To Conquer a Scot - Tamara Gill Page 0,3

to look out the window, but couldn’t spot anyone to give her a sense of what was real or make-believe.

The woman stared at her a moment before laughing. “I knew ye would be perfect. I’ve been watching ye for some time, although I had to wait for ye to be in Scotland before I could bring ye back.” She clapped her hands together and thunder rumbled outside.

Abby slid her hand around the pole and held it up in front of her as she walked to the window. The view made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Where there was once a garden before the cottage, now there was nothing but a few herbs and a rugged path.

The well-defined gravel walkway she’d used to get to the cottage was gone, in fact, trampled grass was the only indication that people walked this way at all.

This isn’t good. “I demand you send me home. Now. This very instant. You’ve gone too far and I don’t know what you think I’m going to be perfect for, but I’m not having any of it. So, unless you want me to do something I might regret later, you’ll do as I ask, right now.”

Gwen’s shoulders sagged, and she held out her hands to stall her. “Please, I really don’t mean ye any harm. Just let me explain.”

“You have exactly ten seconds to explain, and then you can send me home.” Abby glared to emphasize her point. The woman seemed to get it.

“Ever since I was born I’ve had the ability to see things, not of my own time unfortunately, but places, events, well into the future. All my life I’ve known of ye, as you’ve grown, so have I, even though we were born centuries apart. I feel like I know ye verra well.”

“That’s all very nice for you, but what do you want from me? I don’t belong in this time. I’ll probably be slaughtered the moment I walk out that door by some English army who hates everything Scottish. Or some Highlander lord with a penchant for killing innocent women with axes.” Gwen laughed and Abby waved the pole.

“My brother the laird must marry and produce a child as deemed by our father’s dying wish. My brother will proclaim any day now his intention to marry. You, Abigail Cross, are perfect for him and must marry the laird as soon as ye may.”

Abby dropped the pole and then scrambled to pick it up. “What, that’s crazy! I’m not marrying some barbaric, filthy Scottish laird. There may be some hot historical romance novels out there sporting lairds with delightful packages under their kilts, but it’s fiction. Your brother probably never bathes, has bad breath, kills on a whim, and demands obedience from everyone.” Abby started to pace. The absurdity of the situation made perspiration break out everywhere. Great, now I’ll smell as well. “Do you know what century I’m from? What year? I can’t be here because you decided I would make your brother a good wife. I need to go home. Now.”

Gwen paled, and Abby was glad of it. The troublemaking witch needed to back the hell off and send her home.

“I can’t. Not right at this moment. Magic doesn’t work that way. You’ve travelled through time, Abigail. To send you back straight away could leave you stranded in some other time that isn’t your own. I’m sorry, but for the time being, you must stay.”

“What am I going to do? I’ll stick out like a sore thumb. I mean, look at me!” Abby gestured at her clothes. “I think you’ll agree what I’m wearing isn’t appropriate for the period.” The nausea was back and Abby searched for a bucket, anything she could vomit in. Not seeing anything of use, she opened the door and ran out into the claiming dusk, right into a solid mass of muscle.

She stumbled back, this was going to hurt and she’d had about enough of today, but suddenly two large hands wrapped around her arms, saving her dignity and pain.

Abby looked up and up and up some more and felt her mouth open on a sigh. Holy sweet Jesus, who is this?

He stared at her, his gaze narrowed and brow furrowed in disapproval. Abby pushed back a little, bent over, and heaved all over his boots. She distantly heard a curse, but she was beyond caring. Darkness swamped her, and with it came relief. Maybe the heathen Scottish Braveheart holding her had shoved

readonlinefreenovel.com Copyright 2016 - 2024