Chapter 8

Harley rolled over onto her side and hugged her head. It felt like an over-inflated balloon ready to pop. "Lovely. A sinus headache. What a way to start the day. Thank you, Kentucky humidity and pollen." She massaged her throbbing cheeks and brow bones, then groaned again and squinted her eyes shut even tighter. They burned like she'd spent the night in a smoky bar. The pollen must be super high on the riverbank today. And what day was it? Had the alarm gone off? Was she scheduled to work?

"What is wrong with me? I never wake up this wonky." She shoved herself upright while still holding her head and risked opening an eye.

A strange man sat there; his startling green eyes locked on her in a curious stare.

Throat clenching terror kept her from screaming, but she came to her senses enough to shove both hands under her pillows, searching for the trusty prybar she kept there for security purposes. But her fingers didn't hit the cool metal of the iron bar. It was gone. How could it be gone? She scrambled as far away from the man as she could get and scraped her elbow on the stone wall at her back. Stone wall? What?

She blinked and forced her eyes open wider, flitting glances all around while keeping the stranger firmly in her sight. High ceilings with huge wooden beams supporting them were overhead. Medieval looking tapestries were pulled back from open windows as if they were meant to be curtains. Torches burned in iron holders on the wall.Rough looking candles that definitely hadn't come from the fancy gift shop downtown were sputtering on a nearby table. And come to think of it, the man with the long black hair, sitting in front of her with a build like a weightlifter, wasn't exactly dressed like the average tourist who might wander along the riverbank in front of her camper.

"Where am I?" she asked, her voice broken and raspier than a rusty hinge. She coughed and thumped her chest. What was wrong with her? She cleared her throat and tried again. "Who…who are you, and how did I get here?"A loud hiccup broke free of her, a sure sign that the panic making her heart pound was about to make her puke. Nasty habit she had, tossing her innards whenever frightened out of her wits. "Answer me!" she screamed between erratic hiccups.

"Calm down, lass.Ye are safe now."He rose from the chair and held out his hand.

She jerked away, pressing back against the cold roughness of the wall. "Keep away from me. I might not have my crowbar, but I'm not afraid to fight." Although, from the looks of him, the fight wouldn't last very long. She'd never met a man his size. Tall as…well, she couldn't say exactly how tall he was, but he towered over her and probably had to bend to walk through high doorways. And his shoulders were so broad she couldn't see around him.

"I mean ye no harm, lass," he said quietly, as if she'd hurt his feelings. "As I said, ye are safe here. In my home. Castle MacKay." He gave her the same smile he'd had when she first opened her eyes—a friendly smile. A kindly kind of smile. Concern and kindness appeared to fill those emerald eyes of his too. "My name is Ronan MacKay. What is yer name, lass?"

She chewed on her bottom lip and debated whether or not to tell him. After another glance at her strange surroundings, she decided keeping her name a secret was pretty futile at this point.

"Harley," she whispered.

"Mistress Harley," he repeated with a Scottish brogue that was a little hard to understand because of the way he rolled his r's. But his deep voice made up for it. It was the kind of soothing, reverberating sound a person could float away on and listen to in their happiest dreams. "Do ye have a surname, Mistress Harley?"

"A surname?" She knew what he meant, but everything was so strange, so—frightening—for lack of a better word. The world didn't even smell right anymore. The air was filled with wood smoke, grease burning—maybe from those candles—and a general earthiness layered with a clean, crisp fishiness that made her wonder if they were near water. "My surname?" she said again to buy herself more time to sort through this chaos.

"Aye, lass." His dark brows drew closer together and something that might be genuine worry flickered across his striking handsomeness that belonged on the cover of a romance novel. He reached for a pitcher and an impressive antique pewter goblet, poured liquid into it, and handed it to her. "Here, lass. Drink. Ye seem a mite confused."

"Yes." She nodded as she took the cup. "Confused is a very accurate word for me right now." She sniffed the contents before she sipped and frowned. "Why does this smell like alcohol?"

"Alcohol?"

She squinted down into the goblet, then sniffed it again. "Is this beer?"

Mr. MacKay gave her a bewildered shake of his head. "Nay, lass. 'Tis ale. Would ye prefer mead?"

She stared at him for a long moment before answering, unsure exactly what to say. "Uhm…water, maybe? Could I have some water?" Had she been in an accident and had a head injury, maybe? A wreck, perhaps, and a film crew had rescued her and brought her to their set? She shook her head at that. No. That was ridiculous. Nothing like that was going on anywhere near her town. "Where did you say this is? I really need to be getting home, Mr. MacKay."

"Ronan."

"What?"

"Call me Ronan, lass, ye ken?"

"I'm not sure what ken means." She handed the glass back to him. "Where is this again?"

"Castle MacKay."

"There is no Castle MacKay in Kentucky," she whispered, pressing so tightly back against the wall that the roughness of the stone blocks became almost painful.

He didn't answer. Instead, he went to a cabinet on the far side of the room and poured something from a different pitcher into another glass. When he returned and handed it to her, she couldn't read his expression, and that increased her uneasiness almost more than she could bear.

"Water for ye, lass. 'Twill make ye feel better to wet yer thrapple."

She sniffed it first, her deep inhale echoing in the metal goblet.

Ronan sadly shook his head. "I would never lie to ye, Mistress Harley."

"Just Harley." She took a sip, and it was the sweetest, cleanest water she had ever tasted. And he was right. It made her feel better. "Harley Trent."

He smiled as though grateful for the gift of her full name, but this time the smile was sad and that same sadness was reflected in his eyes.

"I need to get home now," she said, making up her mind to challenge him and find out just how nice and kind this handsome, dark-haired pirate type Highlander really was.

"This is home now, lass. Scotland of 1407." He gave her a compassionate nod. "I am sorry, but I dinna think we can get ye back to wherever or whenever ye once lived. If we did, the sea goddess might attempt to foist more mischief upon ye."

Harley clutched and stretched the neckline of her cotton pullover, finding it difficult to breathe.A trembling she couldn't control shook her so hard, she spilled her water—but didn't care. Spilled water was the least of her worries right now. "I cannot be in Scotland or the year 1407. I live in Kentucky and the year is 2008."

He bowed his head and blew out a heavy sigh that made her want to scream. "I am sorry, lass."

"Stop calling me lass! I told you my name is Harley!"

With his mouth clamped shut in a tight, unhappy line, he gave her a quick nod. "Forgive me. I meant no insult." Another heavy sigh gusted free of him as he leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose. "What is the last thing ye remember before ye woke up here? Where were ye? What were ye doing?"

She stared at him, refusing to buy into whatever mind game he was trying to pull. He might be handsome, and he might be kind, but that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. She shoved the glass of water into his hands, then scooted back out of his reach against the wall. "I don't know. I just woke up, and I was here." She nervously wet her lips. "Tell me where here really is. And I want the truth this time."

"I told ye, lass—Harley, I will never lie to ye. This is Scotland. And it is the year 1407."

A sharp knock on the door made her jump and bang her head against the stone wall behind her. "Dammit!" She squinted while rubbing the sting from her skull.

A woman dressed in a costume straight out of a movie about ancient Scotland entered the room. "I see she has awakened."

"Aye."Ronan rose from his chair again and gave a respectful dip of his head. "Mistress Harley Trent, this is my mother, Rachel MacKay—lady of Clan MacKay."

Hugging herself against a renewed wave of hysteria, Harley swallowed hard to keep from vomiting all over the bed. She saw the resemblance between the two. Both had the same dark hair, although the woman's was streaked with silver, and she had the strangest eyes. Not green like Ronan's but a blue so rich and dark that they were purple."

The lady of Clan MacKay approached the bed and gave Harley the sort of look that made it seem as if she understood exactly what Harley was going through."You can call me Rachel. Don't be afraid. You'll come to no harm here."

Harley sniffed and swiped a hand across her face, trying to stop an onslaught of tears so she wouldn't start hiccupping again. "You don't sound like him."She sniffed again, grappling with the rising hysteria about to choke her.

Rachel motioned for her son to step back, then sat in the chair beside the bed."That's because I've only been in Scotland for the past twenty-eight years. The accent isn't quite the same as those who are born to it." She tipped her head to one side and grinned. "What part of Kentucky are you from? You sound like home to me."

"Southwestern tip of the state. By the Mississippi. What do you mean I sound like home?"

Rachel leaned forward as though about to share a juicy secret. "I'm from that part of Kentucky too. From the year 2007. I was probably about your age when I traveled back in time."

"Wait. What?" Harley peered closer at the older woman with the fine lines at the corners of her eyes and the silver in her hair. "That's impossible. If you were my age in 2007, and you've been here twenty-eight years, then how can I be here and be my age, and you be…your age now…when I'm from the year 2008?" She didn't want to insult Ronan's mother, but the facts begged an answer.

Rachel shrugged. "That, I am afraid, is a question for Einstein.I can only tell you what is. Not how the laws of the universe control the outcome."

Harley scrubbed her face with both hands, wishing she had never opened her eyes and discovered herself dumped in the middle of this confusing mess. "How did I get here? I don't remember what I was doing or what was going on before I woke up here.All I know is that when I woke up, I expected to see my messy camper—not the inside of an ancient castle."

Rachel gracefully rose from the chair and rested her hand on Ronan's shoulder."My son will help you find your answers, and you have my word that our entire family—our clan—will help you in any way we can.I promise you, there's nothing you can tell us that will surprise us. Unless it's about an invention from the future that was introduced after I crossed over into the past."

After an obvious nudge from his mother, Ronan held out his hand. "I will never hurt ye or lie to ye, Harley, and I am verra glad to be the one to help ye."

After a nervous glance at Rachel, Harley pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart was about to pound its way out of her ribcage. "I am so afraid,"she whispered, hating to appear cowardly. She had always been brave, never afraid to tackle any adventure, but this—this adventure terrified her.

He eased forward with a gentleness that made her both leery and hopeful that he was as nice as he really seemed. "I willna hurt ye, Harley, and I swear no one else will hurt ye, either. I would never allow that. Come, now. Try to trust me."

She stared at his outstretched hand, then willed herself to find the courage to take it. Warm and callused, something about his touch steadied her. She was still confused and frightened out of her mind, but something about her hand enclosed in his gave her the strength she needed to move forward.

He gently tugged, helping her out of the bed. "Come, lass—I mean, Harley. Time to find yer land legs, and see yer new surroundings.We are quite welcoming here. I promise ye."

"Since it appears to be a Scottish habit, you can call me lass if you want to. Sorry about snapping at you before." She held tight to his hand, pulled herself up, and immediately lost her balance and fell against his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. "Easy there, lass. I have ye and willna let ye fall."

There was something about his scent—the same wild crispness of the open sea gusting in through the window across the room, mixed with a warm male she instinctively knew would never harm her. She breathed him in while noticing the impressive expanse of hardened muscle pressed against her. "I'm just a little light-headed…sorry." She pushed away and resettled her footing but kept hold of his arm. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Rachel smiled and headed for the door."Ronan will bring you to the main hall for supper. You need to eat and rebuild your strength. Then we'll find you some clothes, so you'll feel more comfortable about moving among our people and not appearing out of place."

"Not appearing out of place," Harley repeated, staring at the door that Rachel closed behind her. Her heart rate returned to panic mode, and she fixed Ronan with a pleading look. "Please tell me this is just a bad dream—or a terrible joke."

He gave her a sad shake of his head. "It is real, lass. I ken it is a lot to understand, but I promise ye, ye are not alone."

"Why are you being so…nice?" She didn't want to insult him, but why would he bother to help her, bother to be so caring?

"Because I have listened to yer heartsong pleading for my help for several long weeks now, and I am determined to accept the task and do so."

Ronan waseager to do anything it took to erase the worry from Harley's beautiful whisky colored eyes and coax her full lips into a smile. Her skittishness as they slowly made their way down the hallway concerned him. She was not ready to meet the others. Not yet. The way she clutched his arm to steady her hesitant steps shot her nervousness into him, made him ache to put her at ease.

"Do ye think yerself strong enough to climb a few steps?" he asked, then changed his mind as she stumbled. It took all his reserve to keep from sweeping her up into his arms. "Would ye mind if I carried ye, lass?"

She pulled away and eyed him with the leeriness of a trapped animal. "I can walk, thank you. For some reason, I'm just a little stiff and shaky, but I'll be fine. I just need a little time to get all the kinks worked out, that's all." She jutted her chin in the direction they had been headed. "You go ahead if you have things to do. I'm sure I can find my way."

"It would be more than a little rude to leave ye." Why would she expect such behavior from him? Never would he stoop to such coarse manners. Such actions would be beyond contemptible. "And nothing I have to do is more important than yerself."

"Why?" She hugged herself as they walked, refusing to hold on to his arm any longer.

"Because—" He didn't have an answer for that. He was used to giving orders, having his word accepted without question, and not having to explain himself. "Because ye are important. Let that be the end of that. Would ye like to step outside and breathe in the sea air? It always strengthens me." He gave her an awkward shrug. "It might strengthen ye as well."

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, cringing with indecisiveness as she glanced first at him, then eyed both directions of the long hallway. "Some time outside might be really nice before I meet everyone else." She seemed to pull into herself, like a cowering animal that had been mistreated in the past. He ached to hold her and assure her he would let no harm come to her.

"Will there be many people at supper?" Pure fear shone in her eyes.

He didn't wish to make her worries worse, but neither would he lie to her. "I dinna ken how many there will be, lass. But it will be more than just Mother and myself. Of that, I am sure."

"Can we get outside without running into a lot of people?"

"Aye." He offered his arm for her to take. "The tower steps are beyond that archway. But I warn ye, they are steep and winding. I can carry ye, if ye wish." The memory of her warm softness in his arms, when the locket had freed her, made him hunger to hold her again.

"No, thank you. I'm pretty sure I can make it." She took his arm, softening the sting of her refusal.

Ronan walked slowly, doubting her belief in her recovery but not wishing to upset her again. "Ye asked if there would be many people at supper. Are ye one who prefers to be alone?"

"I wasn't that way in Kentucky, but I think I'm that way now. Here in this century. Especially the way I'm dressed." She shifted with a deep intake of air, seemed to hold it for a few steps, then let it ease back out. "I don't belong here," she said in a voice so soft he almost missed it. "I'm afraid of what people might do." She halted and gave him a panicked look. "If they think I'm a witch or something, they'll try to burn me at the stake."

He took hold of her shoulders and leaned down to level his gaze with hers. "Ye are safe here at Castle MacKay, lass. I swear it."

"So, I'm trapped here inside this castle forever?"

The desolation and hopelessness in her voice squeezed his heart. He had to help her, make her believe that no harm would come to her—at least, not on his watch. "Do ye know how the sailor ate an entire whale all by himself?"

Her sleek, dark brows knotted over her leery eyes. She stared at him as if he'd gone barmy. "What?"

"The sailor that ate the largest whale in creation—all by himself. Do ye ken how he did it?"

"No," she said, with an impatient roll of her eyes. "How did he eat the whale all by himself?"

"One bite at a time." He waited for her to sink her teeth into the old tale and understand its meaning.

"I don't get it, and I really don't think this is the best time for telling jokes." She scowled at him and flipped her hands in the air. "I'm kind of in the middle of a genuine crisis right now, in case you hadn't noticed."

He couldn't resist reaching out and touching her cheek. "I have noticed, lass. That is why I asked ye about the sailor eating the whale. For ye see, if ye try to live yer life all at once, worrying about how ye will face everything from now until the time ye die, ye will drive yourself mad about things that might not even happen. But if ye refuse to let yer mind run away with ye, and live yer life one day at a time, one moment at a time, ye will find those small bites much easier to chew and swallow."

Her knotted brows untangled, and she fixed him with a sheepish glare. "Oh."

He offered his arm again while struggling not to appear smug. "For now, we are walking down the hallway to the tower where we shall climb the steps and look out across the sea."

"And breathe."

He nodded. "Aye, and breathe in the air's freshness and listen to the terns keening out their woes." He took her hand and ushered her through the stairwell's archway first. The spiral staircase was far too narrow for them to walk abreast. "We shall enjoy that moment and not move on to the next until ye are ready."

"In that case," she said as she climbed in front of him, making her way up the winding stone steps, "I might be the first skeleton up in your tower."

Momentarily distracted by the way her lovely, round arse swayed in front of him, Ronan blinked and silently scolded himself for not paying attention. "Nay, lass. Ye will be fine after a bit. Just ye wait and see." She was finer than fine right now, but he couldn't very well tell her that—not when her trust in him was still so tenuous.

She paused and bowed her head, leaning forward with her hands pressed to the walls as though to wedge herself in place. Even in the tower's torchlight, Ronan could tell her knuckles had gone white from her tight hold on the stone blocks surrounding them.

He surged forward and scooped her up just as she went limp. "Lore a'mighty—ye stubborn lass." He tucked her to his chest as if she were no more than a wee bairn and finished the climb to the circular room at the top of the tower. Rather than lower her to one of the benches along the walls, he sat and held her, cradling her head to his shoulder. "Dinna fash yourself, lass. I have ye," he whispered into her hair as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. As soon as he had done it, he went still, wondering what had possessed him to do such a thing. But it had seemed so natural—as if he had done that for her a thousand times before.

She barely stirred, curling into herself and nuzzling closer as if needing his warmth to soothe her.

The worrisome ache in his chest, the one he had endured for weeks on end until the locket had appeared; surged hearty and strong once again, but this time, the ache had everything to do with the woman in his arms, and he knew it. He swallowed hard, denying what it might mean. It could not be possible. He was not the firstborn MacKay son. The curse of finding and securing a predestined heartmate belonged to Faolan—not him.

Nay, Harley Trent was his responsibility because he knew best how to battle the games the Sea Goddess Clíodhna put forth for her own amusement. But he couldn't resist bowing his head and breathing in Harley's sweetness. She smelled of flowers. Not the blooms of Scotland, but the fragrant petals of the plumeria from the warm, exotic isles of the West Indies. And she smelled vulnerable—and in need of a guardian.

She shifted again and this time; she pushed against his chest, lifted her head, and stared at him. "Uhm…sorry."

Mesmerized by the way her sooty lashes brought out the golden tawniness of her eyes, Ronan tightened his arms around her. "Ye have the eyes of a jungle cat I once came upon during my travels."

She blinked. "Is that good or bad?"

He couldn't resist a smile. "In yer case, lass, it is lovely as can be."

When she nervously wet her lips, he almost groaned but staunched it before it escaped. "I think I can stand now," she said, then glanced toward the open doorway leading to the outer walkway that encircled the tower. "Walking should be good too."

He helped her stand, rising beside her and holding her arms until satisfied that she wouldn't fall. "I feared the steps would be too much for ye."

She cut him with a hard, side-eyed glare. "I had to try."

"Aye, that ye did." The beauty had some fight to her, and that made him glad. She would need it to adapt to this time. "Come." He gently led her to the walkway, keeping a firm hold on her arm. "Look out upon my precious sea. I have never found a better tonic for what ails me."

The way she parted her lips when her awestruck stare took in the sparkling waters made him ache to kiss her. She leaned forward and rested her hands atop the stone wall as the waves danced and rippled out to the horizon. The breeze caught hold of her long dark hair and lifted it, fluttering her curls out behind her like an angel's wings.

"So beautiful." Her voice echoed with wonder and reverence. She pulled in a deep breath, her delicate nostrils flaring with the effort. And then she smiled, a genuine, relaxed smile, and he knew he was powerless against her. Anything she asked of him, anything she wanted, he would move heaven and earth to give her whatever she desired.

She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the breeze; her smile becoming even more serene. "I always wanted to make it to the ocean someday."

"And now ye have."

She opened her eyes and nodded. "And now I have." Ever so slowly, she meandered along the walkway, running her hand atop the wall as if fearing she might lose her strength again. She kept her gaze locked on the view, as if unable to pull her attention away from the sea. "Are we on the east coast of Scotland? Is this the North Sea?"

"Aye." He pointed at the docks below. "And that is my ship. The Selkie."

"The Selkie," she repeated softly, then leaned forward and rested her cheek atop her arms folded on the wall.

"Harley?" Ronan caught hold of her by the waist.

"I'm fine." But she didn't lift her head, just stared out at the sea.

He moved closer and wrapped an arm around her. "Let me help ye into the tower room. Ye can rest upon one of the benches while I fetch ye more water. I should never have brought ye up here in yer weakened state. Pray forgive me."

"No, this is what I needed." She shifted against him with a deep sigh. "It reminds me of home. How I'd lay on the riverbank and daydream about floating down to the ocean—like a mermaid or something." Her sad smile as she lifted her head made him hurt for her. Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. "My parents will be so worried when they can't find me."

"And yer husband too, I expect?" It was selfish of him to ask such a thing, but he couldn't stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth.

Her jaw flexed and hardened. "No husband. I dodged that bullet just in time."

Dodged that bullet?He would have to ask Mother about that saying to be certain he understood what Harley meant.

She eased away, putting a disappointing amount of distance between them. "I guess we should go downstairs now. No sense avoiding the inevitable any longer."

Her emotionless tone weighed heavily upon him. Their earlier closeness had disappeared like mist hit by the rising sun. He reached for her, wondering if she would relent and take his hand again. "We shall go then. If ye feel ye are ready."

She stared at his hand so long with such a bleak expression; he readied himself to snatch hold of her in case she tried to throw herself over the wall and be done with Scotland, the year 1407, and him. When she slid her hand into his, he released the breath he hadn't realized he held.

"I'm ready," she said, but her tone implied otherwise.

Harley scrubbedher hands on her jeans, the nervous sweat dampening her palms making her even more self-conscious. She glanced around the cavernous room before moving to the chair Rachel directed her to with a smile and a nod.

Up on the dais, with a multitude of tables and benches arranged in rows down the center of the room, Harley felt like she was either the main course or the centerpiece being given away as a door prize. At least the other tables were empty. She wondered if Rachel or her husband, the laird, had ordered that done to give her a chance to grow accustomed to her surroundings. She almost snorted at that thought. It was going to take more than an empty room to get her used to the impossible to believe situation she had opened her eyes to just hours ago. Just hours ago. So much had changed in but a few hours. She huffed a mirthless laugh at time's cruelty. It felt like she'd been trapped in this craziness for an eternity.

She raked her fingers through her windblown hair, trying to tame it and tuck it behind her ears while wondering if mirrors had been invented yet. Of course, she might be better off not knowing what a mess she looked like.

A loud crackle and pop drew her attention to the impressive fireplaces on opposite sides of the room. They were large enough to hold fully matured trees.A young man, probably in his teen years, tossed massive trunks into the already blazing hearths, handling the monstrous pieces of wood as if they were matchsticks. If Ronan had spent his youth doing such chores, it wasn't any wonder he had the body of a muscular superhero now.

As the boy turned from stoking the fires, he bowed to her, then smiled. She forced a weak smile back at him, then tried to curl into her chair and disappear. She did not belong here. How had she ended up in this place and time?No matter how many times she tried to backtrack and remember, she couldn't recall anything other than waking up in the feather bed upstairs.She remembered her life before this craziness—just couldn't quite seem to locate the one memory that might explain how she came to be here.

She jumped as Ronan took a seat beside her.

"Easy there, lass. 'Tis just me. The food ye are about to eat will help as much as the sea air did. Trust me." He reached as though about to touch her arm, then stopped and rested his fist on the table instead.

She jerked again as three men as tall, muscular, and massive as Ronan entered the room.Each of them arched a brow at him as though communicating without speaking.

"Mistress Harley Trent, these two are my brothers, Faolan and Latharn.We three entered this world just minutes apart.Faolan is the eldest, and Latharn is the youngest."

She noticed Ronan narrowed his eyes at his brothers, glaring at them as if warning them to behave.

"Welcome to our home, Mistress Harley,"Faolan said with a polite bow before shooting a bored scowl at Ronan. "Calm yourself, brother. She has not been in my dreams."

"In his dreams?" Harley repeated to Ronan. "What does he mean by that?"

Before he could answer, Latharn seated himself on her other side. "'Tis good to meet ye, lass. Mayhap ye can tell us of the future?"

"Latharn!"

Latharn rolled his eyes and turned to the older man who had entered the room with them. "Mistress Harley, allow me to introduce ye to Laird Caelan MacKay—our father."

Harley once again caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Now she knew where Ronan and his brothers had gotten their size. Taller than his sons but not quite as muscular, Laird Caelan MacKay cut a striking figure with his sandy blond hair whitened even more with streaks of silver.

"It's an honor to meet you, Mr. MacKay."Her voice trembled and cracked, no matter how hard she tried to sound braver than she felt.

"Laird MacKay, lass, if any of the clan is about. But when it's just family, ye may call me Caelan."He settled a stern glare on his youngest son as he seated himself at the head of the table."And please, Mistress Harley, it would be best for all concerned, if ye refrained from telling anyone specific details about the future.The tapestry of time is a delicate thing, indeed.The slightest meddling could be disastrous."

"I understand." Or she would when she had time to think about it. Currently, her thoughts were muddled enough, trying to sort out how to adapt to the current dilemma that was her life. She glanced at Latharn and noticed his eyes glinted with mischief. That one was trouble. She'd bet her camper on it. She bit her lip and bowed her head. Her poor little camper. It wasn't much, but it was hers, and now it was gone.

Determined not to cry in front of Ronan's family, she lifted her head and nodded at Caelan. "Don't worry about me meddling with?—"

"The tapestry of time," he prompted.

"Yes. The tapestry of time. I don't know any secrets that might change the course of the world."

"You never know," Rachel said as she shook out the cloth beside her plate and placed it in her lap."Changing the most innocent of details might prevent you from ever existing."

Harley frowned, pondering the possibilities."Like—if while I'm in the past, I kill one of my ancestors, then I might never be born?"

"Ahh…wise as she is beautiful." An elderly man who epitomized every long-haired, long-bearded wizard Harley had ever seen in the movies hobbled up to the table, leaned his cane against it, then sat in the seat across from her. "I am Emrys, master druid of the clans."He nodded his snowy white head at her, and the tips of his mustache twitched upward in what she assumed was a smile.

"Master druid of the clans?"Harley's mind spun with all the intricacies of the world as she now knew it—or as she didn't know it. Now, she had to make sure she didn't alter history. Wasn't her mere presence here altering history? What about that? Didn't she hear a joke about this once? If you traveled to the past and killed your grandfather, how could you ever be born to travel to the past to kill him? She pressed a hand to her chest, not feeling well at all and praying she wouldn't embarrass herself by getting sick at the table. She didn't even know where to run to if she needed to throw up. No indoor plumbing or a nice, quiet porcelain bathroom in which to hide.

Emrys leaned forward and squinted at her."Try not to think about it o'er much, lass. 'Twill only make yer head pound."

"Dinna fash yourself, Harley.Soon ye will feel right at home, and I promise to help ye any way I can."A young woman joined them and slid into the vacant chair between Rachel and Caelan.

"Mistress Harley, this is Aveline, our youngest, who often takes her time when it comes to getting to where she is supposed to be."Caelan glared at his daughter, then returned his attention to Harley."We will all do our best to help ye adjust to being here, and I promise ye the protection of Clan MacKay."

"But ye will soon find that Ronan is yer greatest protector," Aveline said. "After all, 'twas him who freed ye from the locket."She winced and twisted away from her mother as if she had just been kicked under the table.

"Freed me from what?"The hairs on the back of Harley's neck stood on end as she searched everyone's faces for more information. An eerie chill tingled across her, and her stomach churned. "What did you mean by that?"

"Aveline, you will go to my solar and wait,"Rachel said through clenched teeth while scowling at her daughter.

"But Mama, she needed to?—"

"Now!"Rachel rose, caught Aveline by the arm, and walked her to the archway.

Aveline disappeared into the stairwell but sent her frustrated wail echoing back to them as Rachel returned to the table.

"What did Aveline mean?" Harley asked, determined to get an answer.

Rachel stared at her, clearly not comfortable with the subject. "Are you familiar with any ancient Celtic lore? Tales of the gods and goddesses?"

Harley blinked, confused by the shift in the conversation. "A little. Maybe.I was always more interested in tales about the sea. Mermaids and sea monsters and such."

Ronan interrupted his mother by holding up a hand as he turned to Harley. "Did ye happen to hear any stories of the Sea Goddess Clíodhna?"

"No." She bowed her head and massaged her temples, wondering if information overload was to blame for the sudden vicious throbbing. "The only stories I remember about sea gods or goddesses were always about Poseidon or Calypso.What has that to do with what Aveline said?Explain what she meant that it was you who freed me from a locket." A locket. She squinted and dug her thumbs harder into her temples. What was it about a locket? There was a memory there that she just couldn't quite bring forward.

Ronan gently turned her toward him while bending so he could look her in the eyes."It seems yer soul was trapped inside the Sea Goddess Clíodhna"s locket until we performed the ritual to have ye released."

"What?" She searched his face for a sign that this was a very poor joke. That couldn't be true. "Gods and goddesses are just stories," she said. "Mythology, rituals, and magic—that's all the stuff of good fiction. Not what happens to an average girl from Kentucky."

"Then how else would ye explain yer presence in fifteenth century Scotland, lass?" Compassion shone in his eyes and echoed in his voice.

She shrugged out of his grasp and stumbled away from the table."None of this is happening.This is all just a bad dream.All I have to do is wake up, and I'll be back in my camper."That was the only possible explanation for this situation.All she had to do was will herself to wake up.

Ronan eased toward her."I know this is all hard to believe. Difficult to accept.But ye will fare much better if ye sit and try to listen calmly."

"Calmly? Sit and listen calmly?"Her voice cracked, and she didn't care. She'd earned the right to sound like a shrieking harpy."I sit and listen calmly to the sermon at church or to the safety training video at work.This…" She flicked a hand at the room at large. "This magical mumbo jumbo is not something I can sit and listen to calmly." She jabbed a finger at him. "I can't listen calmly when my life has been turned upside down, and everything I have ever known or loved is gone!"

As she backed away, she bumped into one of the long trestle benches, swaying as she clutched at it to keep from tumbling to the floor. As Ronan moved closer, she grabbed one of the long handled ladles resting on it and swung it at him."Stay away from me!No matter what you've said, I don't know who you really are. Not when you only tell me what you want me to hear. Just leave me alone. I don't trust any of you."

"Lass, please." He took another step toward her. "I didna tell ye about the locket, because ye have had so much to take in since ye awakened." He reached for her. "Please, come and sit."

Apparently, he thought her a trusting fool—or puppy in need of obedience training. Fine. She'd show him obedience. She wound up and slung the heavy iron ladle at his head, then turned and charged up the staircase. Outside would have been better, but she wasn't quite sure how to get there. The battlements would have to do. Maybe she could find a low side and shinny down the walls or something. Mama and Papa had always teased and called her monkey when she was little because there was nothing she couldn't climb.

"Harley!"

The panicked roar made her run even faster, pumping every last ounce of adrenaline she possessed through her veins. She had to get away. Hide. Jump. Climb. Something. She didn't care which option it took to take control of this craziness and make it make sense.