The shopkeeper peeked behind the screen just as Rollo cursed under his breath. Scandalized, the man’s eyes grew wide. “If you’d be so kind—”
“Aye,” Rollo gritted out, “you’ve my coin. We leave you now.”
The click and drag of his cane and feet were the only sounds as they made their way, excruciatingly slowly, from the shop.
Rollo felt Felicity’s eyes on him in the carriage, and he pushed himself as far into the corner as possible.
She smelled so . . . lush. Womanly and rich, her scent filled the small enclosure, driving him to distraction. Did she have to watch him so?
The wheel caught on a rut. The carriage gave a sharp jolt, and Felicity bounced closer in his direction.
“Sixteen fifty-eight,” he said suddenly, his voice cracking. “The year. Is 1658.”
“I . . .” She looked confused for a moment. “Oh. Okay.”
“That doesn’t . . . shock you?” And he’d thought MacColla’s woman Haley had been a peculiar one.
“Shock me? What about you? I’m from the twenty-first century, and you act as though women pop back in time every day.”
“Bloody hell, but it seems you all do . . .” he muttered.
“What?” She leaned closer to hear.
“I’ve seen . . . this”—he waved his hands, gesturing to her—“before. But don’t fash yourself.” He glanced away from her to stare back out the window. “As I said, I will help you return to your proper place.”
“I’ve been trying to tell you. I think this is my proper place. I did . . . something—”
“This couldn’t possibly be your proper place.” He sat upright to confront her. “Not very long ago, our king was relieved of his head. His son, the rightful king, Charles II, lives in exile, rallying to be restored to the throne. And Cromwell’s agents comb the countryside seeking men like me to hang from a gibbet in the market square.”
“Well, maybe I was sent back to help you.”
“I don’t need your help,” he snapped.
“I . . .” Her shoulders fell. “Is this about your legs or something?”
He bristled. Would she not leave it alone?
“Because I wasn’t saying you needed help help. Gosh, you’re sensitive. I was just saying, I think for some reason I came back to you specifically.” She poked her finger at his chest. “I made a wish, asked for a Viking, and—”
The laugh exploded from him, surprising them both. “You asked for a Viking?”
“No, not a real Viking. It was . . . a metaphor.”
“You requested a metaphorical Viking from the universe?”
“Yes.” She crossed her arms. “Though it didn’t sound so silly at the time.”
He sank back into the seat, staring fixedly at the ceiling of the carriage. Why had he insisted on hiring a carriage? Why hadn’t he put her on that boat with Ormonde instead? He could’ve ridden to Perthshire. It could’ve taken him months.
“I am no woman’s Viking,” he grumbled.
“You can’t . . .” She froze, a look of horror crossing her face. “Wait, you’re not married already, are you?”
He swung his head to look at her, his face dark. “Do I look married?”
She merely stared blankly.
Rollo gestured to his legs. Was she purposely misunderstanding? He raised his brows, waiting impatiently for his point to dawn.