They sat at a long table with the rest of the Cambels. Owen had let go of her hand, but their hips still touched, making Amber’s head spin like she’d had a glass of wine on an empty stomach.
The ceiling inside the great hall was high, and the windows were small and let very little light in. Long tables and benches stood in two rows. At the other end of the hall was a great chair with a slightly smaller one by its side. The room reminded Amber of a church hall, but it smelled like beer and food.
Owen was talking to his father quietly when something changed in him. He shifted away from her. His thigh became as hard as a rock. He avoided looking at her, and something icy coiled in the pit of her stomach.
No, it was just her imagination, surely. She just needed to talk to him.
Amber glanced at the great empty chair. “Is your dad like the chief or something?”
Owen followed her gaze. “Nae. The chief of our clan is Uncle Neil, my da’s older brother. My uncle and his sons are with the Bruce. He’s the king’s right hand, so my da needs to run things here.”
Amber eyed Dougal as he pulled a piece of meat off the leg of a fowl. He was talking to Owen’s brother Domhnall, who sat across the table from him. His white beard moved as he chewed, his shortly cropped white hair was in a military style. She saw where Owen got his green eyes, straight jawline, and perfect nose. Strangely, he reminded her of her own father. They both had a similar military strictness about them. His face showed little emotion, and his back was as straight as a pole. He had the wary look of someone who was used to dealing with enemies.
Would her own father have believed in her innocence if he’d been alive? Would she have gone to him for help? Probably not. He’d been part of the military system that had let her down. Would he have set that aside and trusted his daughter? Her whole life, all she’d wanted was for him to be proud of her. For her brothers to love and respect her.
She should’ve stood up for herself. Maybe then they’d have respected her more. But she dismissed the thought. It wouldn’t have made them like her more, she argued. It would’ve only made the conflict worse.
Her body was already buzzing from sitting so close to Owen, so she ignored the cup in front of her and focused on Owen’s tanned hand lying on the table. She could see thin blond hair on his wrist. She craved the touch of his hand, to have that jolt of electricity run through her again.
Owen’s gaze trapped her, and suddenly, there was not enough air in the whole giant room. God, she hoped he couldn’t see how he affected her. His thigh muscles stiffened and hardened. She shifted away from him, breaking the warm contact. But Craig sat on her right side, and she had to shift back to Owen so she didn’t press herself tightly against his brother.
“So, caliphate…” Craig said.
His green eyes were similar to Owen’s. Both brothers were equally tall and strong, but Craig had dark hair. Where Owen was light and carefree, Craig took her in his piercing gaze and held her like in vise. He had the face of a detective.
She was overcome by the feeling he’d already caught her in a lie. She flashed a nervous smile.
“Yep.” She cleared her throat. “Caliphate.”
Craig scanned the people at the table around them and leaned closer to Amber. “Do ye by any chance mean the United States of America?”
What did he just say? “How the hell do you know?”
Craig chuckled and looked somewhere in the direction of the entrance. A beautiful red-haired woman came in, her hand on her swollen belly. She wore typical clothing of a medieval woman. Her long dress had long sleeves and was decorated with embroidered Celtic patterns along the neckline. Her hair was done up in two ear-coiled buns tied with white ribbons. She spotted Craig, beamed, and made her way to their table.
“My wife, Amy, will tell ye how,” Craig said.
His face transformed as the red-haired woman approached them. The detective in him was gone, and his face was suddenly lit up with love, pride, and a hint of possessiveness. He stretched his arms out to her, and she came to him and laid her hand on his shoulder, then she took a place across the table from him. She glanced for a moment at Craig, and then her eyes returned to Amber.
“Hello,” she said.
Was Amber hallucinating, or did she have an American accent?
“H-hi,” Amber said.
Owen had mentioned there were more time travelers…
Amber and Amy kept staring at each other, neither daring to say a word. There were too many people around who could overhear.
Craig leaned closer with a mischievous glance. “United States of America. Discuss.”
Amber blinked. “Are you from…”
Amy exchanged a careful glance with Craig, and he nodded. “Yeah,” Amy said quietly. “North Carolina. You?”
Amber exhaled and looked heavenward. She was a time traveler, too! “Chicago.”
A slow smile spread on Amy’s lips. “Oh my gosh!”
She reached out across the table, and Amber grasped her hands.
“It’s so good to see you,” Amy said. “Not that I’m lonely here”—she winked at Craig—“but no one understands what it’s like to live in the past, you know, for people like you and me. But how did you? Why?”
Amber tensed and removed her hands. No matter how glad she was to see a woman from her time, she couldn’t tell a complete stranger that the government wanted her for murder.
“Long story,” Amber said. “And you’re married to Craig and have a baby on the way? You decided to stay?”
Amy chuckled. “It’s a long story, too. I went back at first, but I realized I couldn’t live without this man.”
“And you don’t regret it?”
“No. Best decision of my life.”
Amber looked around again, just to make sure no one was eavesdropping.
“I might want to stay, too.”
“Oh.” Amy smiled and raised her eyebrows. “For Owen?”
Owen’s jaw worked, and a hot flush hit Amber’s face. Craig guffawed, and many heads turned in his direction.
“No,” Amber said. “Not for Owen. For me. It’s better for me here.”
Amy frowned, puzzled. “What do you mean, for you? Who in their right mind would voluntarily stay in the Middle Ages when there’s medicine and toilets and showers and microwaves in the twenty-first century?”
Amber clenched her teeth. “Then I guess I’m not in my right mind.”
Amy shook her head and smiled apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. But what will you do here?”
“I don’t know yet. But I can’t go back.”
Amy frowned, grimaced, and sucked in a breath.
Craig straightened up. “What is it?”
Amy shook her head. “Nothing. Just some Braxton-Hicks contractions… I think.”
“What?” Craig said.
“Practice contractions. It’s nothing. It doesn’t even hurt, just feels weird.”
Craig stood up. “Ye need to go and lie down. I’ll come with ye.”
“No, I’m fine. Seriously.”
“Woman, dinna argue with me. Either ye go, or I pick ye up and carry ye. Yer choice.”
Amy rolled her eyes and met Amber’s. “Do you know that he kept me captive for weeks when we met? I suppose some habits never change.”