Emotions flitted across her expressive face. “The way to every woman’s heart,” she said dryly.
“Have ye ever wielded a knife?”
She shook her head. “At the dinner table or the cutting board. Never as a weapon.”
“Then ye need to learn. This knife is not meant for fighting, but for defending yourself. The reach is not enough to take on a full-size blade, but ’twill slice a man’s throat. Or slide with ease through his heart.”
“Lovely.” She lifted fistfuls of faded black skirt.
Rourke pressed the scabbard against the soft fabric of her breeks, high on her thigh, and fastened the small belt around her leg. Even through the breeks he could feel the tightness of her thigh . . . and the softness. Memory of the way those thighs had cradled him as he thrust into her crashed through him anew, and he fastened the buckle with suddenly unsteady hands and pushed back, silently swearing.
Taking a deep breath, he pulled two apples and a pair of oatcakes from his small stash, and handed her one of each.
“Dinner, as it were,” he said, then rolled up the plaid again.
“Thank you.” She stared at him a moment as if waiting for him to answer her question, then finally gave up and went to sit on a nearby rock to eat.
Rourke rose, a tight knot of frustration making his movements quick and jerky as he retied the bundle to his saddle. As much as he’d like never to speak of the prophecy again, there were things she needed to know.
He picked up his food and went to sit beside her. “The sapphire is how Hegarty found you.”
She met his gaze, her eyes confused, her fingers going to her necklace. “I don’t get it. I’ve always had this. How could Hegarty have anything to do with it?”
“The stone is magic when in the proper hands.”
“Hegarty’s hands.”
“Aye. I believe he used the sapphire to heal your leg.”
They ate in silence, then Rourke rose and went looking for a chunk of wood suitable for carving. He pulled out his own knife and sat once more beside her.
She glanced at him. “Who
is
Hegarty?
What
is he to have magic like that?”
“I dinna ken,” he said, peeling the bark from the wood in long strips. “He is what he is. Most times a pain in my arse.”
“He reminds me of Rumpelstiltskin.”
His hand paused. “Of who?”
“A character from a story. A mischievous little man who makes magic.”
“Aye, that sounds like him well enough. In truth, he’s not a bad sort as long as you dinna mind his thievery. He has a liking for clothes . . . other people’s clothes.” The knife caught his finger as it was wont to do, drawing a prick of blood. “Whene’er I’ve had a need for him, he’s come.”
“There’s a lot to be said for having someone like that.” There was an emptiness in her voice that tugged at him and he felt a pang of sorrow for the small lass she’d once been. “Who made the prophecy?”
“The Cruden Seer.” As he worked, a tiny creature emerged from the wood, one cut at a time. With regret he remembered his other creations that had hung in his cabin were gone now. “Some called her the Cruden Witch. The Earl of Slains wished to ken his death so he could avoid it, aye? She told him.”
“And she named me as the one who would kill him?”
“I dinna ken the particulars. I’ve heard it said ye would be the one to destroy him.”
Brenna’s expression was troubled as she fingered the stone at her neck. “I’m not a killer. I shouldn’t even be here. There has to be a mistake.”
Her shoulders sagged as her gaze dropped to the half-eaten oatcake in her hand. “I just want to go home.”
He gazed at her bent head, the fragile curve of her neck and shoulder. Strength, yet so much vulnerability.
“Do you have a family awaiting ye?” He’d never thought to ask. Never truly wondered despite finding her no virgin. He was a fool.
“No. No one like that. Just friends and a job.”
“But you’re happy there?”
She looked up at him, her eyes clear and sure. “It’s where I belong.”
Aye, and he knew it well. “Wildcat . . .” His knife stilled and he met her gaze. “Hegarty will want that stone you wear.”
“Yeah, I know. He tried to take it from me when I was half drugged after he healed my leg.”
“ ’ Tis your only way home. Ye must not let him take it until he sends ye back.”
Her gaze sharpened and bore into his. “Do you know where I came from?”
“No. And I dinna wish to. All I ken is Hegarty can send ye back. Or take ye there himself.”
Green eyes, dark with shadows, turned toward the landscape. “He’s not going to send me back until I kill the earl, is he?”
“Mayhap we can convince him to. The prophecy is old. The earl older. He canna live forever, aye? And once he dies the prophecy dies with him. What matter would it make if you are here, or . . . your home?”
She turned to him, her eyes troubled even as they filled with a warmth that spread through his chest like brandy. A small smile spread across her features.
“Thanks for helping me, Rourke.”
Something clenched deep in his chest. He was going to miss her, he realized.
A raindrop splattered on his arm, then a second. Rourke rose and offered his hand to her. “Come. We must be away.”
“We’re going to ride in the rain?”
“Aye. ’Twill hide our tracks.”
She took his hand, the feel of her soft palm against his somehow right. As if she’d always been by his side. As if she belonged there.
He shook off the untoward thought and helped her mount. But as he swung into his own saddle, he felt the loss of her at his back and dreaded how much more alone he would feel when she was gone.
Brenna lay restlessly on the huge length of plaid and stared up at the stars. She was exhausted, every muscle of her body aching from the ride, yet sleep eluded her.
It had to be past midnight, but without a clock, she had no way of knowing how much of the night had passed. They’d ridden until well into the evening before stopping, but she felt like she’d lain here for hours.
She swatted at a night bug that was trying to settle on her face and rolled onto her side. Rourke lay beside her, barely an arm’s reach away. His deep, even breathing calmed her. His presence, even in sleep, was comforting.
With a sigh, she marveled at how dependent upon him she’d become in a mere two days. It was disturbing, really. She knew better than to depend on anyone other than herself, yet she didn’t have a choice here. How could she possibly get along without him? He protected her, fed her, and, hopefully, led her to Hegarty so she could get home. She needed him, but her feelings for the man were becoming a lot more complicated than simple gratitude.
“Canna sleep?” Rourke’s voice rumbled low, startling her.
“No.”
“Is aught amiss?”
The warm concern in his words wrapped around her. “I’m fine. I’m not used to sleeping on the ground. Do you know, I’ve never slept under the stars like this?”
“Never?”
“No. Then again, I’ve never seen them like this. So bright. So many of them.”
“The stars are the lifeline of a seaman. They’re as familiar to me as the back of my own hand.”
Brenna smiled. “It’s hard to believe some of them no longer exist.”
“If we see them, how can they not exist?”
“Time delay. The stars are actually faraway suns with life cycles of their own. Their light takes so long to travel to Earth that they can die and we won’t know about it for thousands, sometimes millions, of years.”
Silence met her words. The warm feeling of camaraderie slipped away, to be replaced by a cool dread. Why did she tell him something like that? Something that people in this time, without powerful telescopes, couldn’t possibly know?
“Where did Hegarty find you, Wildcat?” His words were softly spoken, but there was an edge to them that told her clearly that she was spooking him.
“You told me before that you don’t want to know. You were right. You don’t.”
He didn’t answer. The silence dragged on, deep and dark as the night as she lay there, her breathing shallow and as silent as his. She wished she could see his face. Read his expression. Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Where do you
think
he pulled me from?”
His silence stretched for nearly another minute before she heard him sigh. “I dinna ken. Knowing the little troll, he could have gotten ye from anywhere.” The tightness was gone from his voice, leaving him sounding weary. “I know only that women there dress unlike here, wear their hair differently, speak differently. And ye know things, like the stars.”
She heard him move, as if rolling toward her. “How do ye know these things?”
Part of her desperately wanted to tell him the truth. But a larger part was terrified.
She rolled onto her stomach and lifted up on her elbows, feeling as if she stood on the edge of a precipice. “I’m afraid to tell you.”
She heard him move closer, felt his hand touch her shoulder, then slide down her arm until it rested upon hers. “What frightens ye?”
“It’s too strange. I don’t want you to think I’m crazy, or . . . or a witch or something. I’m just a woman, Rourke. Maybe the one named in the prophecy, maybe not. I’m just who I am.”
He squeezed her hand. “I ken that. ’Twas Hegarty’s doing that brought you here. I know I said earlier that I dinna wish to know from whence ye came. But I do. Where have you been, Wildcat?”
Brenna lowered her head until her forehead rested on the back of his hand. His scent filled her nostrils and she closed her eyes against the powerful longing that swept through her. A longing to be closer to him in every way. She lifted her head and turned toward him in the dark.
“The future. He brought me from the future.”
Again that long pause. “What future?”
“Yours. The Earth’s. Over three hundred years, I think.”
Slowly, he pulled away. Physically, as his hand slipped from hers, and emotionally. She could almost hear the hair rising on his arms.
“I shouldn’t have told you.” She sat up, cold congealing in the pit of her stomach. “I knew you weren’t ready to hear it.”
Still, his silence stretched.
“Rourke . . .”
“I . . . must think.” She heard him move. “
Three hundred years?
”
Good grief, why had she told him? “More, I think. I came from the year 2009. Isn’t it the late 1600s now? I’ve wanted to ask, but been afraid to.”
“The year is 1687,” he said stiffly.
A chill went through her like a knife. She’d known. And yet . . . “How is this possible?”
“Hegarty.” From the sound of his voice, she knew he’d sat up. “I ken your oddity now. Things have changed in three hundred years, aye?”
“More than you can imagine. More than I could ever explain.”
“Try.”
She stared into the dark, toward the sound of his voice.
How?
How could she possibly put her world into terms he could understand.
“I’m never cold. Never wet unless I want to be, never hungry. If I get sick, there’s usually a cure. I make good money, have a nice place to live, and have no one chasing me or shooting at me. Ever.”
Even to her own ears, twenty-first-century Baltimore sounded like paradise. What she hadn’t mentioned was the loneliness—a loneliness she hadn’t fully understood until the past few days when it had been strangely absent.
She heard him rise. “Where are you going?”
“No’ far. I need to think. Go to sleep, Wildcat.”
She felt his departure more than heard it, and felt isolation rush back to envelope her. She shouldn’t have told him. He couldn’t handle it—of course, he couldn’t.
Brenna lay on her back and stared up at the stars, unshed tears burning her eyes. He was a moody man, grumpy and silent, or demanding and dictatorial. But he was also kind. And honorable.
Over the past couple of days, they’d developed a bond of some kind. A friendship, maybe even something more, something steeped in an attraction like nothing she’d ever felt.
With a spurt of painful anger at herself, she flung one arm across her eyes.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
If her erratic childhood had taught her anything, it was that developing bonds with anyone was only going to get her hurt. Sooner or later, they always left.
The worst part was, this time she’d done it to herself. With a single, ill-placed truth, she’d turned herself into a freak in his eyes. And lost her only chance of having a real friend in this world.
Of having a true friend at all.
NINE