also always thought she was born to be a mother. She loved her nieces and nephews, and every time she saw her pregnant, glowing sisters, she had that ping in her stomach, that hope that one day it would be her. Ripe and pregnant and feeling life grow inside of her.

But maybe she’d never have that. She was thirty-nine and divorced…and locked in a medieval dungeon. Tears burned her eyes, and she rubbed them to stop herself from crying. What would the rest of her life be like if she could never be a mother?

Empty. Every child she’d ever treat in her clinic would be a small reminder of what she’d never have.

She really had to get out of here.

And for that, she needed Aulay’s help. She’d failed yesterday, but she needed to convince him she was not a threat. She’d better start learning how not to die here…and perhaps find another way to get to Achleith. The clock was ticking, and if she didn’t get back to her own time, it would be too late to have a baby.

In a few moments, the door to the dungeon creaked and someone came in. It was the same guard who had brought her food earlier. He handed her a bowl of porridge through the gaps in the grating, and she realized she was hungry. She curled her hands around the steaming bowl, absorbing the warmth, and ate hungrily.

She threw glances at the guard while he put more firewood into the brazier. He must be in his forties. He had a beard and wore that heavy armor that she’d seen on other warriors. He wasn’t giving her evil smirks or anything.

“Do you have children…sir?” she asked.

Surprised, he looked up at her, a piece of firewood still in his hand. “Aye, I do.”

“Oh. Nice. Are they great?”

“Nae all the time. But aye.”

She slurped the porridge and nodded. “I don’t have any. But I really want one.”

The guard put the firewood into the brazier and straightened and turned to her. “Do ye have a husband?”

Way to destroy the mood, buddy. Her husband had betrayed her, cheated on her, and had a baby with another woman. And every time she thought of Tom, she still felt like a large stake was pierced right through the middle of her chest.

“No husband. I barely have my own sanity, friend. And I may soon lose the only thing that really matters to me. An opportunity to have my own child.”

He was quiet for a while, studying her, then said, “Ye canna birth bairns, lass? Sometimes ’tis the family God lets ye find that matters the most.”