clouds blue sky peeked through, teasing them with better weather. Abby studied the courtyard that looked out over the Isle of Skye. People milled about. Some carried food from the few vegetable gardens she could see, others worked with horses or hauled water from the well, an array of activities that reminded her of stories she’d read in history books.
Shaking her head, she struggled to comprehend what was happening to her. Shouts from the front of the castle caught her attention, and she headed that way. She walked over a bridge that covered a small, slow flowing creek and saw the endless, lush forests that encased the castle like a cocoon. She turned and looked back at the castle itself, so different from the one that stood in the twenty-first century. There must have been numerous alterations and additions through the years.
A couple of guards with swords walked the castle perimeter. They looked at her, men who had seen death, caused death, and would likely take life without a moment’s hesitation. Hardened soldiers who didn’t take fools lightly.
Abby quickened her steps away from them and headed along a rough riding track. There were some outlying cottages scattered about the forest and shoreline, and people tended to pigs and goats that were housed in small wooden yards.
Fear crept along her spine that this could be her future. How would she ever survive living in this time? Although she had no family back in the twenty-first century, she did have friends, even if no longer close. Her own fault, after pushing them all away, cocooning herself in grief after David’s death. But that didn’t mean she wanted to walk away from her life and her twenty-first century comforts, most of all.
She may not have a lot of money and she may have to work for a living, but it was her life, and to have it snatched away wasn’t right.
Anger replaced her fear, and she stopped walking. The sound of thumping hooves sounded behind her, and she turned to see Laird MacLeod riding hard toward her.
She hadn’t been able to get a very good look at him when she’d vomited on his feet. All of her memories after that were hazy at best. But whoa. She doubted she’d forget him ever again.
Large, muscular arms urged the horse forward. His legs, his very bare legs, beneath a kilt that was doing anything but sitting down about his knees, flexed and held him astride his horse.
Abby’s mouth dried up like the Sahara desert. Probably didn’t help that her mouth was hanging open and tapping the ground. She closed it with a snap and stepped off the road a little in case he decided to run her over and be rid of her for good. The thunderous glare he was bestowing on her only supported that theory.
I’m dead meat.
The horse skidded to a stop, and he slid off in one fluid movement. He towered over her, making her kink her neck to meet his gaze. He was angry, the thumping of the vein near his temple proof of that, but a flicker of something else briefly passed in his gaze. Was he worried about her? Highly doubtful. He didn’t even know her.
Abby pushed the thought aside and studied him instead. His shoulders were massive, built for sword fighting. A cloth looped over one shoulder and obscured part of his tunic covered chest. He was bronze-skinned, and the large muscles of his chest flexed with each breath. She bit her lip, not sure what to make of him other than the fact he was unbelievably hot.
Laird MacLeod stood with his legs apart, as if the package between them wouldn’t allow anything less. He cleared his throat, and her gaze snapped to his face. Heat bloomed on her neck and across her cheeks. She should have looked away and immediately chastised herself for not doing so. For to look at him was to fall into sin in the most delicious way she could imagine.
He had a strong jaw with a day’s growth of beard, a succulent mouth that begged to be nipped and kissed. Her hand itched to feel and stroke his wavy shoulder-length hair. Was it as soft as it looked? The fact he smelled of pine and clean soap wasn’t missed, either.
But it was his eyes that again made this world spin for her. They were, without doubt, the most beautiful green eyes she’d ever seen. Dark as the heather that grew wild around their