Logan did his best to stifle the storm of emotions that swirled inside him, but it was hard. Lord! It was hard! When Thea had first stepped outside wearing that dress and with her hair spilling over her shoulders in midnight waves, it had taken all of his self-control not to gawk like an idiot. Her beauty had hit him like a physical blow.

And now Ailsa was suggesting that Thea stay here at the cottage with him until they found Irene, and whilst the very thought of having her so close sent a hot spear of desire right through him, it evoked a stronger, more primal emotion.

Fear.

It wasn’t safe for her. He could not let it happen.

“I’ll just fetch my bag and then we’ll be on our way,” Ailsa said.  “My mother has had the children long enough.”

Logan followed her and when they were out of sight of Rhodry and Thea said, “She canna stay here.”

Ailsa’s eyebrows rose. “Why ever not?”

Logan groped to explain himself. He couldn’t tell her the truth—that he was terrified of his curse falling upon her. It affected anyone who stayed near him too long and he’d already risked too much by allowing her to stay at his croft for one night. He dare not risk another.

“It isnae proper,” he blurted. “What would folk say if they knew she was staying here with me? I willnae have her reputation besmirched. She must stay with ye and Rhodry.”

That way she’ll be safe.

“There aren’t any folk round here to notice whether she’s staying with ye or not, much less gossip about her,” Ailsa replied firmly.  “Ye know there isnae room at our cottage. Not now my ma is living with us as well. I’m sure ye can keep yer hands to yerself for one night.”

Ailsa meant the words lightly but they cut through Logan like a knife. Keep his hands to himself? He couldn’t even risk going near the lass! Before he could frame a reply Ailsa retrieved her bag from the house, then she and Rhodry were striding away down the track, leaving Logan alone with Thea.

She stood a little ways off, watching the couple leave. She had her arms wrapped around herself as if cold, her eyes holding a faraway cast. What was she thinking? About her homeland? About how much she wanted to return to it?

He scrubbed a hand through his hair. Lord above! How had he ended up in this situation? When he found Irene MacAskill he would wring her neck!

Logan ground his teeth, trying to think of something, anything, to say, but no words came. He watched Thea a moment longer then turned on his heel and strode across the yard to his forge.

A sack of half-finished horse shoes sat in the corner where he’d left them the night before he met Thea. He’d lost a full day’s work already and that was something he could ill afford. His reputation as the best blacksmith in the area meant that the people of Dun Ringill were willing to ride the extra distance to his croft in order to purchase his work. But that would soon change if he started being late with his orders.

As he gathered his tools and began stoking the fire, his thoughts whirled. Normally working at his forge brought him peace. It chased the thoughts from his head and he was able to lose himself in the hard physical labor. Not today. Today thoughts and memories plagued him. Thoughts of Thea. Of Irene MacAskill. Of his curse.

These in turn led to memories. Of his old master, Albus, an enormous bear of a man, standing with his hands on his hips as he watched a young Logan shape his first sword. Of his father, Laird David MacAuley, and the smile of pride on his face as Logan had presented that first sword to him as a gift.

So long ago. Just memories now. Less than a whisper on the breeze.

Logan shook his head. What would his father think if he could see Logan now? Would he understand why he’d done what he did? Or would he denounce him for the fate he’d chosen? For the fate he’d condemned his brothers to?

For the first time in many long months, Logan thought of them. Old pain twisted his guts like a half-healed battle wound. Where were his brothers now? Were they well? Were they even still alive? He’d not seen either of them since that fateful night when they’d made their pact. Had they managed to carve a life for themselves away from the clan? He had no way of knowing. All he could do was live the half-life he’d made for himself and hope that his brothers had found some measure of peace.

Grunting, he heaved the sack of horseshoes onto a bench and opened it, counting them. They were fine work, some of his best, and he suspected they were headed for the laird’s own stable up at the castle. He paused. The castle. A sudden wave of hopelessness washed through him. It was his castle. His stable. His horses that these shoes were destined for. And yet, were he to deliver these in person, nobody would even recognize him.

For a moment he railed at his fate. How things would be different if he was still the laird. Thea would be sleeping in a soft bed and a warm room rather than in a drafty cottage. Logan would have the whole garrison out looking for Irene MacAskill, not just himself and Rhodry. Thea would know the delights of clan life instead of being stranded out here alone with him.

Would ye change it? A voice whispered in the back of his head. Would ye do things differently if ye had yer time over? Would ye have refused to make yer bargain?

Nay, he answered himself, with a sigh. I wouldnae.

The sun was getting low in the sky and dusk would soon be falling. With it would come the chill of a Highland night. He thought of Thea, warm in his bed. With a growl of frustration, he pumped the bellows on his forge and set to work.

***

Thea watched as Logan walked away from her. He’d said not a word since Ailsa and Rhodry left. With a sigh, she made her way back inside the cottage. The fire had died low and the Highland evening already had a chill to it. Crouching by the hearth, she carefully fed sticks into it until there was a merry fire blazing, chasing away the cold. 

Thea knelt by the bed and pulled out her pack from underneath. Clutching it to her chest, she sat down on a chair. It creaked under her weight and she noticed that one of the legs was loose. She frowned. She would have to fix that.

For now though, she opened her pack and carefully took out her camera. At the sight of it, a sense of dislocation went through her. It looked so out of place in this time. Just like her. She turned it on and was relieved when the red light on the top flashed and the screen on the back lit up. Once the battery ran out that would be it. She had no way to recharge it. But for now at least, she had this tenuous link to home.

She selected the gallery function and began scrolling through the photographs. There they were; the pictures she’d taken since she’d arrived in Scotland. The hotel. The rental car. The bustling streets of Glenmorrow. Right now they felt so far away as to be on a different planet. She continued scrolling. A Highland cow peering at her over a fence. A pair of horse-riders waving at her as they trotted by. A kestrel riding the thermals above. On and on the pictures went and with each new one, Thea felt the despondency spreading. How had she ended up here? How would she get back to the places in these photos?

The next image flashed onto the screen and she gasped.

It was the archway.

The stones reared up out of the water like dark sentinels, their straight lines seeming harsh against the waves of the sea. Even in a photograph there was something about them that seemed to draw Thea in. She ran the tip of her finger down the tiny screen, tracing their outline. How on earth could a stone archway transport her through time? None of this made any sense. It was crazy. Crazy!

She used the zoom function to look more closely, searching for any kind of clue as to what had happened. The pattern carved into the stones’ surface sprang into focus, a pattern of interlocking coils. Thea frowned. She’d seen this pattern somewhere else recently. But where? The concussion had made her memory hazy and she couldn’t quite piece it together.   With a ‘humph’ of annoyance she turned the camera off so as not to waste the battery, returned it to her pack, and pushed the whole thing under the bed. She felt a huge wash of homesickness.

One night, she told herself. You only need to last one night.

With this thought running through her head, she seated herself on the rug and stared into the fire. Her eyes drifted closed.

The next morning Thea woke slowly. Her back ached and there was a cramp in one leg. It took her a moment to realize that she’d fallen asleep on the rug in front of the fire and that the bed hadn’t been slept in. She looked around bleary-eyed. Where was Logan? Hadn’t he returned to the cottage last night? Where had he slept?

With a groan she sat up and rubbed her eyes. She had a headache again and she knew Ailsa would not be happy with her for sleeping on the hard ground.  She climbed to her feet, shuffled over to the water jug in the corner, and poured herself a drink of the cold, clear water. Then she mixed up her medicine and downed it in one, gritting her teeth at the acrid taste.

Weak gray light was seeping under the door and Thea guessed it was early morning, perhaps not yet dawn. She took a deep breath.

Today, she thought. Today Logan will find Irene MacAskill and I’ll go home. Tonight I’ll be sleeping in a comfortable hotel bed binge-watching my favorite shows, drinking wine and gorging on ice cream. 

She had a quick wash from the water jug, gasping as the icy water chased away the last of her sleepiness, and took her time stretching her arms over her head and trying to work the kinks out of her neck. There was still no sign of Logan but she could hear a clinking noise coming from behind the house.

She pulled the door open and stepped into the yard. Stepper stuck her head over the stable door and snorted. Dawn was just beginning to turn the sky orange and the rim of the sun was yet to appear above the hills. A soft breeze stirred Thea’s hair and sent goose bumps riding up her arms.

She drew in a great, deep breath, allowing it to fill her lungs. As it did so, an unexpected sense of peace settled inside her. This place was wild and untamed, so different to what she was used to. And yet it was beautiful. It was so...so...Thea groped for a word. So now. So present. Without the distractions of TV, internet, the constant notifications on her cell phone, Thea felt...liberated. In this place there was only the now. This moment. And then the next. It felt strange but comforting.

She crossed the yard to the stable and scratched Stepper behind the ears. The mare leaned into the touch and then sniffed at the front of Thea’s dress, hoping for a treat.

Thea laughed. “I don’t have anything. But I promise I’ll find you a carrot or an apple or something. How would you like that? Now where’s your master, eh?”

She left the stable and made her way around the back of the cottage to the low-roofed building that sat a little apart from the rest. Sure enough, the clinking she’d heard was coming from inside.

“Logan?” she called but there was no answer.

She ducked under the low eaves and into the building. A wall of heat hit her. It was like stepping into an oven. The space around the edge of the room was taken up with racks holding tools of all kinds. Several huge water vats stood in one corner and in the center of the room was a stone built kiln-type thing holding coals that burned white-hot. Next to this stood a huge anvil where Logan was busy hammering at a piece of metal.

He had his back to her and was so intent on his work that he’d heard neither her approach nor her call. He was stripped to the waist, with only a leather apron covering his chest and thick gloves on his hands. His shoulder-length hair clung to his neck in damp tangles and a thin sheen of sweat covered his skin, highlighting the contours of his muscled back and arms as he raised a hammer high over his head and brought it pounding down onto the strip of metal over and over again. Sparks flew from the white-hot bar but Logan paid them no heed and they dropped harmlessly to the hard-packed earthen floor.

A smithy, Thea realized. Logan is a blacksmith.

His movements were strong and sure as if he’d done this countless times before. The hammer he wielded had a huge iron head that Thea knew she’d struggle to lift but Logan swung it as though it weighed nothing at all. She watched him for a moment and she noticed that this back bore many scars. Several were puckered burn marks but others look like stab wounds. How had he gotten them?

He dropped the hammer onto the anvil and then, picking up the bar of metal with both gloved hands, plunged it into one of the water vats. It hissed and steamed, sending up a great cloud of water vapor. Then he returned the bar to the anvil, straightened, and wiped his brow.

Thea cleared her throat loudly.

Logan spun. He snatched up the hammer, holding it like a weapon. Then, realizing it was Thea, relaxed, placing the hammer down on the anvil.

“My apologies,” he muttered. “Ye startled me.”

“I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that. I did call you but I’m not surprised you didn’t hear me over this racket.”

He didn’t reply. He was breathing heavily from his exertion, his broad chest heaving under the leather apron. Her eyes locked with his and a tingle went down her spine.

A coal popped in the forge and Logan turned away, poking at it with an iron poker.

“I...wondered where you were,” Thea stammered. “You didn’t come into the cottage last night.”

“Nay,” he agreed. He nodded at a pile of rumpled blankets in the corner of the smithy. “This place makes as good a bed as any.”

“Now you’re just trying to make me feel guilty,” Thea replied, trying and failing to make her voice sound light. “I can’t turn you out of your own cottage, not after all you’ve done for me. You should have slept inside.”

An expression flashed across his face so quickly Thea could almost have convinced herself she’d missed it. It looked like fear.

“Nay, lass,” he said. “That wouldnae have been proper. I willnae have yer reputation besmirched. We aren’t married. It isnae right for us to share lodgings.”

Thea frowned. Damn it. She had to remember that attitudes were different in this time. Was that why Logan had slept out here? Over concern for her honor?

Logan shifted his feet, looking uncomfortable. “Did ye sleep well?” he asked at last.

“Yes,” she replied. He didn’t need to know that she’d fallen asleep on the hearth rug. “And Ailsa’s concoction worked a treat. My headache is all but gone.”

“I’m relieved to hear ye say that. Ye had me worried for a while.”

I did? Thea thought. He was watching her again. Her cheeks flushed and she took a step back. She cast around for something to say and suddenly remembered the broken chair leg.

“Do you have a hammer I can borrow? And some nails?”

He looked at her quizzically. “Whatever for?”

She crossed her arms. “You’ll see. You aren’t the only one who can use tools you know.”

He raised an eyebrow but then crossed to a rack and took down a hammer with a good leather grip and a handful of nails. He held them out to her. “Should I be worried?” he asked with a faint smile. “I’ve seen yer temper first hand, remember.”

Thea snorted. “Me? Temper? I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

He held out the tool and Thea took it. For a moment her finger brushed his. She glanced up and her eyes locked with his. They were dark, unblinking, his lips parted.

Thea stepped back, clutching the hammer to her chest. “I...um...thanks.”

He blinked then cleared his throat. “Aye. Well. I’ll just finish up here then I’ll make us some breakfast.”

Flustered, Thea could hardly choke out the words. “Breakfast. Yes. Great.”

She turned away and hurried back into the house.

***

Logan banked the coals in the forge then stripped off his gloves and leather apron and hung them on a hook. Stepping outside he crossed to the water barrel and dunked his head into the icy water, allowing it to wash away the grime and sweat of his morning’s work.

He grabbed his shirt from a hook and pulled it on, tying the sash of his plaid over one shoulder. Then, taking a deep breath, he strode across the yard to the house. They would have a quick breakfast and then ride over to Rhodry and Ailsa’s croft. He and Rhodry would find Irene MacAskill and get some answers. 

Simple. By the end of the day Thea would be gone, the short disruption she’d caused in his life would be over and he could go back to normal. He ought to be pleased about that. So why did he have an ache in his gut as though someone had punched him?

Gritting his teeth, he yanked the door open and stepped inside. Thea was kneeling on the floor, the broken chair upturned in front of her. She glanced over her shoulder as he walked in. She had two nails clamped between her teeth.

“Pass me the hammer would you?” she mumbled at him around her mouthful.

Logan stared at her, bemused. Then, when she gave him a flat stare, he picked up the hammer and handed it over. She took it without a word and turned to her work. Logan crossed his arms, watching.

“Ye are wasting yer time lass,” he told her. “The wood is knotted. It willnae take anyone’s weight, regardless of repairs.”

Thea took one of the nails from her mouth, held it against a piece of wood she’d braced cross-ways between two of the legs, then deftly nailed it in with three precise taps. Satisfied, she spun the chair around and hammered the other end of the wood to the leg on the other side. She righted the chair and carefully sat down on it. Her repair creaked but it held.

She grinned. “Ta da!”

She looked mighty pleased with herself and Logan couldn’t help the smile that pulled the corners of his mouth.

“It just needed a bit of TLC. These cross-struts will distribute the weight more evenly. It should hold now.” She looked him up and down and then frowned. “Although you might be better off using the other one and leaving this for guests.”

To Logan’s surprise, he felt a laugh bubbling up inside him. “As ye say, oh wise one. Where did ye learn such skills? Woodwork isnae the kind of thing noble ladies would normally be versed in.”

“My granddad,” she replied, her eyes turning wistful as though she was thinking of fond memories. “He was into DIY big time. When I was a kid, he taught me all sorts. I think he was happy to have a willing helper. We lived in a big old house that was slowly falling apart around us so when he got too old I took over trying to keep the place standing.”

Logan frowned. There she went again. DIY? What was that word? “So ye live with yer grandparents?”

Her smile faltered. “No. Not anymore. I went off to college. Then they died and I had to sell the house.  It’s just as well as it was too big for me anyway. I was renting an apartment before I came here.”

There was an old pain shining in her eyes and it twisted Logan’s heart to see it.

“Would ye like some breakfast?”

“I would. Fixing chair-legs is hungry work.”

“Aye, nay doubt. I hope ye like porridge. It’s all I have.”

“Ah! Porridge! My favorite!” she said with a smile.

Logan fell into the routine he went through every morning. Only this time he was preparing breakfast for two. Thea said not a word as Logan busied himself by the fire but he could feel her watching him. He was acutely aware of her presence. The sound of her breathing. The tiny rustle of her dress as she moved. Did she realize the effect she had on him? He guessed not, which made it all the more potent.

Ye have been too long alone, he thought.

But it was more than that. There was something about Thea Thomas. She was unlike any woman he’d ever met. She was wild and reckless and brave. She held secrets about her like a cloak.

Ye are losing yer wits, he thought as he stirred the pot. The sooner ye send the lass on her way the better.

He served breakfast and Thea ate greedily. She had none of the dainty manners that he would expect from a noble-born lady. She scooped up her porridge in great dollops and ate like she was starving, nodding appreciatively at the taste.

He sat down opposite her and pulled his own bowl over. How strange it felt to be eating breakfast with someone else! He was reminded suddenly of breakfasts in the castle. He would sit at the high table with his brothers and they would banter and make plans for the day whilst the Great Hall hummed to the conversation of his clan.

Lord, it seemed a lifetime ago.

He’d been a different man then. Laird Logan MacAuley had died that day by the stones as surely as if he’d had a knife rammed through his heart. Another man had emerged to take his place. Blacksmith MacAuley, a loner, living apart from society and avoiding all bonds of fellowship. As it must be.

Thea finished her bowl and pushed it back, rubbing her stomach appreciatively. “That,” she announced, “was possibly the most delicious breakfast I’ve ever eaten!”

He raised an eyebrow. “It was only porridge, lass.”

“Porridge tastes like the gods’ own ambrosia when you’re as hungry as I was.”

“If ye think that was good, ye should try Old Magda’s cooking up at the castle. If there is a better cook in all the Highlands, I’ve never heard of her.” He clamped his mouth shut as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Curse it! He had to be more careful.

“The castle?” she asked. “You mean Dun Ringill? Ailsa told me about it. You’ve been there?”

“Aye,” he answered quickly. “I sell my wares there sometimes.”

“Like that sword you were making this morning?”

He glanced at her. “Aye, like the sword. Although normally it’s less grand things. Horse-shoes. Bridles. Tools. That sort of thing.”

“And yet you live out here alone, miles from the castle. That doesn’t make much sense to me. Surely you’d do better living closer to where your customers are?”

Logan shifted in his seat. Aye, he thought. It would. But that’s not possible. Not for me. He shrugged. “I’m the best blacksmith in the district. People will travel the extra miles for my services.”

He said it without bravado. It was a simple statement of fact. His master, Albus, had been renowned all over the Highlands, and Logan had been his best apprentice. There had been raised eyebrows when Logan’s father had apprenticed him to a simple blacksmith. What need had the heir for such a trade? But his father had believed in ensuring each of his sons was trained in more than just leadership. So for him had come blacksmith’s training, for Camdan soldiering, for Finlay, music. Their father’s foresight had become more important than any of them could have imagined.

“What about ye?” Logan asked, trying to turn the conversation away from himself. “Ye keep insisting that ye are no lady and work as a—what did ye call it?—a ‘photographer’? What is that?”

She frowned. “How to explain it? I make pictures. I came to Scotland to make pictures of your landscapes and wildlife. People are very interested in that sort of thing in my homeland.”

Logan leaned back in his chair, trying to make sense of what she was telling him. “So, ye are a painter?”

“Something like that, I guess,” she said, nodding. “Although I never expected my assignment to end like this.”

She met his gaze and he saw a flash of fear in her eyes. She was a brave lass, trying to appear confident when inside she must be reeling. How would he feel if he was lost in a strange land, surrounded by people and ways he didn’t know?

Logan pushed back his chair with a loud scrape and collected up the dishes. “Tis time we were on our way,” he said. “The sooner Rhodry and I ride out, the sooner we will find our errant meddler.”

Once breakfast was cleared away Logan saddled Stepper, swung Thea up into the saddle, and climbed up behind her. He nudged Stepper onto the trail that led to Rhodry and Ailsa’s croft.

As they moved he tried not to think about the fact that by tonight Thea would be gone.