IT TOOK A week at Dun Aran for Kinley to give up waiting to wake up back in the hospital. She’d thought up and discarded a hundred other theories about why she had landed in fourteenth century Scotland. She’d even entertained the idea that she’d actually traveled back in time, but if she had, how could falling out of her wheelchair send her back eight centuries to another country? Shouldn’t there have been some kind of time machine involved?

Whatever had happened to her, it seemed she would be stuck here for a while.

Most nights when she slept—assuming she was actually sleeping—she dreamed of standing surrounded by the ancient stones in the oak grove. She’d watch the carvings on them glow with light, and wake up feeling vaguely frustrated, as if she was supposed to know or remember something, and couldn’t.

Walking around whole and healed, on the other hand, felt amazing. She didn’t want that to end, and if that made her selfish and delusional, fine.

The heavily-fortified castle appeared to be authentic, and from what she could see through the narrow windows, had been built in some sort of crater beside an enormous lake. In keeping with the era there was no electricity or running water, and what passed for lavatories made field latrines seem luxurious. Yet something warmed the hard stone floors, and took the chill out of the air even in the great hall. When the maid brought up washing water for her every evening, it was steaming hot.

“How do they heat the water?” Kinley finally asked Raen.

His smile bent the jagged lines of the gray lightning tattoos that covered half his face. He pointed down.

“Beneath are hot springs that warm the castle. The maids draw buckets from the cellar wells we dug, where the water is close to boiling.”

Meals were basic, yet well-prepared and, strangely, pretty healthy. For their mid-morning breakfast the cook served huge platters of oatcakes, vats of porridge and a thick, delicious soup called pottage. The second, bigger meal came in the afternoon, and included fresh fish, smoked or salted meats, vegetables, cheese and whole-grain breads, all skillfully flavored with herbs and sometimes garlic. The clan seemed to drink only whiskey, cider, or a very sweet beer they called mead, and had no idea what coffee or real tea was. Kinley stuck with the herbal brews the maids brought her, which seemed innocuous enough, or milk, which was so rich and heavy with cream that shaking it a few times would probably turn it into butter.

The laird kept her in his tower chamber for several days, always guarded by Raen or Tormod, and casually questioned her several times about herself, her life, and how she came to Scotland. Since he wouldn’t believe her answers, Kinley remained vague or claimed she couldn’t remember. She could tell by the way he looked at her that he felt alternately frustrated and suspicious, but there was nothing she could do about that. He had to make up his mind whether to trust her or not.

Although Kinley was tempted, she didn’t try to escape again. Through casual conversations with Raen and Tormod about the island, she learned that there were only a few villages on Skye, and all of them were loyal to Lachlan. Transportation was scarce, and evidently only fisherman ferried people to and from the mainland. She also had to assume the entire world was also in the fourteenth century, with nice things like rampant disease, famine and political revolts. If she were to steal a boat, she was fairly sure she wouldn’t know how to sail it. Even on the chance that she could figure it out, once she reached the mainland, where would she go? A woman alone without money or contacts wouldn’t get very far.

Making the best of the situation seemed her only recourse. She did ask Raen if he would take her for a walk outside, but he told her she had to dress for that.

Clothing turned out to be her biggest problem.

All Kinley had brought with her was her hospital gown, under which she’d been naked. Lachlan had been giving her some of his shirts to wear, which were so large they reached down to her knees. When she asked for some clothes of her own, both the laird and his bodyguard had gone off to consult with the castle’s chatelaine, Meg Talley, who sent back a pile.

Kinley sorted through two floor-length dresses with wide, flowing sleeves, a knee-length shirt, a primitive corset, a wide belt and several undergarments so bizarre-looking that she wasn’t sure where they went or how to keep them there. There was also a long drape that went with a circular band for her head, and a huge, heavy tartan to be belted on top of everything.

“Sorry, but none of this works for me,” Kinley told Lachlan as she handed back the huge pile of garments. “Women in my, ah, homeland have been liberated.” At his blank look she added, “We don’t dress like nuns anymore.”

Raen looked slightly appalled. “They made you dress like nuns?”

“It’s a figure of speech.” She patted Lachlan’s shoulder. “Find me a shirt and some pants. Socks and boots would be nice, too. My feet are freezing.”

The laird frowned. “Why would you wish to dress like a man?”

She pointed at the clothes. “Try those on and you’ll find out.”

The next day Lachlan returned with a smaller version of a clansman’s tunic and trousers, knitted knee-length stockings, and some soft, fur-lined boots. Kinley could see they were brand-new, and so small they had obviously been made for her, so she took them into the adjoining dressing room and put them on. The boots were a little big, and the trousers on the snug side, but when she walked out Lachlan and Raen both smiled, which she took as approval.

Until they began to laugh.

“Stop being jerks,” she told them flatly, and planted her hands on her hips as she looked down at herself. “Okay, what did I do wrong?”

Lachlan came over and tugged at the laces at her waist. “You’ve put your trews on backward, lass.” He cocked his head as he surveyed her other side. “Although on you it works better that way.” When he looked at her again his eyes had darkened, and he brought up his hand to her waist. “But you’ll no’ pass as a man.”

Each day he found some excuse to touch her, and the feel of his big hands on her body made Kinley’s skin judder with nerves. “I don’t want to.”

His fingers skimmed over her hip before he took his hand away. “Mayhap you should.”

Raen broke the spell by bringing over one of the laird’s tartans and draping it over her shoulder. “You’ll want it for your walk outside,” he told her when she began to protest. “’Tis windy and cold.” His gaze shifted to Lachlan. “This time of day, the view from the back curtain wall is best.”

Lachlan escorted her on the walk, for which he took her out through the back of the castle and then up some cobweb-draped stairs. “You should see our loch from the center of the wall,” he told her as he helped her up through the narrow opening at the top of the steps. “’Tis bonny with the sunlight shining on it.”

Kinley suspected seeing the water view also kept her away from the clan, who usually congregated this time of morning for their main meal of the day. As she stepped to the wall to look out on the shimmering lake, she said, “You’re going to have to let them see me eventually, McDonnel. I promise, this time I’ll behave myself.”

“’Tis no’ you who worries me.” He came to stand beside her. “We have a rule about outsiders in the stronghold. They’re no’ permitted.”

“So the guys will, what? Kick me out into the moat?” She glanced down and for the first time saw the deep, black trench that surrounded the base of the castle. “Make that the bottomless pit. Holy cow. I think I will stay in the tower.”

“If you’re to stay, lass, we’ll have to get around more than the trench.” He turned toward her. “You told me you have no family. What of a lover, or a husband? Bairns?”

“No, no, and if you mean kids, no and can’t.” She leaned against the edge of the rampart to look out at the horizon. “I wanted to fall in love, once, but I never had the time. In the end I was sorry about that, too.”

“The end of what?” he prompted.

“Never mind.” When she turned away from the wall he caught her arm, and she looked up at him. “Uh, this didn’t work out so well for you the last time, remember?”

“My apologies,” Lachlan said, and turned his grip on her into a caressing stroke. “Was there ever a man who held your heart?”

Kinley shook her head. “I had too much responsibility with my job, and too much stress, and then the world exploded and I lost everything that mattered.” She knew she wasn’t making any sense, but she had the feeling he understood. “I have to stay, McDonnel, mainly because I have nothing to go back to.”

“Lass.” He tilted up her chin and looked into her eyes. “Once I lost everything that mattered, and I thought it ended me. In too many ways it did. But if you prove your worth, sometimes you’re given a second chance.”

The moment stretched out in a kind of electric silence that crackled unheard all around them. It scared her a little, because Kinley could sense what was waiting behind that careful, guarded expression. Something he held on a short, tight leash, she suspected. He had no clue about her, though, and she wanted to keep it that way.

“I’m not like you, Lachlan,” she told him, her voice tight. “I’m damaged, and sometimes, I’m dangerous. If I ever lose it, the way I did at the battle, you need to knock me out. I’m not kidding. Hit me the way Evander did, just not so hard.”

He touched her cheek. “I dinnae think I can ever do that, lass.”

Someone cleared their throat, and Kinley looked over to see Raen hovering a few yards away. “Hey, big guy. Come and see the view. Super bonny. The sunlight is shining on the water and everything.”

“Forgive the intrusion, Kinley.” He turned to the laird. “We’ve reports come in that you should read now, my lord.”

Reports were always coming in, usually about the undead. The McDonnels seemed to be collectively an on-call, vampire-slaying army who sent out on a constant basis large contingents to track and intercept their enemy. Kinley had been able to glean a bit more about the mysterious Roman soldiers from listening to the laird’s conversations with his bodyguard, but she knew she was missing most of the big picture.

This time when she accompanied the laird to his tower, she didn’t go to take a nap but went to his map table and stood watching as he marked several areas. “They come after the villagers by night, right?”

Lachlan made a vague affirmative sound as he began drawing lines between the marks.

“The undead hunt only by night,” Raen said as he took her tartan and hung it neatly in the big armoire. “Sunlight turns them to ash. They must hide from it by day.”

She watched the laird finish working on the map. “Are you trying to figure out where they’re hiding?” At his surprised look she added, “I was a soldier in my, ah, homeland. I know how to use maps and incident locations to extrapolate positions.”

“You were a soldier?” Raen asked, sounding incredulous, at the same time Lachlan said, “Show me this extrapolate positions you do.”

Kinley shook her head at the quill pen he offered, and went over to the hearth to retrieve a small piece of charred wood. “What I wouldn’t give for a good old number two.” Using the blackened sliver like a pencil, she dotted the locations. “Okay. These are where the attacks occurred. Since the undead can’t tolerate daylight, they have about twelve hours to leave and return to their base camp. Do they travel by foot, or on horseback?”

“We think they ride in close, and hide their horses before they attack,” Raen said.

“So that would give them a range of about twenty to thirty miles.” She turned to Lachlan and pointed at two dots that were the closest to each other. “What’s the distance between these two villages?”

“I dinnae ken miles.” The laird studied the map. “Mayhap five leagues.”

“Right, we have different measurement systems.” She rubbed her forehead. “We’ll have to use travel time. How long does it take to ride from one village to the other?” When he told her, she used that as her measurement key for the rest of the map, and carefully drew a light line around her dots. “The undead are camped somewhere inside this circle, so that’s where you should look. The perimeter is as far as they can go in twelve hours from any of these locations.”

Both men stared at each other and then her.

“Hey, you can keep chasing them all over Scotland if you want,” Kinley said, stepping back from the table. “But if you find their camp, and destroy it, they’ll have nowhere to run to when the sun rises. Good-bye, soulless creatures of the night.”

Lachlan rolled up the map and handed it to his bodyguard. “Raen, find Tormod and have him make copies, if you would. I want one made for every chieftain.”

“Aye, my lord.” The big man winked at Kinley before he left.

When they were alone the laird moved to tower over her. “You’re a clever one.” He took out a square of linen and wiped her brow with it, steadying her with his other hand as if she were a child. “But you need a wash.”

“Oh,” she said when she saw the dark smudge on the cloth and looked at her blackened fingers. “Next time I’ll use the quill.”

Lachlan studied her face. “Come with me.”

Kinley followed him out of the chamber and down the hall to another door. “Am I in trouble or something?”

“No, lass.” He opened the door and gestured for her to go inside.

The chamber contained a carved oak bed draped with woven curtains and made up with embroidered linens, all in shades of cream and brownish-green. There were also two cushioned chairs, a small washstand with a porcelain jug and basin, a small armoire and a trunk bound with iron straps. Everything looked new or newly-made, but seemed to be scaled down from the huge furnishings Lachlan and his men used.

“This is nice,” she said and ran a hand over the top of the trunk. “I’ll guess this isn’t Raen’s room. He’d never fit in that bed.”

“’Tis your chamber, Kinley,” Lachlan said and opened the armoire to reveal stacks of neatly-folded clothing on the inner shelves. “There are kirtles, mantles and slippers as well as more semats and trews. Wear what pleases you.”

The odd, ever-present tension between them jumped up a notch, and she glanced at the door.

“There’s no lock.”

“I saw no reason for one,” he said as he leaned back against the wall. “If you meant to run, you’d be gone already, and you ken we would no’ hurt you.”

“You’ve certainly had plenty of chances.” Despite all he’d done to make her comfortable, she sensed he wasn’t happy about this move. “Why are you really kicking me out of your room?”

Lachlan straightened, and came to her. “To get you out of my bed,” he said, touching a strand of her hair before letting it slip from his fingers. “Stay in it, and you’ll have your answer, lass.”

“I think I’ve got it now.” So the crazy needy wanting she couldn’t shake was mutual. In a weird way knowing that made her feel a little better. “Do I have permission to move about the castle freely, sir?”

“Aye, if you’ve Raen or Tormod with you, but go easy, Kinley,” he warned her. “Dun Aran isnae San Diego, and my clan are accustomed to unliberated females.”

“Where are their families?” she couldn’t help asking. “I mean, the only women in the castle are servants, and I haven’t seen any children at all.”

“The servants keep their families in the village,” Lachlan said, his voice going flat as he went to the door. “The clan doesnae have wives or bairns. We cannae.”

Kinley felt stunned. “Why not?”

He glanced back at her. “The McDonnels are no’ mortal, lass.”