Page 16 of Desire of a Highlander

And Irene MacAskill.

Sometimes people are born far from the path they were meant to walk.

Her legs suddenly felt weak. “Oh God.” She swayed slightly.

“Elodie?” Ronan moved towards her and his hand settled lightly on her arm. “What’s wrong?”

The steadiness of his touch somehow kept her upright. She swallowed, forced herself to breathe. It was insane. Utterly insane. How could she even begin to tell him what she suspected?

“I can’t remember,” she blurted.

“What?”

She touched the lump on her forehead. “My thoughts are all muddled. I can’t figure out how I got here. None of this is making any sense.” This was true, of course. Her thoughts were fluttering like butterflies, unable to settle. It was a vague answer, but one she hoped would give her time to figure out exactly what the hell was going on.

His expression softened. “Aye. Such confusion can happen when ye take a blow to the head.”

He believed her. Or at least he wanted to. His touch on her arm tightened. She looked up to find him gazing down at her, light from the forge reflected in his blue eyes.

“Ye are welcome here for as long as ye choose to stay. Like I said, the Steading is a refuge for any who need it.”

She swallowed then nodded weakly. “I...I don’t feel so good,” she muttered. “I think I better go back to Faye’s house and lie down.”

“Do ye need me to accompany ye?”

“No,” she said quickly, waving away his offer. “I’ll be fine. I know the way.”

She turned and all but fled the smithy. As she hurried back through the village, she barely noticed any of it. Her thoughts were racing as fast as her pulse.

1699.

Oh God. No wonder she didn’t recognize anything. No wonder she felt like she’d landed on another planet. Somehow she had traveled through time, which was almost the same thing.

When she reached Faye’s house, she found it empty, with no sign of the healer. She slipped inside and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. Everything about the room was a reminder of what had happened to her. The stone fireplace. The beams overhead. The fire that served as heating and cooker both.

Oh, hell. What was she going to do?

She clasped her hands together in her lap to keep them from shaking. Everything had changed when she’d stepped through that arch. Therefore, logically speaking, that was what must have transported her through time. It must be some sort of wormhole or magical portal or doorway or something.

And doorways worked both ways.

Her thoughts began to race. Perhaps all she had to do was walk back through that door and ta da! She’d be back home. The thought calmed her—a little.

She climbed to her feet. She had to be off before she could second guess herself or run into Faye and find herself with some awkward explaining to do.

She slipped out of the door and, keeping to the shadows under the eaves of the houses as much as possible, made her way through the village. She tried to walk confidently, as if she had every right to be there, desperate not to call attention to herself.

It worked. She reached the last of the houses without anyone challenging her and found herself on a narrow path that led first through cultivated vegetable patches and then into woodlands. After a while the path began to climb steeply, snaking its way up the cliffs that hemmed in the valley, until finally it emerged onto open moorland.

Elodie stopped and looked around. The fading light of dusk revealed a wide, open landscape. A cold wind was blowing, swirling her skirts around her and sending her hair streaming out. There was not a landmark nor another soul in sight, only endless rolling hills covered in heather and coarse grass.

And, of course, she had absolutely no idea where she was.

Part of her knew she was being irrational. She’d been unconscious when Ronan had carried her here and she didn’t know how far they’d traveled nor in which direction. It was beyond reckless to go wandering on her own.

But these inconvenient facts bounced off the shell of her panic, leaving not a mark. She had to get home. She had to find the doorway. They were the only thoughts her panic would allow.

Picking a direction at random, she started walking. The ground was uneven and tussocky beneath her feet and she was soon glad of her stout, twenty-first century boots. Heather brushed against her skirts and the wind tugged strands of hair loose around her face, but she did her best to ignore such distractions, keeping her mind focussed on her goal.