“SHE WHAT?” LACHLAN bellowed, his voice echoing in the great hall.

His men had searched the entire stronghold, from his own bed to the dungeons, and from the ramparts to the kitchen. Even the scullery maids and druids had been enlisted. But now the rushing to and fro came to an abrupt stop as Lachlan glared at Raen, Tormod, and Seoc.

“Aye, my lord,” Raen said, his voice tight. He dragged Seoc forward by the shoulder. “The stable master was the last to see the lass.”

Lachlan’s hands clenched into fists. “When?”

The shorter man flinched and looked away. “I reckon late afternoon, my lord.”

Lachlan took a step closer. “And you just let her take a horse?”

“I…I…” Seoc swallowed hard. “I wasn’t there, my lord.”

“The fack you say?” Lachlan said through clenched teeth.

Raen pulled the man back and pushed the Viking forward. “There’s more, my lord.”

Lachlan scowled at Tormod. “What have you to do with this?” As the Viking related his conversation with Kinley, Lachlan could scarce believe his ears. “The mainland?” he demanded. “Where?”

“The lass didnae say,” he replied evenly, matching Lachlan’s stare. “Only that she meant to leave the castle before you forced her out.”

“Forced her out?” Lachlan growled, grabbing the front of Tormod’s tunic. “Are you daft?”

“My lord,” Cailean said calmly, resting a hand on his arm. “Our conversation.” Though Lachlan could have pummeled the viking into the ground, he forced himself to look at the druid. “Regarding Kinley,” the smaller man said quietly.

Lachlan recalled their talk of the grove and how it had brought Kinley from the future—unwillingly. He’d ordered them to send her back to her own time.

He glowered at Bhaltair Flen. “Is this druid doing?”

Flen puffed himself up. “The lass left of her own accord.” But then he cleared his throat. “Though mayhap she has returned to the grove.”

Lachlan thrust Tormod away from him and stormed from the hall.

* * *

As Kinley made her way through cover, she decided that Robert Frost would have loved the woods outside the insurgents’ dugout: dark and deep, and silent with heavy air that seemed a bit on the frosty side for Afghanistan. She must have bailed out over a northern province, which meant she’d be all right. All the real fighting was to the south, where the insurgents protected their poppy farmers and ammo dumps.

She’d always hated the sand pit, but there wasn’t any sand to speak of here. Lots of greenery, and a fast-flowing stream where she found a massive white horse left by some local. The saddle on it made her stifle a giggle. Jesus Christ Almighty, it had four horns, and no stirrups. But the horse seemed placid enough. She used a big rock to mount the gelding. His coat made her think of the white hydrangea bushes her grandmother had called snowballs.

“You think you can find me an Air Force base, Snowy?” she asked the horse as she walked him back along the dirt road north. He answered her with a snort. “Yeah, I’m thinking no, too. Maybe there’s a combat outpost somewhere. I’ll settle for a farmhouse or a barn or even a tool shed.”

Kinley didn’t find any of those, but she did spot an orchard of apples, which made her empty belly rumble. Dismounting nearly put her on her ass, thanks to the crap saddle, but the gelding didn’t spook.

“I like you, Snowy. You may not have any balls, but I don’t think you actually need them.”

She led him to a tree on the perimeter where she tethered him so he could feast on the apples while she made camp. Gathering dead wood to make a fire gave her time to think. Her memories of Kandahar seemed weirdly fuzzy, and she couldn’t remember what had happened to her rescue bird or her air crew. Every time she tried to think of the assignment they’d been sent on, her head started to pound. She was probably in shock, which was okay. She’d survived some pretty nasty torture.

Whips with thorns. The guys back at the base wouldn’t believe it.

Slowly she lugged the armful of wood she’d gathered to a clear spot, dumped it, and crouched down to stack it properly. She’d have to sleep on the ground, but she’d been there, done that, too many times to count. If she covered herself with some of the dead leaves heaped around the trees, she’d stay warm, and blend in with the ground if the insurgent boys had friends.

The tree behind her rustled, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Snowy rooting through the branches for more apples.

“Don’t be greedy,” she told him.

She flicked flames from her fingers onto the wood. It blazed up instantly, and she settled back on her haunches. The fire would do nicely.

“Witch.”

The whispered word brought Kinley to her feet. She whirled, squinting in the dark to see who had come for her.

“You get away from me,” she told the darkness. “Get away, or I’ll send you straight to Hell, too.”

Something came flying out of the trees, striking her in the head. She staggered, almost falling into the campfire, and dropped to her knees. Blood dripped onto the back of her hand, and she frowned at the big stone by her fire. They were throwing rocks at her? Had to be villagers or farmers. The insurgents always stripped them of their weapons.

They weren’t vampires, so she couldn’t kill them. That wouldn’t be very Air Force of her.

“Okay, now,” she said and pushed herself upright. She held up her hands. “I’m not going to hurt anyone. I’m a Joe, all right? I had to bail from my bird. I just need to find the nearest base. The COP, you know? Where the other Joes are?”

Another rock came whizzing straight at her, and she blocked it with her arm, hissing with pain as it bounced off her forearm.

“We saw you, witch,” said a plump woman dressed in a bizarre peasant costume and holding a bigger stone in her hand. “We saw you cast fire with your hand.”

“We cannae burn one such as she,” a male voice growled. “It will have to be the loch.”

Why were they all talking like her grandmother? “Excuse me?”

“Never,” the woman said, and flung her rock.

It hit Kinley in the temple, knocking her down again. This time she didn’t get up. This time, she bailed.