She twisted her arm, trying to break free. “I-I’ll come. Let me go.”

“Nay. I’ll never catch you if you run. And Ian needs us.”

She fell silent and moved with him, but Robbie could feel the tension humming through her. It was dusk, and the forest was growing dark with looming shadows. They walked back to where Ian lay and found Mary standing next to him. Robbie picked up the MacBain plaid and held it out to Cat without looking at her, his attention on his uncle.

He cupped Ian’s face, using his thumb to feel for a pulse on his neck. “He’s alive but weak from fighting the storm.”

“Wh-where are we?” Cat whispered, moving to the other side of Ian. “Th-this isn’t TarStone Mountain.”

Robbie looked up and nearly smiled. She had the MacBain plaid wrapped around her a dozen times, like a sari. “Nay, it’s not. We’re in Scotland.”

“Scotland? That’s impossible.”

Robbie slid his arm under his uncle’s shoulders and gently lifted him into a sitting position. “You think so?” he asked, running a hand over Ian’s brow and head, feeling for bumps. He looked at Cat. “Then it’s also impossible we’re in thirteenth-century Scotland, I guess.”

She gasped, clutching her plaid, her eyes wide with horror around her stark white face.

“Thir-thirteen… ”

Ian groaned. Cat set aside her fright long enough to cup Ian’s face and turn him toward her. “Ian,” she said firmly. “Wake up now. Open your eyes.” His eyelids fluttered, he groaned again, and tried to roll away. “Ian!” she snapped. “Wake up!”

Robbie leaned near his ear and whispered to him in Gaelic, adding Gwyneth’s name to his petition.

“What did you say to him? What language was that?”

“Gaelic,” Robbie said, prodding Ian’s shoulder. “Come on, Uncle,” he repeated in Gaelic again, louder this time. “The men are lined up at Gwyneth’s door, wanting to court her.”

Ian opened his eyes and struck out with his fist. Robbie caught it before it could connect with anything other than air and smiled at his scowling uncle.

“Who’s Gwyneth?” Cat asked, looking from Ian to Robbie.

“She’s my wife,” Ian growled in English.

“Your wife? You have a wife? But I thought… Cody said something about you and… and Kate,” she ended on a whisper, looking back at Robbie.

“Gwyneth is my wife,” Ian repeated, reclaiming his fist so he could scrub his face. He finally looked at Robbie, his beard twisting into a grin. “I survived, MacBain.” He pounded Robbie’s shoulder, though his attention was turned to the landscape around them, his grin widening even more. “I survived,” he repeated. “I’m home!” He looked back at Robbie. “Ya brought me home.” He suddenly stiffened and looked at Catherine, then back at Robbie. “Ya brung yar housekeeper?”

“Not by choice,” Robbie said, glaring at Mary, who had sidled over to perch on a rock.

He looked at Catherine, lifting one brow. “It seems she has a curious streak.”

Her pale cheeks darkened with two flags of red. “I was just following you to… I wanted to… I only… darn it, I didn’t want you to get beat up again!”

“Aye. So you nearly got us blown to oblivion instead,” he muttered, standing up and lifting Ian to his feet, not letting him go until he was sure his uncle wouldn’t fall. Robbie looked around the small clearing. “I think we should camp here for the night and go to the village in the morning.”

“Aye,” Ian agreed, rolling his shoulders to shed the last kinks from his journey. “I’ve a wish to clean up before I see my Gwyneth.”

“And we have to come up with a new story.” Robbie nodded toward Catherine. “We’re going to have to explain her.”

Ian snorted. “And why she’s wearing the MacBain plaid.”

“What village?” Cat asked, inching away and looking down at herself. She fingered the cloth tucked around her breasts. “Why do you have to explain this plaid?”

“You’re wearing MacBain colors,” Ian said. “And they’re our enemy.”

“Robbie’s your enemy?” she whispered, taking another step back. “But he’s your nephew.”

Ian sighed. “It’s a long story, Catherine, but I suppose it’s one ya should hear before we go to the village.”

“Don’t run,” Robbie said when she took another step back. “There’s no place to go.”

She lifted her chin. “I’m going home. This is crazy. You’re all crazy. We can’t be standing on a mountain in Maine one minute and in Scotland the next. And certainly not in the thirteenth century.”

“Aye, but we are,” Ian said. “The storm brung us here, with the priest’s help.”

“Th-the priest?”

Robbie pounced the moment her attention turned to Ian and captured Cat before she could bolt. She lashed out with a yelp of surprise, pummeling him with her tiny fists as she twisted to get free. He used his weight to drop them both to the ground and stilled her legs by throwing his thigh over hers, grabbing her fists and pinning her hands beside her head.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I can’t let you run. Give me your promise to stay with us, or I’

ll be forced to hobble you.”

“I just want to go home,” she whispered, her face as pale as new-fallen snow. “Please, just let me go home,” she ended in a sob, her eyes tearing and her chin quivering.

Robbie leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Nay, little Cat, I can’t. Not for several days yet.”

“Days!” she cried, twisting beneath him again. “No! I have to get back to Nathan and Nora. I can’t be gone for days!”

“You won’t,” he assured her, lowering his weight to stop her struggles. “Catherine,” he softly entreated. “You’ll be back by sunrise, I promise.”

She stilled and stared up at him. “But you said… you said days.”

“Aye. The last time I left, I was here a week, but when I came back, I’d only been gone from sunset to sunrise. That’s how it works.” He let go of her wrists, waited to see if she lashed out again, then brushed the hair off her pale cheek. “Even if we stay here a month, you’d be back before Nathan and Nora woke up.”

She used her freed hands to swipe at her eyes. “H-How’s that possible? People can’t travel through time.”

“Aye, we can,” Ian said, crouching beside her and touching her shoulder. “Thirty-five years ago, the priest caused a storm exactly like the one we just went through and brought ten of us warriors, including Robbie’s father,” he added, nodding toward Robbie, “forward to your time.”

Catherine snapped her gaze to Robbie. “Your father comes from here, too?”

“Aye. And Winter’s father, Greylen MacKeage. And my uncles Morgan and Callum.

They were all born in twelfth-century Scotland.”

“That’s not possible,” she repeated. “It isn’t!”

“Nevertheless, it happened. The priest is really adrùidh. A wizard,” Robbie clarified.

“He has the power to manipulate time.” He cupped his hand over her cheek, using his thumb to still her trembling chin. “Catherine, you won’t believe any of this until you see it for yourself. Tomorrow morning, we’ll take you to the MacKeage village, and you’ll finally understand.”

She tried to get up, but Robbie wouldn’t let her. “Your promise first,” he said. “That you won’t run.”

“I—I won’t run,” she whispered.

He hesitated, then slowly lifted off her, standing up and reaching out his hand for her to take.

She stared at him, then put her hand in his and stood up. “Wh-what happened to my clothes?” she asked, tucking her plaid back into place. “Why did they disappear and yours didn’t?”

“Your clothes were made from modern materials,” Robbie explained, guiding her over to beside Mary and urging her to sit down. “Nothing that wasn’t invented by the thirteenth century could come back with us.” He smiled down at her. “Which includes spandex and elastic and nylon. Uncle,” he said, turning to Ian, “do you think you can build us a fire?”

“Is that wise?” Ian asked, looking around them. “I’m guessing we’re on Crag Mountain, and that’s not far from the MacBain border.”