Chapter 8

M agnus did not sleep well. He couldn’t seem to find a position that didn’t aggravate his aching ribs. The painkilling medicine that Isabelle had given him seemed to have worn off and it hurt when he lay on his back. It hurt when he lay on his side. Lord, it hurt when he even so much as breathed. It didn’t help that Snaffles had fallen asleep with his head on Magnus’s calf and the big hound was not keen on moving.

So he sat half-propped against the hay bale behind, watching as the lantern outside guttered out and full darkness came to the barn. He could still smell smoke on the air and knew it would be a good while before wind and rain cleansed it. Come the morrow, these people would have a heavy task on their hands, rebuilding what had been destroyed and putting their lives back together.

Your fault , a voice said in the back of his mind. All your fault.

He did his best to ignore that voice but it needled at him anyway. He’d been unable to give Isabelle a satisfactory answer when she’d asked why he’d not defended himself against the villager who’d attacked him. He wasn’t sure himself. Maybe it was because he’d learned how easily he could hurt people if he retaliated. Or maybe it was because he knew the man was right. The attack on the village was his fault.

His thoughts spun in uncomfortable circles, almost as painful as his bruised ribs. Both Snaffles and Isabelle soon began snoring, the dog sounding like a piece of wood being sawn in half, the lass making a softer sound that spoke of the deep sleep of exhaustion.

Magnus couldn’t blame either of them. They’d both had quite the day. He’d had dealings with time-travelers before and had even traveled to the future once for his sword-brother, Oscar’s, wedding. Yet he’d never thought this kind of thing would happen to him. He wasn’t smart or cunning or all the other things that the Fae seemed to value. He was just Magnus Kerr, brute strength and little else. So why had Irene gotten him involved in one of her schemes? And how did the lass fit into it?

He glanced towards the loft, listening to Isabelle’s soft breathing. He remembered how she had looked as she stood her ground earlier, throwing herself between Magnus and the angry villager, all outrage and stubborn bravery. And yet she didn’t realize this. She thought herself ordinary. To Magnus’s thinking, she was anything but ordinary.

His skin tingled with the memory of her fingers on him earlier. It had been so hard to keep still whilst she’d administered to his wounds. Not because of the pain but because of her . Because of the way his pulse had roared in his ears at her nearness. Because of the burning urge he’d had to reach out and touch her. Because he’d wanted to...wanted to... Ah, hell. He didn’t know what he’d wanted to do. He only knew that she’d burst so unexpectedly into his life, bringing the chaos that the involvement of the Fae always promised. But bringing something else as well.

Hope.

She had given him a way of finding the evidence against McRae that he so desperately needed. And despite the difficult circumstances in which they found themselves, Magnus himself felt more hopeful, more optimistic than he had in days.

Doing his best not to wake the sleeping dog, he shifted onto his back, closed his eyes, and tried to sleep.

But it seemed only moments until he was awoken by something wet and smelly rasping up the side of his face. He jerked awake, hand going instinctively for a weapon, only to find himself looking up at a long nose with hanging jowls right in front of his face and a line of slobber trickling onto his chin. Snaffles gave him another lick, all the way from his chin to his forehead.

“Ugh! All right, all right, I’m up!”

He pushed the giant dog off but Snaffles gave a low ‘uff’ and came right back, his huge paws slamming into Magnus’s chest and laying him flat out on his back. The tongue came snaking out again.

“Yuck!” Magnus cried. “That was my mouth, ye foul beast!”

“Would you two like to be alone?”

Magnus and Snaffles both looked up to see Isabelle peering down from the edge of the loft. She had straw in her hair and a highly amused expression danced across her face.

“Call yer hell-hound off!” Magnus cried. “I’m being savaged!”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got your back, big guy,” Izzy called down, barely containing her laughter. She whistled sharply and Snaffles woofed and trotted over to the ladder, standing on his back paws and putting his front ones several rungs up .

Magnus sat up, wiping slobber from his face with the sleeve of his tunic. “Well, I willnae need a wash now.”

Isabelle laughed in response, a bright, lovely sound that bounced off the walls of the barn and echoed into the crisp morning. Magnus could not help but smile at her mirth. There was something utterly infectious about it.

Heaving himself up off the hay-strewn floor, Magnus stretched his still painful limbs while shaking out his hair, sending little bits of straw flying around. He grimaced as he felt a wave of pain pass through his side, silently reminding him of yesterday and all that had happened.

Isabelle began her descent from the loft and Magnus found himself staring at the lovely curve of her arse as it came towards him. Clearing his throat, he forced himself to put his gaze elsewhere. Snaffles danced around the base of the ladder, tail whipping from side to side like a giant puppy, and as she touched the ground, it was Isabelle’s turn to be bombarded by slobbery kisses. She laughed and threw her arms around the dog’s massive shoulders.

“Anyone would think I’ve been away for weeks! I’ve only been up in the loft!”

“He’s a loyal beast, that’s for sure,” Magnus observed. “Although his snores and farts are enough to wake the dead.”

“Oh, you noticed that, did you?”

“Aye. Between the dog and the donkeys it was a most...fragrant night. I hope ye slept through it?”

“I did, actually. I slept surprisingly well. You?”

“Fine,” he lied. He doubted he’d snatched more than a few hours. His eyes felt grainy and his ribs ached something fierce .

The door suddenly opened, letting early morning light spill into the barn. Morwenna stood in the doorway, carrying a tray.

“Ah! Good, ye are awake. I’ve brought ye some breakfast.”

A delicious smell was coming from the tray and Magnus’s stomach rumbled. Last night’s dinner had barely touched the sides and he was famished.

Isabelle grabbed Snaffles’ collar to keep him from the food. “Best to be safe. He can smell a sausage from ten miles away.”

Morwenna set the tray on top of one of the hay bales where it was more difficult for Snaffles to reach. “Sounds like my husband! I hope ye both managed to get some sleep.”

There were dark circles under Morwenna’s eyes and Magnus doubted that she had gotten much sleep. Or the other villagers for that matter.

“Aye,” he replied. “Ye have my thanks for all yer help, Morwenna.”

She waved his thanks away. “If we Highlanders canna help each other at times like this then what has become of us?”

Magnus nodded. That shared sense of responsibility and care was the Highland way and without it, none of them could survive the harsh conditions that their land threw at them.

Isabelle took a piece of bread and asked, “What will you do now?”

Morwenna shrugged. “We will repair, rebuild, and go on. What else is there to do? There is much to keep us busy. Food to be prepared for those who canna cook for themselves, injuries to be tended, bairns to be taken care of, timbers to be prepared for rebuilding. It will be a busy few weeks to come.”

“I’ll send word to the Order,” Magnus said. “See if some men can be spared to come help with the rebuilding. We’ll try to increase patrols too.”

Morwenna nodded. “Ye are a good, lad, and I appreciate that. But the Order canna be everywhere at once, despite what hotheads like Drew might claim. Until we find out who is behind these attacks and put a stop to them, I fear there will be more villages who suffer what we have.”

Magnus ground his teeth in frustration, knowing she was right and hating how helpless he felt to do anything about it. Well, starting today he would do something about it and it began with him and Isabelle finding a blacksmith.

He glanced at Isabelle, taking in her clinging trews, bright yellow boots and odd coat. With the chaos of yesterday, few people would have taken note of the strange attire, but that would not last once they traveled to more densely settled parts. If they were to have a hope of reaching Dun Saith safely, then Isabelle needed to blend in.

“I would ask another favor of ye, Morwenna,” he said. “Do ye have a change of clothes ye could spare for Isabelle?”

Morwenna raised a brow. “I noticed how strangely ye are dressed, my dear,” she said to Isabelle. “I didnae want to ask, but—”.

“I’m English,” Isabelle blurted, as though that explained everything .

Morwenna nodded, accepting the explanation. “Ah, I see. English, eh? Well, I reckon we’ll be able to find something to fit ye. Ye look about the same size as my daughter.”

“Thank you, Morwenna,” Isabelle said, smiling gratefully at the older woman.

Morwenna nodded and left, leaving Magnus and Isabelle alone.

“How are your injuries this morning?” she asked.

“Not hurting a bit.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” She opened her pack, took out some more of those painkiller things she’d given him yesterday and held them out.

Magnus gave a wry smile and reached out to take them. As he did so, his fingers brushed hers and almost involuntarily he found himself tightening his grip for a second. She looked up at him and he swore he saw heat in her gaze before she pulled her hand back, leaving the little white pills in his palm.

“Take them with water,” she murmured. “They’ll make you feel better.”

Then she hurried out the door.

IZZY SUCKED THE STILL morning air deep into her lungs. It was only just dawn, and the air was cold and biting. Yet it carried a certain freshness that Izzy found invigorating as she breathed deeply, trying to calm herself. The feeling of Magnus’s strong fingers around hers lingered and she forced herself to concentrate on her surroundings .

Across the yard stood Morwenna and Able’s house, and beyond that the village. The undamaged part looked like something out of a Constable painting, with its timber-and-thatch buildings and hens pecking about. But the other part would only look like a Constable painting if he’d been in the habit of painting burned-out villages.

And it was no painting. It was real. Magnus came to stand next to her. He said nothing and just stood staring out at the new morning. Snaffles seated himself by Magnus’s feet.

“Did you take the painkillers?” Izzy asked.

“I did. My thanks, lass.” He continued staring out at the village.

She wondered what he was thinking. This must be strange for him too, having her land in his lap with no warning, but his expression concealed his thoughts. His hair was a tousled mess, the dark curls filled with bits of straw, and he could do with a shave. But rather than making him look scruffy, it made him look even more attractive, in a rugged sort of way.

There was a quiet strength to this giant Highlander. He exuded an air of authority and confidence that was difficult to miss, yet there was kindness too, evident in his interactions with Snaffles and with Morwenna. And with her.

Izzy blushed, realizing she was staring again. She quickly turned her gaze back to the village. What was wrong with her? She barely knew the man. It had only been a day since she’d come spiraling into this century and somehow this stranger—this handsome, wild highlander—had wormed his way under her skin. Why else would she have volunteered to help him instead of finding a way home ?

She cleared her throat. “I don’t think I ever said thank you.”

Magnus turned to her. “For what?”

“For coming back for me yesterday, even though I was so rude to you, for stopping me blundering into those outlaws. For keeping me safe.”

“It’s the least I could do, lass.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to. But you did. And I’m glad.”

Slowly, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad ye are glad.”

His Scottish burr softened the words, making her heart flutter with an emotion she didn’t want to name. Izzy swallowed hard. Did he have to stand so close?

Across the yard, the back door of the house opened and Morwenna appeared carrying an armload of clothing under one arm and a bucket in the other. Izzy, glad of the distraction, hurried to help her, taking possession of the bucket and carrying it into the barn.

Morwenna put the bundle of clothing down on top of a hay bale. “Here ye go, my dear,” the older woman said. “Have a look through that and see if there is aught that fits.” She nodded at the bucket. “I’ve brought hot water and cloths for washing and there’s a bit of honey soap in there somewhere as well.”

“Morwenna, has anyone ever told you that you’re an angel?” Izzy said, meaning every word. She would happily kill for a shower right now but failing that, a wash with soap and hot water was the next best thing .

Morwenna laughed. “Only my husband when he’s after something!”

Izzy began rummaging through the clothes and behind them, Magnus cleared his throat. “I’ll um...leave ye to dress,” he rumbled. “I’ll go fetch the horse.”

He walked away, his broad back retreating across the yard and around the corner of the house. Snaffles followed him part of the way and stared after him.

Morwenna came to stand by Izzy’s side and blew out a breath. “That’s a fine man ye’ve got there, my dear.”

“He’s not my man!” Izzy protested, feeling herself turning crimson.

Morwenna gave her a knowing look. “Isnae he? Are ye sure about that?” She patted Izzy’s arm. “I’ll leave ye to dress. Shout if ye need aught.”

With that, the older woman walked away, leaving Izzy staring after, Morwenna’s words echoing through her head.