Twenty men rushed forward and pretty much swallowed her companion under their combined weight. Two men grabbed Amber’s arms. She thrashed and beat against them, but they held her tightly.
A bald man in his forties wearing heavy armor approached on a horse. He had the piercing gaze of someone in charge. Just like Major Ronald Jackson, the man responsible for all the bad things that had happened to Amber.
“Two Highlanders,” he said. “Put them in the cage. I’d like to speak to them later.”
“Sir de Bourgh,” one of the men holding her said in the way of agreeing.
“Take them to Stirling,” de Bourgh said.
No! No! Was that another castle? A dungeon? She’d escaped prison in another time only to be put in a medieval one?
They pulled her somewhere to the side, into a cage attached to a cart pulled by a horse. English warriors put the Highlander in with her and locked the door.
“No! You have the wrong person!” Amber cried.
That would be exactly what she’d be crying to the police. Was this all a nightmare? Please, let this be a bad dream! No one believed her—not in either situation.
“Damnation!” The Highlander rose and looked somewhere in the distance, holding the cage bars. “Is that the Bruce?”
Amber followed his gaze, and her eyes widened. An army approached the castle. First came the cavalry, after them, infantry. They mowed down the English forces, cutting through them like a knife through butter. Amber could hear the rumble of hooves even from here. The ground vibrated.
“Sir de Bourgh,” the Highlander called. “Ye’ve already lost. ’Tis the Bruce. Ye’ll never win against his forces. He has a history of winning with a few hundred men against thousands.”
De Bourgh’s face reddened. “Retreat!” he called. “Everyone, retreat!”
The cage started moving, and Amber pressed her face to the bars as Inverlochy Castle faded in the distance.
Chapter 4
The cart with the cage shook as it rolled over the rocky path, making Owen’s teeth rattle. His head bumped against the bars, and he sat straighter in the corner.
Damn it.
Again, he’d messed things up. He should have gone through the tunnel first. Instead of trusting the lass, he should have peeked out to check everything was clear before carefully sneaking out of their escape tunnel.
She’d distracted him—again—this magnificent creature who had come out of nowhere and knocked down trained, armored warriors with her half-dance, half-combat performance.
As the woods and mountains passed by, he couldn't stop staring at her. Her brown skin, her tall, willowy figure with muscles of a warrior, the face so bonnie his heart skipped every other beat. She had breathtaking eyes—huge and green with a hazel starburst around each pupil. She bit her full lower lip, and a frown creased her forehead. He ached to reach out and smooth it with his thumb.
And the way she was dressed…
He hadn’t dwelled on it in the heat of the battle, but now that he had time to think it over… Something tightened in his stomach. Blue breeches—much like those Amy, Craig wife, had worn when she’d been found—hugged her long, beautifully sculpted legs. Her short leather overtunic reached the top of her hips. Her shoes had thick soles—something else he’d only seen on Amy.
Women from his time didn’t wear things like that. They didn’t fight like her, either. And she’d been near the eastern tower, where the Pictish rock had been. Owen’s heart thumped in his throat.
Was this woman another time traveler?
“What’s yer name, lass?” he said.
She looked up at him and hesitated, as though giving up her name would be such a bad thing.
“Amber Ryan.” Her face smoothed. “What’s yours?”
Amber… What a bonnie name. One he’d never heard, and one that suited her. All warm, and yet tough. And she had the same accent as Amy and Kate, but even more melodic. Almost like she sang the words.
“Owen Cambel.”
She became completely still, eying him with something that resembled a shock. Then she pursed her lips, gave a nod and looked at her hands again, avoiding eye contact. Oh, there was nowhere for her to run from here. He’d get back her attention. He’d get his answers.
“Why were ye in Inverlochy, Amber Ryan?”
She raised her chin. Her gaze was as hard as those amber stones. “I don’t think it’s any of your business.”
“But it verra much is, lass. See, because of ye, we’re both now prisoners.” He contemplated her. “A woman on the battlefield, distracting warriors… Do ye see why I might be interested?”
“What are you accusing me of?”
“Are ye a spy?”
She scoffed. “As you see, I’m a prisoner, too. And his men almost killed me, in case you didn’t notice.”
“I did notice,” he spat. “In fact, I’ve noticed too much…” He stopped himself before he could say another word. This was just like thirteen years ago with Aileene. He’d been distracted by a lass in danger and brought disaster to his people.
This time, he’d failed to save Kenneth. If Kenneth were alive, mayhap they could’ve held the castle until the Bruce arrived.
“Take charge…” Kenneth had said.
“’Tis impossible to give ye any responsibility,” his father had always said. “Why canna ye be more like Craig and Domhnall?”
Owen gritted his teeth. “I’m certainly accusing ye of getting us captured.”
She threw such a venomous gaze at him, he wondered how he didn’t fall dead on the spot.
“Oh, this is perfect. Another guy blaming me for something I didn’t do.” She shook her head. “What is it about you men? Why do you always feel compelled to find a scapegoat?”
“I’m nae—”
She raised her palm to stop him. “You know what, buddy? If you hadn’t dragged me down that tunnel to ‘save me’”—she bent her index and middle fingers twice in a quick succession. Should he know what that gesture meant?—“we wouldn’t be in this situation. I didn’t need your help.”
A time traveler, a wonderous warrior, an infuriating female… And the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Ah! Distraction.
“What were ye doing in the castle?” he pressed.
“I don’t owe you an explanation.”
He was getting tired of her eluding his questions. He’d make her tell the truth—about time travel, about why she was here, and about what she wanted.
“Where do ye come from, lass?”
She looked petrified for a moment. “I don’t think you know the place.”
“Mayhap I do. Mayhap ye’ll be surprised.”
She chewed on the inside of her cheek as her eyebrows drew closer together.
When she didn’t reply, he pressed. “Tell me. I may be more understanding than ye imagine.”
Amber studied him dubiously. “Well, I’m a bit from everywhere, really. Recently, from the Middle East.”
“Middle East? Is that the caliphate?”
She nodded. “I suppose that’s how you must know it. Yes.”