Chapter 7

T he smell of smoke, which had been drowned out by other smells inside Morwenna and Able’s house, hit her the moment she stepped outside. A breeze had sprung up, stirring the ash and other debris in the burnt-out houses. It was full dark now, the only light coming from the fires that were still burning.

Izzy shivered. The thought of spending the night in a fifteenth century Highland village was not appealing.

She hurried quickly through the village and found Magnus with a group of villagers clustered around him, all talking over each other. Izzy slowed and watched from a distance, noting how Magnus interacted with those around him. He listened more than he spoke and when he did speak, it was with a calm authority that seemed to quell the fear and anger of the villagers who were falling over themselves to tell him what had happened here.

She wondered who Magnus was. Did he have a family? Was there someone waiting for him back home? She knew very little about him beyond the fact that he’d been tracking outlaws alone in the wilderness.

Izzy moved a bit closer, trying to catch his words. He and the villagers were discussing defenses and strategies should the outlaws come again, and Magnus was quietly giving advice on warning systems and other things that might help.

Just then, a woman pushed her way through the crowd to stand before him. She looked to be in her mid-forties, strong yet worn from years of hard living. Her dark eyes held a determined spark and her lips were pressed into a thin line.

“I saw them,” she said urgently. “I saw those raiders arrive.”

Magnus’s attention shifted to the woman. “What did ye see?”

“Oh, I saw plenty! I was out cutting peat when they came. I hid myself behind an old cart and watched as they rode in on their fine horses. There had to be twenty of them, maybe more.” Her voice held a trace of fear, but mostly anger. “They swarmed over the village like locusts. They...” She trailed off, her eyes glistening.

“Did ye see who led them?” Magnus asked. “Was it a red-haired man with a braid?” Izzy recognized the description of the outlaw leader they’d seen earlier.

“Nay, the redhead was part of it, but he wasnae in charge,” the woman replied, shaking her head. “But I saw the bastard who was. He stayed out of sight most times, the coward. But he didnae know where I was hiding, and so I saw him limp into view and watch while his cronies torched our homes and took everything we had.” She paused to make a face, her lip curling in disgust. “A small man he was, and limped like he had a bad leg or some such and walked with a stick. But he was the ring leader all right. The others did exactly what he said. He didnae come near the village, letting the others do his dirty work.”

Magnus’s eyes flickered with sudden intensity. He leaned closer to the woman. “A small man? And he walked with a limp? Ye are sure? ”

His voice had lost its authority and was now filled with something that Izzy couldn’t quite place. Unease, definitely. Yet something else as well. Fear?

The woman nodded vigorously. “Aye. Looked like his leg was crushed or twisted or some such. And I found this in one of the houses they torched. Looks like one of them left it behind.” She held out a sword hilt with the blade broken off. “Dinna know if it will help.”

Magnus took the broken sword, but said nothing. He looked troubled. Who was this man with the limp? Izzy hadn’t noticed anyone like that amongst the camp of outlaws they’d seen earlier.

A sudden bellow shattered the evening. “Ye! Ye brought this on us!”

Izzy turned to see a man striding down the street towards Magnus’s group. He was blackened with soot, but tracks of tears stood out on his face, cutting through the grime. The man barrelled towards Magnus, and the rest of the villagers scattered out of the way like frightened geese.

Magnus turned to face the man, tucking the broken blade into his belt. He did not back away. He waited silently as the man squared up to him, shoving his face close.

“Ye! Ye and yer Order of the Osprey!” he bellowed into Magnus’s face, spittle flying from his lips. “Ye promised to protect us, but where were ye when the raiders struck? Eh? Nowhere, that’s where!” He gestured wildly at the burned homes, the timber-and-thatch turned to ash and cinder, belongings littered like abandoned memories along the dirty road .

Magnus met the man’s gaze evenly, not flinching away from the fury etched in every line of smeared soot and tears. “I’m sorry for yer loss. I understand yer grief—”

“Understand? Ye understand nothing!”

The man howled, pulled his arm back, and swung a savage punch. Magnus made no move to defend himself, and there was an almighty crack as the blow connected with Magnus’s chin, snapping his head back.

Izzy gasped in shock, her hand flying to her mouth. As if the punch had broken a dam inside him, the man went wild. He launched himself at Magnus, raining down punches and kicks on the bigger man. He was all raw anger and pain with Magnus as its focus.

And Magnus took it. He was far bigger than the villager and Izzy had no doubt could have easily subdued him had he tried, but he did not. He fell to his knees under the onslaught, but even as he knelt in the dirt, with blood staining his lips and trickling from a swollen eye, there was a strange calm in his ocean-blue gaze. It was as though he craved this punishment—longed for it, even.

“Stop it!” Izzy screamed.

She threw herself between Magnus and the furious man. She thumped her palms into the man’s chest, pushing him back a step. “Leave him alone!”

The man glared at her, his expression crazed, his shoulders heaving. “Get out of my way, woman.”

“I won’t! If you want to get to him, you’ll have to go through me!”

She didn’t know where the words came from. She had never been brave. She had never deliberately put herself in harm’s way like this. Her pulse was racing and her heart thumping way too fast, but she would not stand by while Magnus got hurt.

The man glared at her, his eyes fogged by rage, and took a menacing step closer. Then a sable blur sped by, there was a low growl, and Snaffles slammed into the man, sending him crashing onto his back. The giant mastiff stood on the man’s chest, hackles raised along his back, and drooled slobber onto the man’s face as he pulled his lips back in a snarl.

“Ach! Get it off!” the man yelled. “Get it off!”

Snaffles growled at the man a moment longer and then backed off, sitting by Izzy’s side, gaze fixed on the villager.

The man scrambled to his feet. The rage had gone from his face and now he just looked broken. His shoulders slumped, his expression hollow.

“Ye should have saved them,” he said to Magnus. Then, in a quieter voice. “ I should have saved them.” He turned and walked away, disappearing amongst the houses.

Izzy dropped down next to Magnus. “Are you all right?”

He seemed dazed, one eye swollen and blood trickling from his nose and lip. “Ye shouldnae have done that,” he whispered. “Ye shouldnae have put yerself in harm’s way for me.”

“And you should’ve defended yourself!” Izzy shot back, her hand reaching out tentatively towards his bruised face. She did not touch it though, afraid she would hurt him further.

Magnus smiled, then winced in pain. “And what good would that have done? Just caused more pain all round.”

“What about your pain? You didn’t deserve that. ”

“Aye,” he whispered softly. “I did.” His good eye swiveled up to meet hers and she was shocked by the despair in it.

“What do you mean?” she asked, rocking back on her heels. “It wasn’t your fault those raiders attacked.”

“Wasnae it?”

Before she could ask what he meant by this, Morwenna came hurrying up and knelt at Magnus’s side. “Young Marion came to get me,” she said breathlessly. “Drew isnae normally a violent man, but grief has consumed him. He lost his father and brother to the raiders. Here, help me get him up, Isabelle. He canna stay here on the cold ground.”

With Morwenna’s assistance, they managed to hoist the bruised Magnus onto his feet. His body was a patchwork of violet welts and blood stains. Together they helped him stagger towards Morwenna’s house. The benches inside were full, so Morwenna took them around the back to the stable where a couple of donkeys watched dolefully from their stalls. Morwenna led Izzy and Magnus inside and the two women lowered him into a clean pile of straw.

“I’ve another kettle of soup brewing,” Morwenna said. “I’ll bring ye some out when it’s ready.”

Izzy smiled her thanks as the woman left. She sucked in a breath and looked at Magnus. He was hunched over slightly, his chest clearly paining him. She shrugged her pack off her shoulders and took out her first aid kit again.

“I think you’d better take your shirt off.”

He raised an eyebrow and managed a weak grin. “That’s a bit forward, lass.”

Izzy scowled. “Don’t get cocky. So I can take a look at your injuries. ”

Slowly, wincing and groaning, Magnus unwound the plaid sash from across his chest and tugged the linen shirt off over his head.

Izzy found herself staring at his naked torso. Despite his size, there was not an ounce of fat on him. He was all smooth skin and sculpted muscle, marred only by the bruises and grazes that covered his chest and stomach.

“This might hurt a bit,” she said apologetically.

“I’ll try not to scream.”

Izzy began gently cleaning the cuts and grazes with one of her antiseptic wipes, wiping away the blood as gently as she could. Magnus made not a sound nor moved an inch, although she could tell from the tense set of his shoulders that he was in a lot of pain.

It ought to bother her, being this close to a hulking, half-naked Highlander she barely knew. But it didn’t. She found herself enjoying the closeness. He shivered slightly and she wasn’t sure whether it was from the pain of his injuries or from the lightness of her touch.

When she was done, she took the lid off the pot of antiseptic cream and dabbed the salve onto his injuries before gently massaging it into his skin. Magnus said nothing as she worked but she could feel him watching her.

Her fingertips tingled where they glided over the smooth contours of his face and chest, and she tried to tell herself it was just the effects of the antiseptic ointment, but she didn’t believe this for one minute. Being close to Magnus did something strange to her, something she wasn’t quite ready to examine just yet .

She wasn’t sure to be relieved or disappointed when she finally finished. She dared to look up and found his eyes on her, deep blue and warm like the ocean in summer. There was gratitude there, yes, but also...something else. Something that stirred inside her and made her acutely aware of the dim lighting and the proximity of their bodies.

“Isabelle,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Her lips parted and she found herself leaning forward, leaning in towards those full lips of his...

She jerked back with a start. Clearing her throat, she rummaged around in her pack then thrust a blister-pack and her water bottle at him. “Here.”

He took them gingerly. “What is this, lass?”

“Painkillers,” she replied. “You pop the pills out of the pack. They’ll dull the pain and make sure you can sleep.”

Magnus followed her instructions, took the pills, and downed them with a big swallow of water. Izzy pushed back a loose strand of hair and wiped the ointment off her hands onto a clean cloth, then packed her first aid kit away in her bag.

Magnus gingerly touched one of the spots where Izzy had applied the ointment, wincing slightly. “Thank ye for yer help, lass.”

“You’re welcome. It’s the least I could do.”

Izzy found her gaze slipping over the lines of his body. She forced herself to look away and an awkward silence fell. She desperately tried to think of something light-hearted to fill the silence but her mind seemed to have gone blank.

She was rescued from the awkwardness by Morwenna returning carrying a tray. It was loaded with a bowl of soup for Magnus, two big pottery cups that smelt of beer, and a large, meaty bone which she tossed to Snaffles.

“Ah!” she said, putting down the tray and casting a critical eye over Magnus’s injuries. “Ye are a strapping lad, aren’t ye? I’ve no doubt ye’ll be right as rain in no time.”

“Tell that to my ribs,” Magnus growled.

Morwenna chuckled, patting his shoulder with a maternal hand. “Feeling a bit tender? That’s only natural. A few days of rest and ye’ll be good as new.” She looked them both over. “We dinna have room for ye inside, what with all those staying with us that have lost their homes, but ye are welcome to spend the night in here if ye like? I can bring ye out some blankets.”

Izzy blinked. Spend the night here? In a stable? With donkeys? And...and Magnus?

As if sensing her unease, Magnus said, “Is there space in the loft where the lass could get some privacy?”

“Aye, enough space for one I’d wager,” Morwenna replied. “But I thought ye two were...” She flushed suddenly. “My apologies. I shouldnae assume. I’ll have one of my lads bring ye out some blankets. I’ll be inside if ye need me.”

With that, she rose to her feet and left. Izzy watched her go, her cheeks flaming from the assumption the woman had let slip. Did everyone here think she and Magnus were together? She supposed it must look that way with the two of them riding in together and the way she’d defended him against the angry villager.

Oh, heck. She didn’t need this complication adding to the list. The straw rustled and Izzy looked over to see Magnus finishing his bowl of soup and then pulling his shirt back on, gritting his teeth as the linen snagged on his cuts and bruises. Izzy felt a twang of disappointment and tried not to show it, downing her mug of weak beer, then piling the dishes on the tray.

Snaffles, who’d finished eating the bone Morwenna had brought him, padded over and began licking Magnus’s bowl clean with big noisy slurps. Izzy didn’t have the energy to stop him. She was tired. So tired. She felt like she could sleep for a week.

“How are ye doing, lass?” Magnus asked softly.

She looked over at him and forced a shrug. “I’m not the one who’s just taken a beating. I’m fine.”

He watched her steadily. “Nay, lass, ye are not, and there’s no surprise in that. It has been a...” He paused as if searching for the right word. “Challenging day.”

“Challenging?” Izzy snorted. “That’s one way of putting it. There are other words I could think of to describe being thrown back in time, running from real life outlaws, then taking shelter in a bona fide fifteenth century stable. Terrifying? Crazy? Absolutely bloody bonkers?”

Magnus laughed gently. “Aye, that sounds about right. So ye do accept now that ye have traveled through time?”

“How can I not? Either I’ve traveled through time, or you, those outlaws, and these villagers are part of a very convincing reenactment group.”

“I’m sorry, lass.”

“Why? What do you have to be sorry for?”

He shrugged his massive shoulders. “I’m sorry that this happened to ye. I canna imagine how frightening it must be to be tossed so far from everything ye know.”

The compassion in his eyes almost undid her. The tight control she’d kept on her emotions began to uncoil and she felt tears gathering in her eyes. She blinked furiously, trying to beat them back. If she lost control now, she didn’t think she’d be able to regain it.

Magnus’s hand came to rest on her shoulder. “Easy, lass. Ye are safe. I willnae let any harm come to ye.”

She nodded, finding that his words and his touch soothed her a little. The panic began to recede. Snaffles finished licking the bowl clean and settled down next to her with a ‘whumpf’, putting his head on her thigh. Izzy ran her hands through the dog’s fur and breathed deeply, her pulse slowly returning to normal.

The darkness outside was thick and the only light came from a lantern burning in the yard. Its weak light lit Magnus’s profile, leaving most of his face in shadow.

“How do you know about all this?” she asked finally. “All that stuff you told me earlier. About fairies and time travel and stuff?”

He shifted, the hay rustling as he stretched out his long legs. “Because of who I serve,” he murmured. “I’m part of an organization called the Order of the Osprey. We have certain...affiliations. The Fae being one of them. That’s how I know about Irene MacAskill and what she can do.”

Izzy cocked her head. “So it’s like some kind of occult society?”

Magnus laughed softly. “Ye make us sound like a bunch of witches and warlocks, lass. Nay, it’s naught like that. The Order of the Osprey is a military organization dedicated to defending Alba from its enemies. Most of the time those enemies are of the usual human kind. Occasionally, they are not.”

Izzy digested this in silence, unsure what to make of it. There had been quasi-military orders throughout history. The Knights Templar, for example. Was this Order of the Osprey something like that? Then she remembered something else.

“That man who attacked you—Drew—mentioned an Order of the Osprey,” she said. “That’s why he was so furious. He said the Order of the Osprey was supposed to protect the village.”

“And he was right,” Magnus replied softly. “We failed these people.”

“Is that why you didn’t fight back?”

His gaze sharpened, but then he looked away. “Something like that.”

Snaffles heaved himself to his feet, padded over to Magnus, and slumped down by his side, placing his paw on the big man’s thigh. Magnus reached out and gently stroked the dog’s back, still staring out into the darkness.

Izzy watched them, the man and the dog. She was suddenly struck by the similarities between the two. Both were large and powerful and this power made others wary. Yet beneath the exterior, both were something else, something more than they seemed from the outside. There was a strong but gentle core in both of them.

Ye see the true hearts of people, no matter what they may show on the outside.

Those were the words Irene MacAskill had spoken to her. Was she right? Silence stretched in the stable, broken only by the irritated shifting of the donkeys in their stall. She had no idea what they thought of their home being invaded like this but she guessed they weren’t happy.

“So let me get this straight,” she said, breaking the silence and picking up on their earlier conversation. “This mission you’ve been on, tracking those outlaws. That was a mission for this Order of yours?”

Magnus glanced at her and then shifted uncomfortably. “Aye.”

“So how come you were alone? Surely you weren’t thinking of taking on those outlaws all by yourself?”

Magnus raised an eyebrow. “I may be stupid but I dinna have a death-wish. I wasnae tracking them in order to attack, but to find evidence.”

“Evidence of what?”

“Of who they are working for. The pattern of the attacks speak of a plan and a strategy behind them. Someone is directing them and I was hoping to discover who that was.”

“And did you?”

“Perhaps.”

She sensed reluctance in his voice but she wasn’t about to let up. The more she knew about all this, the more chance she might have of figuring out what was going on.

“The limping man that woman described?”

Magnus looked up, meeting her eyes in the gloom. It was a while before he rumbled, “Aye.”

Magnus had reacted strangely to the woman’s description of the limping man. He’d looked uneasy. Why would that be? Unless...

“You know who he is, don’t you? ”

He looked away and didn’t answer for a long moment. Then reluctantly, he said, “I suspect.”

“Well?” Izzy prompted. “Who?”

“The name would mean naught to ye, lass.”

“Then there’s no harm in telling me is there?”

He sighed. “Ye are quite the persistent one aren’t ye? Fine. I suspect the man behind these attacks is someone called Lord McRae.”

The name meant nothing to her, just as Magnus had predicted. In fact, it only confused her further. “So why didn’t you tell the villagers that? Why did you let one of them beat ten bells out of you for something that’s not your fault? And for that matter, why don’t you tell the police—or whatever passes for that around here—who you think is behind these attacks?”

“It isnae as easy as that, lass,” he replied. “Lord McRae is a member of the nobility and ye dinna go around accusing the nobility without proof. That’s why I was tracking those raiders. I was hoping to find evidence I could present to the king.”

“And then the king will stop them?”

“Aye, that is my hope, although the king has many other things to occupy his attention. But if not the king, then perhaps the Order of the Osprey. They canna act without evidence. If I can give them that...” He spread his hands wide, leaving the sentence unfinished.

The king of Scotland. The Order of the Osprey. Outlaws and thatched villages. Horses as a means of transport. She would have laughed at the insanity of it all if it wasn’ t so damned terrifying.

She suddenly felt very, very homesick. What would she be doing if she was in her apartment right now? Probably running a bath, or reading a book, or cooking dinner. Something simple. Something normal. Instead, here she was sitting amongst the straw in a drafty fifteenth century barn with a hulking Highland warrior for company. Had she called it insane? That hardly seemed an apt word to encompass everything that had happened today.

Magnus was watching her intently, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I think I know a way to get ye home, lass,” he murmured.

Izzy blinked, caught off guard by the sudden admission. “You do?”

Magnus leaned forward, his eyes catching the light from the lantern outside. “Ye are not the first time-traveler that the Order has encountered,” he said quietly, as though he didn’t want his voice to carry beyond the barn. “There are others. Some have even chosen to remain here, in this time. If anyone can figure out how to send ye home, it is my Order.”

Izzy gasped in surprise. There were others from the twenty-first century? She wasn’t alone? She worked her jaw a few times before she managed to squeak, “Where are these other time-travelers?”

“In Dun Saith,” he replied. “The headquarters of my Order. Tomorrow...” He trailed off, staring out into the darkness beyond the doorway. “Tomorrow I will take ye there.”

“You...you would do that?”

His eyes found hers. “Ye didnae ask for any of this, lass. Aye, I will see ye safely to Dun Saith and from there, ye can find a way home. ”

Izzy breathed out slowly, closing her eyes as relief flooded through her. Home. She would soon be home. Yet, for some reason, Irene MacAskill’s words echoed through her head again.

There will soon come a time when ye must decide who ye are and what ye wish to be. Whether ye will choose to be the ordinary person ye think ye are or the extraordinary one that lies within.

But Irene was wrong. She wasn’t extraordinary. She wasn’t an adventurer or a warrior. She was just a dull woman from the twenty-first century who loved books, antiques, and her quiet life. Whatever ‘choice’ Irene expected her to make, she’d backed the wrong horse. Izzy would choose safety and comfort over uncertainty and risk any day of the week. Whatever Irene MacAskill had in mind, she could choose someone else.

When she got home, Izzy thought dreamily, she’d curl up on her sofa, box of chocolates on her lap, something binge-worthy on the TV, then shut out the world and forget this whole terrifying experience. Then, come Monday morning, she’d go to work at her safe, boring job and never again complain about the customers. Everything would be back as it should be.

And yet, she didn’t feel quite as relieved as she expected. She felt slightly...disappointed. But that couldn’t be right. She wanted to go home. She wanted to go back to her safe, normal life. Didn’t she?

Will ye be the woman who let fear hold her back, or will ye be the woman who saw through the fog and dared to journey to her destiny ?

Izzy thought about this. She didn’t know what Irene MacAskill had meant about destiny but she understood all too well what she meant about letting fear hold her back.

“Can I see that sword?” she said suddenly.

“Sword?”

“The broken one the villager gave you.”

“Why?”

“Just trust me. Please?”

Slowly, Magnus reached behind him and brought out the broken sword. The blade had snapped off, leaving only a few inches of steel sticking out of the hilt. But if she was right, those few inches would be all she needed.

She took it two-handed, surprised at its weight. Magnus watched her with a bemused expression as she held it close to her face and tilted it this way and that to catch the lantern light.

“What are ye doing, lass?”

“Looking for a maker’s mark.”

If there was one thing she knew about, it was antiques. She’d watched enough shows on TV and perused enough antique shops and flea markets to know that back in the day artisans often marked their work to show off their expertise and to let everyone know who’d made it. She hoped fifteenth century blacksmiths were the same.

She turned the blade this way and that and the light suddenly caught on a mark near the top, where the blade met the hilt. It looked like an elongated S with two dots underneath.

“Here!” she said excitedly. “Here it is!” She held it out for Magnus to see. “The maker’s mark! ”

“Aye, I see it,” Magnus rumbled. “But how is that helpful?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Only one blacksmith will use this particular mark. Find him, and you ask him who paid him to make this sword. I doubt outlaws would be able to afford a weapon like this. But a member of the nobility who is backing them? Well, that’s another matter.”

Magnus stared at her, his blue eyes dark. Izzy felt a flush creep up her neck and was glad of the dim light in the barn.

Finally he said, “Ye have a quick mind and keen eyes, lass. I wouldnae have thought of that.” He took the hilt back and looked at the maker’s mark again. “This could be the evidence I need—if I can find the blacksmith who made it and get him to talk.”

Izzy already had an answer for that. “We just need to find a blacksmith, any blacksmith, who is part of their guild. They all know each other’s marks so any one of them could tell us who made this one.”

Magnus cocked his head. His curly hair, damp with sweat, had fallen around his face. The way the shadows caught the contours of his cheekbones made him look devastatingly handsome. “We?”

Izzy dragged her attention away from his face. “What?”

“Ye said ‘we’. We need to find a blacksmith. Last I heard, ye were desperate to go home.”

“I was. I am.” She huffed in frustration. “Look, at least it’s a start, isn’t it?”

“It is. But I’m surprised a twenty-first century lass would know so much about Highland weapons.”

She shrugged. “I read. And watch TV.”

He rubbed his chin, then put down the broken blade, covering it with a blanket. “All right. After I take ye to Dun Saith, I’ll track down this blade’s maker.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “ Before Dun Saith, not after. We need to move quickly, before this Lord McRae gets any word that we might be onto him.”

In the gloom she thought she saw him smile. “Ye said it again, lass. We.”

“I did, didn’t I?” She paused, taking a deep breath. “That’s because I’m coming with you.”

Her own words shocked her. Shouldn’t reaching Dun Saith be at the top of her priority list? But, she realized, her own needs came second to her desire to see the villagers safe. The scene when they’d arrived was etched into her memory. The burning houses. The injured villagers. The kindness shown her by Morwenna and Able. If she could help stop any more attacks like this one, it was worth a few days discomfort.

Magnus watched her in that intense way of his, his eyes like deep pools. “I had heard,” he said quietly. “About the bravery of lasses from yer time. But now I see it firsthand.”

“Bravery?” Izzy snorted. “You wouldn’t say that if you could see inside my head. I’m terrified!”

“And yet ye do what ye must despite this. That is what courage is, lass.”

Izzy stared at Magnus, taken aback by his words. She had never considered herself brave. Quite the opposite, in fact. Her life rarely called for acts of courage—unless facing down Mrs Arnold over her credit card arrears counted. She was just Izzy Ross. Quiet. Boring. The kind of person nobody noticed.

But Magnus did. He seemed to see something in her that she didn’t see in herself.

“Well,” she said, embarrassed and desperate to change the subject. “So that’s decided then? We’ll go looking for a blacksmith tomorrow?”

He bowed his head. “As my lady commands.”

“Right. Great. In that case, I suppose we should try and get some sleep. Um. Good night.”

She climbed to her feet and grabbed some of the blankets that Morwenna had sent out for them. With a command to Snaffles to stay with Magnus, she scurried up the ladder to the loft.

A thick layer of dry hay filled the small space. How was she supposed to sleep in this? She’d never even been camping for Heaven’s sake! Ugh. She doubted she would get any sleep.

She spread the blankets out on the straw and crawled into them, pulling them tight around her against the chill of the late winter night. Below, she heard the hay rustle as Magnus moved, settling himself down for the night.

Why had she just volunteered to go gallivanting god-knows-where with a fifteenth century Highland warrior she barely knew? What was happening to her? Was it only this morning she’d been getting yelled at by Mr Hargreaves over his bank charges? It seemed a million miles away. A million miles and a hundred lifetimes.

And yet, the strangest thing in all of this was that, as she closed her eyes, she didn’t feel scared. Not at all. Magnus lay only a few feet away and with him so close she felt safe. Safer than she could remember.

So despite her assumption that she wouldn’t get a wink of sleep, Izzy fell into dreamless slumber.