trees. “I shall be there shortly. Fergus will keep watch.”
She started toward the tent.
“And Annabelle?”
She turned, her brows furrowed. “Yes?”
“Do not try to escape. I have told my men to kill you if you attempt to leave.”
To his shock, she smiled. “I have no intention of leaving you, Brochan.”
Terri could tell she had shocked him yet again. He had not expected such a willing captive. He didn’t know what to make of her—that much was obvious. Even now, confusion etched his handsome face.
Since Annabelle’s fate hadn’t been common knowledge, perhaps she had a chance at this. If she was kind to Brochan and his men, then it would be harder for him to kill her. Plus, she liked the sexy border lord, and she had an inkling that he might like her a little bit. Even more, she was sure he was the key to returning to her own time. Perhaps history was supposed to be played out before the portal could be opened?
What ever the case, she wasn’t about to leave his side.
She was on her way to his castle, and her fate was now in his hands.
What ever happened, she would survive this. She had to.
Trying hard not to think about what awaited her, she instead wondered what was taking place in present-day London as she made her way to the tent. Hopefully Elliott was going out of his mind with worry.
The asshole deserved to worry, and more.
To think she’d wasted five long years on the bastard.
When she got back to her own time, she would move her stuff out of his apartment and find a job at another museum. Perhaps she’d find a position in Scotland, and forget that Elliott ever existed.
Fergus stood at the tent, and stepped aside as she approached. The man seemed unsure of her as well, his eyes narrowing as she passed. No doubt they had expected they would have to bring her there kicking and screaming. Furs tossed onto the hard ground would be her bed tonight. Wondering if Brochan would sleep beside her, she lay down,snuggling into the warmth, trying her best to keep focused.
She was in thirteenth-century Scotland, with no idea how to return home. Did she really want to go home, back to an unfaithful boyfriend and credit card debt? There were some good points to living in the past, but wasn’t the life expectancy of medieval people something like thirty or forty years?
Suddenly images of her fiancé and her assistant, as she’d last seen them, flashed through her mind. Her fingers dug into her palms. She wondered what old Elliott would think if the tables were turned and he’d seen her and Brochan together.
Elliott and Brochan were complete opposites. Though both of them were tall, and Elliott also had dark hair, that’s where the similarities ended. Elliott’s hands were as soft as hers, since he wore gloves while handling precious artifacts. Brochan’s hands were rough and callused from wielding sword and shield. Elliott’s body was athletic, but he could never be called muscular, while Brochan’s body rippled with thick muscle and sinew. A true warrior.
The blood in her veins heated as she remembered the feel of his hard body against her back. His chest and abdomen had felt like a solid brick wall. So strong. Honestly, she looked forward to the ride ahead of them, to being cradled against him once more. Now Brochan was a man who made her feel protected. A man who would stop at nothing to keep her from harm.
Warmth filled her stomach, moving down to her groin, her sensitive flesh tingling.
Yes, Brochan was the kind of man that made women think about sex. Even the way he walked was sexy. There was a primal sensuality, an animal magnetism that made her heart rate increase every time she looked at him.
She tried to remind herself that the man had one purposewhere she was concerned. He wanted revenge, and though she felt grateful he hadn’t killed her, she had to wonder what would happen to her once they returned to his castle. She was anxious to see the keep.
Castle Kildare. Very
She started toward the tent.
“And Annabelle?”
She turned, her brows furrowed. “Yes?”
“Do not try to escape. I have told my men to kill you if you attempt to leave.”
To his shock, she smiled. “I have no intention of leaving you, Brochan.”
Terri could tell she had shocked him yet again. He had not expected such a willing captive. He didn’t know what to make of her—that much was obvious. Even now, confusion etched his handsome face.
Since Annabelle’s fate hadn’t been common knowledge, perhaps she had a chance at this. If she was kind to Brochan and his men, then it would be harder for him to kill her. Plus, she liked the sexy border lord, and she had an inkling that he might like her a little bit. Even more, she was sure he was the key to returning to her own time. Perhaps history was supposed to be played out before the portal could be opened?
What ever the case, she wasn’t about to leave his side.
She was on her way to his castle, and her fate was now in his hands.
What ever happened, she would survive this. She had to.
Trying hard not to think about what awaited her, she instead wondered what was taking place in present-day London as she made her way to the tent. Hopefully Elliott was going out of his mind with worry.
The asshole deserved to worry, and more.
To think she’d wasted five long years on the bastard.
When she got back to her own time, she would move her stuff out of his apartment and find a job at another museum. Perhaps she’d find a position in Scotland, and forget that Elliott ever existed.
Fergus stood at the tent, and stepped aside as she approached. The man seemed unsure of her as well, his eyes narrowing as she passed. No doubt they had expected they would have to bring her there kicking and screaming. Furs tossed onto the hard ground would be her bed tonight. Wondering if Brochan would sleep beside her, she lay down,snuggling into the warmth, trying her best to keep focused.
She was in thirteenth-century Scotland, with no idea how to return home. Did she really want to go home, back to an unfaithful boyfriend and credit card debt? There were some good points to living in the past, but wasn’t the life expectancy of medieval people something like thirty or forty years?
Suddenly images of her fiancé and her assistant, as she’d last seen them, flashed through her mind. Her fingers dug into her palms. She wondered what old Elliott would think if the tables were turned and he’d seen her and Brochan together.
Elliott and Brochan were complete opposites. Though both of them were tall, and Elliott also had dark hair, that’s where the similarities ended. Elliott’s hands were as soft as hers, since he wore gloves while handling precious artifacts. Brochan’s hands were rough and callused from wielding sword and shield. Elliott’s body was athletic, but he could never be called muscular, while Brochan’s body rippled with thick muscle and sinew. A true warrior.
The blood in her veins heated as she remembered the feel of his hard body against her back. His chest and abdomen had felt like a solid brick wall. So strong. Honestly, she looked forward to the ride ahead of them, to being cradled against him once more. Now Brochan was a man who made her feel protected. A man who would stop at nothing to keep her from harm.
Warmth filled her stomach, moving down to her groin, her sensitive flesh tingling.
Yes, Brochan was the kind of man that made women think about sex. Even the way he walked was sexy. There was a primal sensuality, an animal magnetism that made her heart rate increase every time she looked at him.
She tried to remind herself that the man had one purposewhere she was concerned. He wanted revenge, and though she felt grateful he hadn’t killed her, she had to wonder what would happen to her once they returned to his castle. She was anxious to see the keep.
Castle Kildare. Very
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