LITMIR.BIZ

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to face the bulging whites of the other warrior’s destrier as it galloped toward her. Claire dropped and rolled as the horse thundered past. Malcolm shouted at her again.

      And when she leaped up, he was striking her attacker. Claire watched Malcolm cleave the man’s arm from his shoulder. Her stomach protested violently and then the man’s head went flying through the air. Her stomach churned even more.

      Thundering hooves sounded in the distance.

      More warriors, Claire thought frantically.

      “Lass!” Malcolm roared, leaping onto the riderless steed. He galloped toward her and held out his hand. Claire didn’t hesitate. More riders were approaching and she had no wish to stick around to find out if they were friends or foes. She gave him her hand and he pulled her up behind him, suddenly halting the charger. Shocked, Claire saw the rest of their attackers fleeing at a gallop, while from a different direction, a smaller group of horsemen came cantering toward them.

      She felt all of the tension leave Malcolm’s huge body.

      She was gripping his waist, still clutching the precious Taser. “Friends?” she gasped, beginning to shake. She was about to throw up.

      “Aye, Ruari Dubh, me uncle.”

      Claire collapsed against his back, shaking uncontrollably. Worse, tears came. She was in such shock she could not think. But nothing had ever felt better than his wool brat under her cheek and nothing could be more reassuring than his musky male scent.

      He slid from the horse, turned and pulled her down, right into his powerful arms. “Ye be brave, lass. But by the gods, when I give ye a command, ’tis t’ be obeyed!” His eyes were silver, and they blazed.

      She couldn’t speak. Now she understood the scars on his face. She just shook her head and leaned her face against his chest, shaking like a leaf.

      But his tunic was wet and sticky against her cheek. Claire pulled away, instantly afraid he was wounded and bleeding. Their eyes locked.

      “’Tis nay mine,” he said softly, the same softness coming to his eyes

      Relief made her knees buckle. He put his arm around her, allowing her to stand upright against his powerful side

      And then she saw the bodies—and body parts—lying scattered about them. She really saw them. And every single moment of that awful battle raced through her mind. Claire pulled away, ran a short distance, dropped to the ground and vomited violently. What in God’s name was happening?

      A medieval man—knights welding swords and axes—a night sky the likes of which she had never before seen.

      Claire couldn’t breathe.

      There were no electric lights anywhere, no telephone poles, no cars, no sounds at all except for trees whispering in the breeze and the horses snorting, bits jangling.

      “Lass.” His huge hand was on her back. “’Tis over now. Ye got a good weapon there an’ I ken ye can use it. Ruari and his men will see us safely on.”

      Claire closed her eyes, wanting to vomit again, but she had nothing in her system to heave. They weren’t in her store. She recalled being hurled by a huge force through walls, past stars, almost like being thrown from an airplane without a parachute. There had been so much pain.

      She struggled for air, panting hard now.

       He was the real deal. There were a dozen bodies in the clearing to prove it. Oh, God.

      His arm went around her. “I ken ye never been in battle afore. ’Twill pass. Ye need t’ breathe deep.”

       ’Twill pass.

      He’d said that before. He’d said that in the exact same way, as if to reassure her—but he hadn’t reassured her. Instead, there had been so much desire, and the next thing she knew, she was on her back and he was inside her, impossibly hard, impossibly deep, and she was coming.

      Claire was in disbelief.

      Something terrible was happening.

      He was speaking in French now, over his shoulder, to his friend. Claire was fluent, but she didn’t hear what he said. She did not want to be there and she didn’t want to believe that they had had sex. She turned and struck him as hard as she could.

      Her blow landed on his cheek and echoed. He didn’t move, but his eyes went wide.

      Claire backed as far from him as she could get. She hit a boulder. “Don’t come near me,” she warned. “I want nothing—nothing—to do with you!” She hadn’t asked for any of this, damn him!

      His face was expressionless, but she saw his chest rise and fall more swiftly now, a sign of some agitation. Well, let him be pissed, she thought wildly. She was pissed!

      “Lass, tell me yer name.”

      “Go to hell,” she cried. “Where am I?”

      His nostrils flared, his jaw flexed. A terrible moment passed before he answered, making Claire wish she hadn’t cursed him. “Alba. Scotland,” he amended. “Morvern.” He tried a smile on her, but it was cool. He was angry with her. “Not far from me home.”

      The irony made her laugh shrilly. She would have been at Dunroch by Sunday, and now she was just a few miles away!

      “We’ll be goin’ to Carrick Castle fer the night. Come, lass, ye be tired, I ken.” His tone was cautious now.

      She shook her head, shivering, even though the night was pleasant once more. Her teeth chattered as she spoke. “We’re in your time.” She had no doubts.

      His expression remained deadpan. “Aye.”

      She swallowed. “What time is that?” When he did not respond instantly, she yelled, “What year is this, damn it?”

      He stiffened. “1427.”

      Claire nodded. “I see.” She turned her back to him, hugging herself, aware that her entire body was shaking as if with convulsions. She had always wanted to believe in time travel. There were scientists who said it was possible, and they had put forth theories of quantum physics and black holes to explain it. Claire hadn’t even tried to understand, as science was not an easy subject for her. But she understood the basics: if one traveled faster than the speed of light, one would go into the past.

      None of the theories or what she had thought or even currently believed mattered. She knew with every fiber of her being that Malcolm was the medieval laird of Dunroch. No Hollywood set would ever be able to replicate the battle she had just seen—and had been a part of. Her knees went weak all over again. She was sick and she was exhausted. She wanted to get as far from this man as she could. And she was also afraid.

      The last place she wished to be was medieval Scotland. She wanted to be home in her safe apartment, with its state-of-the-art security system. In fact, right now, she’d give just about anything to be in her kitchen, sipping a glass of wine and watching the reruns of I Love Lucy or That ’70s Show. She slowly turned and their gazes clashed.

      “We need to go,” he said flatly, with no compassion in his eyes. “There be evil in the night, lass. We need to be behind solid walls.”

      Claire started. Unfortunately, she could not agree more. She told herself not to think about her mother now, but it was impossible. On the other hand, she did not want to go anywhere with him. What she wanted was to go home.

      “I didna give ye a choice. Ye come with me.” His eyes were hard now.

      “Send me home,” she said harshly.

      “I canna.”

      She stared and he stared back. “You can’t—or you won’t?” she finally said.

      “’Tis nay safe,” he said flatly.

      Claire began to laugh hysterically. “Like fighting a bunch

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