Raudrich watched Laurel closely as she shifted in the seat. She was beautiful. With blonde hair that fell just past her shoulders and thick, dark brows that framed icy blue eyes—even blurry—she was more attractive than he imagined she would be. It made his dreamlike memories of the night before come to life in a way that made it impossible to deny what had happened.

He’d not been dreaming. When the lass had woken, she’d not been on the other side of the bed. Why then, did she wish to pretend that nothing had happened? He believed her when she said she wasn’t trying to ease his guilt. What then wasn’t she telling him?

There were so many things he wanted to ask her, but he thought it best to start with the most pertinent question. They all needed to know why she was here.

“Why…why am I here? Would you believe me if I told you that I’m not quite sure?”

He shifted and then cried out as the pain in his side ricocheted down his body. His damn ribs were going to be a problem. He didn’t have time to lay in bed while they healed. He would have to call on the other men to use power they truly didn’t have to spare to heal him. There was so much they all needed to do to protect their home and people now that Timothy was gone.

Before he knew it, Laurel’s hands were on him. Gently she leaned toward him, placing her arms underneath his. Her movement was so intuitive, so natural, that he didn’t question it as she spoke gently near his ear. The feel of her breath against his neck sent shivers down his spine.

“Here.” She lifted him off the pillows, as she reached behind him to adjust them. “That doesn’t look like the best position for those ribs.” After a few moments of maneuvering, she released her grip and encouraged him to relax. “See if that is any better.”

It was. He sighed as he relaxed into the greater support that was now built up behind his back.

“Aye, thank ye.”

Smiling, she resumed her seat next to him.

“You’re welcome. I’m sure you were about to tell me no—that you wouldn’t believe me.”

She was right. He didn’t.

“Ye are not from this village. To come to our territory requires not only a long journey by horse, but also the short distance between this isle and the mainland by boat. Why would ye make such a journey if ye dinna know yer reason for doing so?”

Laurel sighed and leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees as she spoke to him. It was a casual position and one he’d never seen a woman rest in. He found it rather endearing.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

Laurel’s accent was one he’d heard before. He sensed that if he could simply place it, so many answers about the strange woman would fall into place.

“Where are ye from, lass? Yer speech is uncommon, but I’m sure that I’ve heard it somewhere before.”

Laurel’s expression lifted, as if his acknowledgment gave her hope.

“Boston.” She hesitated and then continued. “In…in the colonies.”

“Ah.”

It came to him in an instant. Sydney. Laurel’s accent was much like Sydney’s. In truth, she was like Sydney in many ways. They shared the same speech, the same casual mannerisms so different from most women he knew. He expected that if he was given a chance to know this woman more, he would find that she was as loose with her speech as Sydney was, as well.

Smiling, he thought of Harry’s claim that they’d found her in the stables. The assumption that was forming in his mind truly was the only explanation.

“Are ye one of Morna’s lassies?”

Laurel straightened and smiled as she pointed to him in her relief.

“Yes. Yes, Morna. That’s what I was working up to, although I had no idea how you’d react. So you know her?”

Even before Sydney entered his life, he’d known of Morna. From the way his grandfather had always spoken of her, he wondered if perhaps he’d been in love with the witch. Though, for the sake of his grandmother, he’d never asked him outright.

“I’ve never met her, but she was a dear friend of my grandfather, and I know another lass she sent back.”

Laurel looked immensely relieved.

“Oh, good. That must be why she left instructions to ask for you. So, you will believe me when I tell you that she sent Marcus and me two nights ago? We landed in your stables.”

“Aye, lass, I believe ye.” He chuckled as he thought of Sydney and all the other tales he’d heard of Morna’s time-traveling lassies. “Are ye being truthful when ye tell me ye doona know why ye are here? I’ve only ever known of one reason for Morna to send lassies through time. She means to see ye matched with another.”

He wondered if perhaps it might be him, and it shocked him to realize that the idea wasn’t unappealing. God knew it had been too long since he’d taken a real fancy to any woman.

“Nope. That’s not it this time.”

He didn’t quite care for the disappointment he felt at her quick dismissal.

“I know that’s her usual thing, but she assured me that it wasn’t this time. In all honesty, we didn’t have time to get much explanation from her. She sort of sent us back against our will. She used some excuse that I might be able to get some ideas for my next book.”

Curious, he interrupted her.

“Yer book, lass?”

Her cheeks blushed bright enough that he could see it through the fog of his vision.

“Yeah. I’m a writer. Or at least I used to be. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to get myself to write anything.”

He’d never known of a female to write before. Most didn’t even know how to read. With so many opportunities for women in the time these lassies came from, he couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be for each of them to wind up here.

“’Tis impressive, lass. What do ye write?”

She smiled and shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter. In truth, I don’t believe that’s the real reason Morna sent us back here. I think it has something to do with my frie…” She hesitated and changed her wording. “With my brother, Marcus.”

Raudrich had yet to meet this Marcus, though he already knew what the receiving end of his fist felt like, and he didn’t wish to anger the man ever again.

“Why do ye say that?”

“Before I tell you, will you explain to me what the deal is with this place? I’d like to know how much of the legend is true.”

He knew there were stories about him and the rest of The Eight throughout Scotland now, but it shocked him to hear that this woman—born centuries after all of them would be dead—knew anything about them at all.

“Do ye mean to say that in yer time—whenever that is—ye knew of us before ye came here?”

She nodded. “Yes. There are books written about you, even a documentary.”

He had no idea what a documentary was.

“A documentary?”

“Nothing. I just want to know the real story, then I’ll tell you my suspicions about Marcus.”

It was such a long story—one that would take him far more energy to tell than he had now. And it would be easier to show her anyway. He needed sleep and to speak to all of the men alone. They’d yet to grieve Timothy together, and they needed to form a plan on how they would begin the search for the next druid.

“I’ll happily tell ye, lass, but not just now. Might I find ye later? I promise ye I’ll tell ye all of it then.”

She stood and smiled. She had the prettiest smile—warm and friendly—and it had a slightly mischievous look to it that made her even more alluring.

“Okay. I’ll hold you to that. You need to rest anyway. It was lovely to meet you, Raudrich.”

As she left him, he couldn’t help but think about how unexpectedly lovely it was to meet her, as well.

His life suddenly felt very different, like with one simple introduction, things would never be the same.

Good or bad, he didn’t yet know.