Amber knew her mother loved her father, but she’d also understood what her mom meant. Her father was a rock, dependable and strong. But he could also be stubborn, controlling, and fixated on his beliefs.
Her mom had given her the family heirloom, and that was where her fascination with mechanics had begun. She’d loved looking at the watch. It had brought her a sense of peace and control, as well as a connection to her mom. When she’d lost it while out on an operation in Afghanistan, she’d been crushed.
Now, not knowing how many days had passed since they’d been brought here, how many minutes or hours since the guards had taken Owen, made her stomach squeeze with anxiety.
“Who did that to ye, lass?” a male voice rumbled.
Amber’s whole body jerked and she spun around. A man stood on the other side of her cell. He was tall and dark with wide shoulders. His face was half hidden in the shadows, but she swore she could see scars disappearing into his beard. He was dressed like a warrior, not unlike the Highlanders she’d seen at Inverlochy, with a long, quilted coat, woolen hose that covered his legs below the knee, and pointy leather shoes. Everything he had on was dark, and a sword handle peeked from behind his shoulder. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she felt the physical weight of his gaze on her.
“Jerold Baker,” she replied without thinking.
She realized the cover had slid down and her back was exposed. She picked up the cloak and wrapped it around herself.
He came closer to the bars and into the light, revealing his face. The expression of menace there made Amber gulp.
“On whose orders? de Bourgh’s?”
“Who else’s?”
His face went stony. She should be more careful. She had no idea who this man was or what he wanted. What if he was some sort of overlord or something? Or what if he worked for de Bourgh? Now he’d seen someone was healing her wounds…
Had she just put Muireach, herself, and Owen in more danger?
The door at the end of the hallway clanked and steps of several people sounded against the floor. The man looked into the darkness of the hallway.
Owen appeared flanked by two guards. He was walking, thank God!
“Come to gloat, Hamish?” Owen asked.
The man gave him such a heavy glare that Amber was glad she wasn’t on the receiving end of it. The guards opened the door, pushed Owen into the cell, then locked it and left. Without saying another word, the man walked past the guards and into the darkness.
Owen’s tall frame lingered by the entrance. “He didna do anything to ye, did he?”
Amber shook her head once. “No. But he saw my scars… He saw everything.”
Owen stood with his back to her, and she couldn’t see his face. He hit the cell bars with his hand. “That snake. He’ll tell de Bourgh, he’ll ken ’tis Muireach helping us. And if he kens ’tis Muireach…”
Their escape was doomed. A cold, dark feeling of desperation coiled in the pit of her stomach. What if they never escaped? What if she’d gotten a life sentence after all—one in the Middle Ages?
Amber’s eyes burned, but she wouldn’t cry. “Are you all right?”
He turned, and the light of the torch fell on him. Amber gasped. His nose was bleeding, and one eye was swollen and closed completely. Something was wrong with his neck. It looked too red and yellow.
“I’m all right, lass. Dinna fash about me.” He approached her. “Ye should lie down.”
Amber’s blood chilled when she saw him up close. “I’m fine. Come here, let me see.” She patted the bench next to her. “What happened?”
Owen sat by her side, and Amber turned him so that more light from the torch could fall on him. Her heart clenched. She hated seeing him like this. This strong, kind, caring Highlander.
Warmth spread through her chest as she thought about how he’d tended to her these last few days. He’d relentlessly re-dressed her wounds and given her Muireach’s potion. He’d talked to her to distract her when she’d moaned and cried out in pain. He’d even made her smile.
And the fact that he knew about the time travel… That was such a relief. She was grateful he was here with her. If not for him, she’d be dead by now.
Without wanting to, she’d started to care about him. And even trust him. That was dangerous. He’d already blamed her for complete nonsense. A man like him, an irresponsible joker, a playboy, would blame her for his problems.
It would’ve been easier if he thought her crazy and distanced himself from her. But instead of condemning her as a witch or thinking she were crazy, he’d accepted she was a time traveler. Right now, they had a common goal—to escape. But what about later, once they were out of here? Would he betray her then? Abandon her once they were free?
Amber thought about Bryan. She’d trusted him. She’d loved him the whole year they’d been together. He was a good guy, kind and caring. But he had issues. He’d wanted to control her.
He couldn’t get over their separation. From time to time, when he’d get drunk, he’d come on to her. Like that last time, two weeks ago.
Amber remembered the hot air of the desert and the smell of old beer in the makeshift US Army bar. The half-broken, flickering neon signs, and the chatter of drunken soldiers trying to talk over rock music.
She’d gone with a fellow soldier to have a beer after a long recon mission. Bryan had approached her, and she’d quickly realized he’d had too much to drink, even though he looked calm and collected and wore his kind smile. He reached out and brushed his knuckles against her cheek. “Have a drink with me. For old times’ sake.”
Translation, he wanted to have sex with her again. And maybe get back together.
“You’ve had enough, Bryan,” Amber said. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
She turned to walk away, but Bryan caught her by the elbow. “Just one freaking drink, babe. Please.”
There was no use trying to reason with him when he was like this. She already saw violence starting to rise in the depths of his eyes. Amber yanked her elbow from his grasp.
“I said no.”
He grabbed her by the shoulders. She pushed him, sending him flying into the crowd. Some people caught him, and the whole bar stood still and looked at her. Most of them were men, and what most of them saw was an altercation. That a woman had attacked a man. They hadn’t seen that he’d started it, that it was self-defense. They also hadn’t been in the bedroom with him, where his touch left bruises on her breasts and her shoulders, where his bites left traces.
That push showed him she’d never let him be rough with her again.
But all they saw was that she was violent against him.
And a couple of hours later, she’d pay for it.
Would she eventually pay for being open and vulnerable with Owen, too? She had to be careful. She had to remind herself that trusting someone—especially a man or a system run by men—was stupid. She could only rely on herself. She’d learned that the hard way.
She was tired of being a doormat for men. For once in her life, she wanted a man to value her, to appreciate her.
As she looked into Owen’s green eyes, she prayed she wasn’t being foolish now. That she could trust him like she trusted herself.
A careful voice at the back of her mind warned her she hadn’t known him for long, and that he hadn’t had anything else to do other than care for her. What they’d been though together might not mean anything. But mesmerized by his proximity, by the orange fire playing in his one eye that wasn’t shut, she brushed that voice away.