“Miss! Can I go to the bathroom?” said the dark-haired boy for the third time.

“I...yes...of course,” Bree muttered.

As the boy got up from his chair and hurried off, many of his classmates turned to watch, completely losing interest in what Bree was telling them. She pursed her lips and sucked in a deep breath. Give her a demanding university professor or an inquisitive bunch of PhD students any day. There were way easier to deal with than a gaggle of seven-year-olds whose attention wandered every ten seconds.

“Miss?” a red-headed girl asked. “Where are ye from? Ye speak funny.”

“Alice!” the teacher, Miss Samson, scolded. “It isnae polite to say such things.”

“It’s all right,” Bree replied. “I’m from America.”

This brought a chorus of ooohs and ahhhhs.

“Whereabouts in America?” Alice demanded. “My uncle’s been to Las Vegas. He says ye can spend one night there and end up rich!”

This brought another round of oohs and ahhhs.

Bree gritted her teeth. This was not going well. The artifacts she’d so carefully chosen to show the school group lay on the table before her, completely forgotten. Instead, the children had moved on to talking about all the things they’d buy when they won a ton of money in Las Vegas. Miss Samson gave Bree an apologetic smile.

Bree sucked in a breath. A different approach was needed. She crossed to the corner and picked up the large box she’d brought as a back-up for just this eventuality. She placed the box on the table then clapped her hands.

“Listen up, children!”

They quieted and gazed at her expectantly. Bree pulled out a plastic sword and helmet from the box and held them up. “We’re going to learn about the Romans. They were an interesting bunch, I can tell you. But before we begin, we need to get into character. Who wants to dress up as a Roman soldier?”

Thirty hands shot into the air. Bree smiled to herself. She’d get these children to learn something today if it killed her!

She spent the next hour showing them how Roman legions fought in battle. She formed the children, now all kitted out in fancy dress, into two teams and staged a mock battle in the museum’s education room. The children loved it. Bree even gave them all a Roman name and they spent a good half an hour after the battle designing their own name badge which they all wore proudly as Miss Samson finally rounded them up and took them down to the cafeteria for lunch. As the door swung shut behind them, Bree slumped into a chair.

The education room looked like a bomb had gone off. Bits of costume, plastic swords, paper, colored pencils and pens littered the floor. She ran a hand through her hair. She was exhausted. How did Miss Samson do this all day every day? The woman deserved a medal. With a groan she pulled herself to her feet and began tidying up.

***

For a moment Alex felt like he was falling. He threw out his arms to keep his balance and then his feet suddenly slammed into hard stone. Jarred by the impact, he staggered to his knees. Above him rose an archway but this one wasn’t made of woven birch twigs decorated with flowers. Instead this one seemed to be made of two enormous curved bones stood on end. To Alex they looked like some of the whale bones he’d seen when he’d visited the Isle of Skye as a child. A sign hanging from the archway read: “Welcome to the National Museum of Scotland.”

He found himself in a wide square made of smooth flagstones. The square lead up to a large white building with lots of glass windows along the front—the museum.

The square itself was full of people. Large groups of bairns being shepherded by adults, adolescents looking at the bright oblongs that his mother referred to as ‘cell phones’, people sitting around singly on benches eating.

Alex slowly stood. Nearby, a bairn gawked at him wide-eyed, oblivious to some gooey yellow substance that was currently melting on the cone-like thing he held in one hand. Alex winced. He hoped nobody else had marked his entrance like that. A sixteenth century warrior appearing out of thin air? He’d have difficulty explaining that away.

But everyone else seemed too engrossed in what they were doing and were paying him no heed. Good. That was good. A wave of dizziness came over him and he pressed a hand to his forehead, breathing deeply until it passed. Irene hadn’t bothered to warn him about the effects of time-travel.

Finally the dizziness passed and Alex raised his head, turning around slowly to take it all in. On the side opposite the museum building the square opened out, leading to streets and roads filled with those hurtling metal boxes that could only be those ‘cars’ his mother had told him about. His eyes roved over the noisy, busy city, searching for any sign of the Edinburgh he knew.

He’d visited the capital on only two occasions, once as a child when he’d accompanied his father and aunt when they’d been invited to attend the king’s court and then again during Lord Donald’s trial. Both times they stayed up at the castle—the second time in a dank cell—but he could see no sign of the castle now. There were just the busy streets and the noise.

No, wait. There. Craning his neck to see above the roofs of the impossibly tall buildings he spied a cliff rising in the distance and on top of this rose the castle. It seemed larger than he remembered, perhaps having buildings added in later years. A breath escaped him. Even though the castle held dark memories for him—memories of sitting in a cell wondering when he would be taken to the gallows—it was still a reminder of home, still something familiar in this strange world.

He took a few steps in that direction but then halted. He shouldn’t assume that what he’d been sent here for resided in the castle. Irene had sent him to this particular spot for a reason so what he needed must be close by. His gaze came to rest on the white buildings, this ‘museum’. He had no idea what the word might mean but from the crowds of people going in and out through the wide doors, it looked like a building of importance.

He marched across the square then took the steps two at a time. He found himself in a wide entrance hall. To one side lay a seating area where people were drinking from large beakers and eating a range of pastries and ahead of him were three wide doors, each with a different sign hanging over it. On one Alex read: Egyptian Collection, another read European Collection, and the third read Celtic Collection.

Alex hesitated. Which door to try? On impulse he took the Celtic one and entered a wide hall filled with glass cases. Inside these cases everyday items had been placed as though they were somehow important. As he wandered amongst them, Alex saw arrangements of pottery beakers, stained-glass windows that looked like they belonged to a kirk, damaged weaponry such as rusted blades and arrowheads missing the actual arrow shafts. He wandered around in puzzlement. Why did this ‘museum’ have so many things from his own time? And why were people standing around staring through the glass cases at them? It made no sense. People in the twenty-first century must be a little odd. What was so interesting about pottery beakers and old swords?

Then, towards the center of the big hall, he noticed a case that was larger than the others and set apart. It was lit with lamps that burned without any kind of flame. Intrigued, he made his way closer and then halted abruptly.

Inside the case hung a gold medallion - one he would recognize anywhere. He drew a deep breath. What, by the Lord, was it doing here of all places? How had his family’s medallion ended up in a twenty-first century museum?

He inched closer and placed his palms flat against the glass.  Underneath the medallion a large plaque read, The Loch Shiel Medallion, circa 1525.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Alex spun at the voice. A young woman stood a few paces away, looking at the medallion. She had long, deep-red hair and green eyes that sparkled in the lamplight. She was carrying a box that seemed to be full of practice weapons and capes.

“Aye. I suppose it is.”

She took a step towards him and looked up at the medallion. “It’s one of our most prized pieces. Have you heard the story behind it? It’s very romantic.”

“Romantic?” Alex asked. “I wouldnae say that. Bloodthirsty is more like it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Bloodthirsty? It’s said this was made by a king for his queen as a symbol of their love. Now that’s what I call romantic.”

Alex snorted. “Nonsense! My great-uncle commissioned the medallion from an Italian goldsmith that visited our keep when my da was a lad. He had it made from the gold he’d captured from his enemies and always wore it as a reminder of the power of Clan Murray. So ye see, bloodthirsty is closer to it.”

The woman appeared a little taken aback. She looked Alex up and down and her eyes widened slightly at the sight of his plaid. Alex cursed. He needed to think before he spoke.

“I can’t say I’ve ever heard that story before,” the woman said slowly. “Your great-uncle, huh? Right. Okay.”

She spoke very deliberately, as though addressing a child. Did she think him a loon? He couldn’t blame her. He must remember where he was. He couldn’t just go around talking about his homeland—it would only get him into trouble.

The woman was staring at him as though trying to work out what he was. Alex felt a flush creep into his cheeks under her scrutiny. Lord, she was beautiful. Kissed by fire was the term his people used to describe those with her coloring. Her skin could have been carved from marble and her hair could have been made of woven flames. And her eyes....a clear, deep green like the sea.

She cleared her throat and looked away. “Well, I...um...I’d better be going. Enjoy the museum.”

With that she hefted her box and walked away. Alex found himself watching her until she disappeared down the corridor. He turned to look at the medallion once more. His heartbeat began to quicken. This was it. This must be the ‘object of great value’ that Irene MacAskill had sent him to retrieve. If he returned it to his family there was a chance, however slim, that he might repair the damage he’d caused them. He owed them that much.

Biting his lip, he inspected the glass case. He discovered a small door on the far side but it was locked and Alex doubted anyone would give him the key if he requested it. No, if he was going to retrieve the medallion stealth would be required.

Alex paused. It would be dishonorable to take the medallion without permission. Whoever owned it now clearly held it in great esteem and was unlikely to just hand it over if Alex asked nicely.

Irene sent me here for the medallion, he thought. I must get it back, dishonorable or no.

The irony was not lost on him. Four years ago he’d stolen this medallion from his Aunt Merith’s bed chamber.

Tonight he would steal it back.

***

Bree closed the door of her workroom and leaned against it. She let her eyes slide closed for a moment and drew in several deep breaths. She’d escaped! The educational visit was over!

She crossed the room and slumped into her chair, kicking off her boots and sliding down the chair, her arms dangling over the sides. She was exhausted! After the Roman session this morning, she’d taken two more that afternoon, one talking about Celtic artifacts and showing them the Loch Shiel Medallion, then one getting them involved in rudimentary conservation techniques. It had been great fun but utterly draining. She sure hoped Director Michaels didn’t want her to take many more classes.

What a day, she thought. Could I be any more tired?

She forced herself to her feet, crossed to the coffee pot and switched it on. Outside, twilight was falling and the lights of Edinburgh were slowly coming on. The museum was emptying, streams of people exiting the doors and crossing the courtyard. It would soon be locked up for the night. It was past the time Bree should have gone home but she didn’t hurry. She had a key to lock up and she really, really needed a coffee.

Once brewed, she poured herself an extra-large mug and sank into her chair once more, propping her feet up on the table. Director Michaels would probably have a fit if he saw her disrespecting her worktable that way but hey, after the day she’d had, she figured she’d earned a little leeway.

Sipping her coffee, she allowed her mind to wander. She found herself thinking about the man she’d met at the medallion exhibit earlier that day. Who was he? He’d been dressed in traditional costume—a large plaid that reached his knees and then knee-high leather boots. Who dressed that way these days? Perhaps he was employed by the museum as some sort of guide but Bree hadn’t heard of any such initiative.

If so he could have come and helped me with the school group, she thought. An authentic medieval Scotsman might have held their attention for more than five seconds!

What he’d said about the medallion intrigued her. Was he right about its ancestry? Was it really an heirloom of the powerful Murray clan, and if so, how did he know that when all the top scholars in Edinburgh were unsure of its origins?

Listen to you, Bree told herself. Are you really going to take him seriously? He said his great-uncle made that medallion for pity’s sake! He’s clearly either a little cracked or else messing with you.

Bree pushed thoughts of the man from her mind and sipped her coffee, allowing the tension to leak out of her limbs. She wanted nothing more than to spend the evening taking a long, hot bath and then curling up with a good book...

Beep!

Bree jumped, sloshing coffee all over herself. She stood up with a curse, putting her mug down on the worktable. Her cell phone beeped again. She yanked it out of her pocket and looked at the screen. It was a video call and the call sign belonged to her mother.

Bree’s stomach sank. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to her mom, it’s just that her timing was awful, as usual. With a sigh she pushed the button to accept the call and sat down again, smiling at the screen.

“Hi, Mom.”

A view of a white-painted ceiling met her view. “Bree, darling. Are you there?”

“You’re pointing it the wrong way again, Mom,” Bree said. “Hold it at eye level.”

Her mom’s face swam into view. “Ah! There you are!”

She smiled her dazzling smile and Bree was struck by her mother’s beauty. Her deep-red hair, the same shade as Bree’s, cascaded over her shoulders and she sported a bone-structure that Bree could only dream of. Her mother’s beauty seemed effortless, she never wore make-up and her hair always looked like she’d just walked out of a salon.

“What’s up, Mom?” Bree asked.

“Does there have to be anything up for me to call my only daughter? I’ve sent you three texts today and you’ve not replied to any of them.”

“I’ve been busy, Mom. I’m at work.”

Her mom’s eyes narrowed and she took in the scene around Bree. “Where are you? Have they given you a new office?”

Bree rolled her eyes. “I’m in Edinburgh, Mom. I got a secondment, remember? I’m here for six months.”

“Well why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did tell you. Twice.”

“Did you? Oh, sorry, honey, you know what my memory is like. Is Adam with you?”

Bree’s stomach turned over. She forced her voice to sound neutral. “No, Mom. We broke up, remember?”

Annoyance flared inside Bree. Trust her mom to forget something like this. If it didn’t affect her life, Jody Martin paid it little attention. Her daughter’s life was a minor irritant like a buzzing insect that needed to be swiped away when it came too close.

“That’s right, course you did.” She waved a hand dismissively. “You’ll get over him. You’re too good for him anyway, honey. There are plenty more fish in the sea.”

Get over him? Bree thought. That’s easy for you to say. You go through men like they’re going out of fashion. But I’m not like you, Mom. Have you never realized that?

“You’ll meet the right man eventually, honey,” her mom continued. She smiled suddenly, the expression lighting her eyes with delight. “Like I’ve met Bobby!”

Bree stifled a groan. So here it came, the real reason her mom had called. Dutifully she asked, “Who’s Bobby?”

Her mom launched into a tirade about her latest boyfriend. He was the one this time, he really was. They’d met on a rally up in Alaska. They’d only known each other two weeks but it felt like they’d known each other forever. They were soul-mates, they really were.

Yeah, Bree thought. Until you get bored with him and move on. How long will this one last? Three months? Six?

When it came to relationships, Bree’s mom was the worst kind of role model. She’d had numerous affairs whilst married to Bree’s father, and after their divorce she’d flitted from man to man, each one being declared the love of her life until the next one came along. Bree had lost count of the number of ‘uncles’ she’d had growing up. Most of them had been decent men and she’d felt sorry for them when her mom had chewed them up and spat them out. For her mom, love was shallow. It was all excitement and glitz and razzmatazz. It wasn’t real.

“I’m happy for you, Mom,” she said when her mom paused for breath. “He sounds wonderful. Well, I’d better go now. Busy day tomorrow.”

“Oh. So soon?” her mom said. “But I haven’t told you about the hotel Bobby’s taking me to this weekend. It looks divine!”

“Another time, Mom.”

“Sure, honey. You enjoy your vacation. Bye, honey.”

“Bye, Mom.”

Vacation, Bree thought as she hung up the call. I’m working! Don’t you ever listen to a word I say?

With a sigh she put her cell phone down on the table. Loneliness settled over her like a blanket. She’d had a difficult day and there was nobody she could talk to about it. Her mom was wrapped in her own life and her best friend was on the other side of the world.

On impulse she grabbed her cell again and dialed her dad. When she was younger she and her dad had been very close but after her parent’s divorce her dad had taken a job in Singapore and remarried. Now she barely saw him.

It took a long moment for the video call to connect but eventually her dad’s bleary-eyed face appeared on the screen. “Bree? Is that you, sweetie?”

“Hi, Dad.”

“You okay, sweetie?” he asked. “I didn’t expect you to be calling at this hour.”

“Oh, I forgot about that. What time is it over there?”

Her dad glanced at his watch. “1.30 in the morning.”

“Ouch. Sorry. I’ll go and let you get some sleep.”

“No! Wait. It’s fine. I’d only just gone to bed anyway. What’s wrong, sweetie?”

“I spoke to Mom.”

He frowned. “Oh. What did she say to upset you this time?”

“Nothing. It’s fine. I didn’t call to talk about Mom. How are you? We never seem to talk anymore.”

He smiled wryly, brushing a stray strand of hair out of his face. He was clean-shaven these days unlike the big beard he’d sported when Bree was a girl. It made him look younger. She liked it. “I know. That’s my fault. You know what it’s like: there never seems to be the time. But I’m listening now. How’s your new job going?”

“Great!” Bree said, perking up. “I’ve learned so much since I’ve been here and everyone is really good at their jobs. My boss is a little eccentric and has the most god-awful sense of humor—you’d like him.”

Her dad laughed. “Yeah, I bet I would. Is it very different to back home?”

“Not really,” she shrugged. “Although the artifacts are different. They’ve got me working on this amazing gold medallion.”

“Yeah? From which period?” her dad asked. Amateur history was one of her dad’s passions. It was where Bree had got it from.

“Sixteenth century they reckon although—”

Just then came the sound of a baby crying. He glanced behind and exchanged a few words with Susan, Bree’s stepmother. Then he faced the camera again, looking sheepish.

“The twins are teething. I’m sorry, Sweetie, I need to go.”

Bree smiled to hide her disappointment. “Sure. You go. Give them a kiss from their big sister.”

“I will. Call me if you need anything, right?”

“Sure. Bye dad.”

She ended the call. Throwing back the last of her coffee, she dumped the mug onto the counter, threw her things into her purse and swung it over her shoulder. That hot bath and good book were way overdue. She turned out the lights, locked her workroom behind her and made her way to the entrance.

The museum was all but deserted. The low-level lighting used at night had been turned on but Bree saw not a soul as she made her way down into the entrance vestibule. She paused long enough to dig her keys out of her purse and then froze.

There. A shadow moved up ahead. For a second it had looked like a person. She walked carefully forward and exited the corridor into the entranceway proper. Ahead of her lay the Loch Shiel Medallion exhibit, its glass case lit up from within even when the museum was shut. Bree’s eyes widened.

The case was empty.

Hardly daring to believe her eyes, she ran over and saw that the small glass door at the back of the case stood open and the alarm somehow disabled.

“What the hell?” she muttered.

Her neck prickled suddenly and she spun around, searching the shadows. Yes. There. A figure in the shadows of a pillar.

Bree’s mouth went dry. Her pulse quickened. “I know you’re there,” she called in a voice that trembled slightly. “Come out.”

A figure slowly walked out of the shadows to stand in the dim light.

“You!” she cried in recognition.

It was the man she’d seen looking at the exhibit. He wore the same plaid he’d been in earlier and his golden hair gleamed in the dim light. The Loch Shiel Medallion dangled from his hand.

“What are you doing?” she cried. “You can’t steal that!”

“I’m nay stealing anything,” he said in his rich voice. “This belongs to my family. I’m returning it to its rightful owner.”

“Its rightful owner is the Scottish people!” she snapped. “Jesus, you people make me sick. You think you have the right to hoard national treasures just because you have money! Who is paying you? Some rich foreigner who’ll keep it in their private collection?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I am no liar, lass. I told ye. Irene MacAskill sent me here for a reason: to recover my family’s treasure.”

Bree started. “Irene MacAskill? You know her?”

“Aye, lass. Now let me be on my way. I dinna want to cause ye any trouble. Kindly stand aside.”

Despite the hammering of her heart against her ribs, Bree lifted her chin. She had to delay him long enough for security to arrive. “I will not. If you’re going to steal that medallion you’re going to have to go through me.”

***

The lass looked furious. Her emerald-green eyes glinted in defiance and her chin was tilted so she could glare at him. She looked fierce and beautiful like some warrior queen. Kissed by fire, indeed.

Alex frowned. Why was he standing here? He’d got what he came for so why wasn’t he making his way back to the arch? He had no idea why he’d revealed himself to this woman. He could have hidden in the shadows and slipped away without her ever detecting him. But her voice had done something to him, stirred something in him and he’d stepped out to meet her.

He was a fool. He began to turn away.

“Wait! Who are you?” she demanded.

Alex studied her for a moment. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with her breath and a pink tinge suffused her cheeks.

“My name is Alexander Murray,” he replied. “Of Clan Murray. I was born in the year 1509 to Ewan and Gretchen Murray. I am sorry to have caused ye distress but I must be going now. I have what I came for.”

She stepped forward. “Put it back.”

“Leave it be, lass. Step aside and dinna follow me.”

Then, before she could react, Alex exploded into motion, pelting through the doors and out into the cool evening air.

***

Bree stared after him. Her feet felt like they were cemented to the spot. She watched stupidly as he ran down the steps to the main doors—which had been forced open by the looks of it—and then disappeared into the darkness of the square.

She should let him go. She really should. That would be the sensible thing to do. The police would have been alerted to the doors being forced and would be here soon—let them deal with it. But there was something about this man that unsettled her and it was more than the fact that he was a thief. There was something about him...something she couldn’t quite place. He claimed to be from the sixteenth century, which was utterly ridiculous, and yet...and yet...

She passed a shaky hand over her face. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some lunatic steal the artifact I’ve spent hours working on! she thought.

Before she knew it, she’d taken off after him, leaping down the steps and bursting through the doors into the square. She halted only long enough to look around. Alexander Murray was walking purposefully across the square towards the whalebone arch that marked the entrance to the museum precinct.

Although he walked briskly, he didn’t seem in any particular hurry as she might expect from a thief who would have the police on his tail any minute. There was a sinuous grace to the way he moved, like a panther, and he seemed to flow through the darkness, melding easily with the shadows.

“Hey! Wait!”

He didn’t.

With a muttered curse Bree took off after him. Who the hell did he think he was? How dare he waltz into her museum and steal her medallion! She’d show him!

She pelted across the square, her boots making little snapping sounds as she pounded across the concrete. “Did you hear me?” she cried as she reached him. “I said wait!”

She grabbed his wrist. He spun, his eyes blazing. Strong fingers snapped around her wrist and yanked her savagely around. He pulled her against him, one arm twisted up her back.

Bree froze, her heart suddenly thundering in her chest. What the hell had she been thinking chasing him like that?

“Quiet!” he hissed. “Do ye wish to bring the whole place down upon us?”

Yes! she thought. That’s exactly what I want.

He held her firmly but not tight enough to hurt and she was suddenly very aware of his hard body pressing against her. This close he smelled of wood smoke and pine and something else that reminded her of open skies on a sunny day.

“Why did ye follow me?” he asked, his voice close against her ear. “Ye shouldnae have done that.”

“You’re stealing my medallion!” she choked out. “I can’t let you do that!”

“Yer medallion?” His voice sounded amused. He released her and she whirled around to face him. There was a slight smile on his face. “Havenae I already told ye that it belongs to my family?”

“Yes, you did,” Bree retorted. “And I don’t believe a word of it! Do you think I’m totally crazy?”

“I dinna think ye are crazy,” he said. “Only brave and a little foolish. What is yer name?”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Breanne,” she muttered. “Bree Martin.”

To her utter surprise, he put one arm across his chest and bowed formally. “I am glad I met ye, Bree Martin. If all women in yer time are as fierce as ye it must be a mighty place indeed. Farewell.”

He turned and carried on walking.

“But...but...” Bree spluttered. “You can’t just walk off like that!”

He didn’t reply or slow his pace. He seemed to be heading towards the whalebone arch. Bree blinked. There was something wrong with the archway. The space inside it seemed to be shimmering like heat-haze. What the hell?

He was only a few paces away now. Bree launched herself after him. She slammed into his back in a football tackle, wrapping her arms around his hips. With a bellow of surprise and outrage, he stumbled forward, crashing to the ground and taking them both falling through the arch.