“No one abused me,” she said to Owen. ”But let’s just say there are things in my past I wouldn’t want anyone to have to deal with.”
She couldn’t imagine truly trusting anyone enough to get married to them. And in the unlikely event that there existed a man who wouldn’t try to control her and blame her for all his faults and problems, how could she ever connect her life with anyone and have children when she could be taken to prison or even sentenced to death at any moment?
Owen hemmed. “Things in yer life,” he muttered.
Was he daring to judge her? “Yes, things in my life,” she said. “Things you have no idea about.”
“Aye. I havna. Because ye dinna tell me.”
He slid the needle in her again, and she felt every excruciating detail of that pain.
“Mhhhhhh,” she released a half scream, half moan into her hand.
He finished quickly and then covered her with the cloak and sat on the floor by her side, crossing his legs.
“’Tis done,” he said. “Now my turn for yer game.”
Amber exhaled. She didn’t have any energy to play anymore, but she needed some distraction from the throbbing, burning mess that was her back.
“Okay, champ. Bring it on.”
He looked at her intensely. “My cock was once hard for a whole day. I shot a squirrel in the eye. And you were born in my time.”
His words didn’t quite register at first. “What was that last one?” she mumbled.
“Ye were born in my time. Which one is the lie?”
Well, the good news was, she didn’t feel any pain anymore. Instinctively, she shifted her arm to push herself up and try to sit, but she felt like the stitches would explode at any moment.
Owen glared at her. “I told ye nae to move.”
“You know?” she whispered.
“That ye are from the future? Aye. I ken.”
Had Muireach’s potion caused her to lose her mind? Did it induce hallucinations? She’d accepted the idea that she’d traveled in time, but hearing it from him like it was the most normal thing in the world… Once, in Afghanistan, a bomb exploded next to the Humvee she was in. The butt of her gun had hit her in the solar plexus, and she’d been unable to breathe for a moment. She hadn’t been able to hear anything beyond the ringing in her ears. That was how she felt now.
“How do you know?”
“Yer clothes. Yer accent. Yer words. Yer fighting. Everything about ye. I realized it from the beginning.”
“But—”
“I ken others who’ve came from the future. I’ve heard an accent like yers before. United States of America, aye?”
She felt the blood drain from her face, and cold tingles covered her skin.
“Did you say the United States of America?”
“Aye. I dinna feel at liberty to say who those people are. ’Tis nae my secret to tell.”
“So there are more…”
“Aye. There are more.”
What was this? This crazy reality where people from the States had traveled back in time to medieval Scotland? Was this her life now?
“And were they all sent by Sìneag?” she asked. “She said she’s a Highland faerie, and that she loves matchmaking people through time.”
Owen chuckled and shook his head. “The Highlands are full of superstitions and legends. I was raised on those stories. Some people see faeries, kelpies, and magical folk behind every boulder and tree. I dinna. I havena heard of a faerie that matchmakes through time, but I have heard stories of another world—the faerie world. They have a kingdom of sorts that we people canna see. They’re invisible to us unless they want to be seen and heard. But ’tis all legends.”
Amber bit the inside of her cheek. “Looks like a legend came to life. What about that Pictish magic she talked about?”
Owen shrugged. “Picts were Celtic people who lived before us Scots. They’re ancient folk, and I ken only stories of them. Stories of druids, of Beira, the queen of winter, and the great hero Diarmid the Boar. ’Tis told that my clan originates from Diarmid. We Highlanders are a strange people, I suppose. We believe in our Lord Jesu Christ, and yet we dinna build a new house without planting a rowan tree somewhere by the entrance for protection against evil spirits. A groom wouldna get marrit without a blossom of white heather on his bride. A midwife opens all windows and doors in the house during childbirth and she dinna let people sit cross-legged.”
He rose to his feet, walked towards the bars, and leaned back against them. “So, aye, I believe ye met a faerie. And I believe ancient Pictish magic sent ye back through time. So ye can stop pretending ye’re from the caliphate.”
Accusation saturated his voice.
What was he accusing her of? He had no idea what it was like. She scoffed. “Do you suggest I announce to everyone I’m from the future?”
“Nae. But I dinna understand why didna ye go back through the stone while we were still in Inverlochy Castle? Isna it where ye belong?”
“Well, pal, that’s not an option.”
“Nae anymore.” He gestured around the cell. “But if ye had gone back right away, we wouldna be here.”
“Unbelievable. Are you still blaming everything on me?”
She’d been wrong about him. Him stitching her wounds, nursing her, the flirting and lingering gazes—none of that mattered. Underneath it all, he was just like every other man in her life. Looking for a scapegoat to blame for his faults.
And she’d always been the perfect victim.
That was the whole reason she was here in this mess. And she’d be a fool not to learn from her mistakes.
“I’m tired,” she said.
Guilt flashed through his face. “I dinna blame everything on ye, lass,” he said. “Ye’re just a shiny distraction I shouldna have been fooled by.”
He turned and paced to the other side of the cell.
Good, Amber thought, he’s finally stopped the interrogation.
But why did it feel like she wanted him to climb on the bench, lie down behind her, and take her in his arms? Why did it feel like his arms would be the safest place on earth?
Chapter 10
It must have been about five days after Amber’s flogging that Owen heard the pounding of many heavy feet on the dungeon’s steps. He hastily shoved the salve back into the pouch and then under the bench. He threw the cloak over Amber’s back and stood to face whoever was coming.
During the past few days, or at least what felt like days, he’d taken care of Amber’s wounds. Thankfully, they seemed much better. The swelling and the redness had subsided, and there was no pus. Muireach came every day with food and water and new salve, potion, and pieces of cloth.
Three guards stopped in front of the cell, and one of them opened the door.
“Come with us,” one of them said to Owen. “Now.”
Owen hesitated, not wanting to leave Amber alone.
She opened one eye, still drowsy from the potion. “Go, Owen,” she said. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
“It’s nae ye going anywhere that I’m worried about,” he said. But he knew Muireach would keep an eye on her. Throwing a last glance her way, he walked out. “All right, lads, take me to yer bastart commander.”