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single malt slide down his throat.
    Frowning, he gazed into the smoky depths of his glass. He spoke the truth to the lass; he did not know how long he would be here. The sword was enchanted, there could be no doubt of it. His father’s words and Skye explaining about the blade vibrating and humming was proof enough for him.
    “Skye, how did Roderick come to have the sword?”
    She crossed her legs and set her glass of whisky on the rug.
    “The sword’s mine, actually. I bought it last week at an antique store, a place they sell old things people like to collect.”
    “Mayhap if we go to this store….”
    She shook her head. “I asked the owner where he got it, and he said it was part of an estate sale from upstate New York. It’s passed through many owners, from what he understood.”
    Well, nothing to be discovered down that path .
    “What can you tell me about your life in 1814?”
    Cailin glanced up quickly, looking for scorn and mockery on her lovely face. There was none. Mayhap she was starting to believe?
    “What do you wish to know, lass?”
    “How old are you? Did you—do you have a sweetheart? How many brothers and sisters did—do you have?”
    Cailin laughed softly. “I am a warrior. There’s little time for sweethearts. My training was intense. Warriors in the Macbeth clan are no’ permitted to marry until age twenty-eight. I am twenty-seven. Besides, none of the village lasses caught my eye. As for my family, I have two older sisters and four younger brothers. I am the oldest son. My brother Iain is but eleven months younger than I.” He looked off toward the setting sun through the large window. “My oldest sister died in childbirth not long ago, and we lost the two youngest lads from cholera. Much heartache. Then came the battle over our lands—” Cailin sighed, the memories breaking his heart all over again.
    Skye reached out and touched his arm in sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”
    He laid his hand on top of hers. By the saints, her touch was powerful.
    “Do you have Scottish blood? Your name, Skye, is after the island. ’Tis a beautiful, wild place, with jagged rocks and soft, sandy beaches. The color of your eyes is much like the gray clouds that swirl above. Alive, passionate, and wary.”
    Skye’s cheeks flushed with color at his words. She murmured her thanks at his compliment. He meant what he’d said, every bluidy word.
    “Everyone has Scottish blood, Cailin. My great-grandfather’s last name was Chisholm, I know that much. I guess my last name Bancroft is Scottish, too,” she said.
    “Is there any way I can find out if Roderick is a descendant?”
    “Just a minute.” Skye scrambled to her feet and disappeared down the hall. When she returned, she had a book in her hand. She sat down next to him. “I saw this earlier in his room. An address book.” Flipping through the pages, she stopped. “Well, this is interesting. William and Sandra Thorburn, Box 2165, Baddeck, Nova Scotia. Roderick’s Canadian? I had no idea.”
    “My God, Nova Scotia,” he whispered. It could not be a coincidence. “’Tis Latin for New Scotland. At the time of The Clearances, a lot of families left for Nova Scotia. So it would seem mine did as well at some point, and live there still.”
    The information hit him hard. So the battle—the war—would come to naught in the end. His head began to ache. So much had happened. Mayhap he would go to sleep and awake in his own small bedroom in his family’s house and all this would be the elaborate dream of a man who’d been injured in battle. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to stem the roll of heartache and pain.
    Skye touched his arm once again. He stood, pulling her up with him.
    “’Tis time for bed.”
    He lifted her into his arms and strode down the hall.
    “What in hell are you doing?”
    She squirmed and tried to escape, but he held her firm to his chest. The feeling of holding Skye in his arms, he could not describe. The