“Are you second-guessing your promise not to run?” Robbie whispered in her ear.

She turned her head to look at him. “I keep my promises.”

He kissed her cheek and pulled her more firmly against him. “How’s the dream working out for you this morning?”

“Pretty well, actually,” she said, covering his hand between her breasts, pressing it closer instead of pulling it away. “Because if this were real and I found myself waking up with you wrapped around me, I’d likely have a panic attack.”

His eyes sparkled in the rising sunlight, and he moved his thumb just a bit, just enough to brush the inside of her left breast. “So you’re saying that since it’s only a dream, I could make love to you and you wouldn’t be afraid?”

Catherine had to think about that.

What an intriguing idea.

She turned in his arms, leaned in, and boldly kissed him on the lips, then smiled up at him. “They didn’t have condoms in the thirteenth century.”

“But pregnancy is of no consequence in a dream,” he said, his own smile making his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Or are you worried we might truly be making love, even though you’re dreaming? Like sleepwalking?”

That got rid of her smile. “Thanks,” she said with a snort, pulling his hand out of her plaid and sitting up. “You just ruined your best chance to score, MacBain.”

He sat up beside her. “Aye. I realized my mistake the moment I spoke.” He stood up, picked up his sword, and settled it over his back, then reached out his hand to her.

“There’s a stream running down the mountain about a hundred yards through those trees,” he said, facing her toward the woods once she stood up. “Why don’t you go do whatever women do to start their day, and I’ll wake Ian and cook breakfast? Mary will go with you,” he added, gesturing at a pine tree.

The owl was sitting on a branch, staring at them.

“Did she get a rabbit?” Catherine asked, looking around.

“Aye. Two,” he said, pointing at the rock by the fire.

Catherine put her hands on her hips and canted her head. “I thought cleaning game and cooking was woman’s work in medieval times.”

He lifted a brow. “You volunteering?”

“No,” she said, heading toward the stream. “Just checking to see how authentic my dream is.”

“Well, then, little Cat, I’d say you’re about to get the history lesson of a lifetime,” he said with a chuckle.

The moment she stepped into the forest, Catherine pressed her hands against her still throbbing breasts. Whew! If she were dreaming, she hoped she never woke up. It had felt so wonderful to wake up in the arms of a man, so sensually exciting it had been all she could do not to attack him.

Dismissing the idea that they could make love because this was only a dream had been prudent, but it also might have been rather foolish. This could be her chance tofeel again, actually to make love without risk.

Catherine decided she could control Robbie’s actions even if she couldn’t exactly predict them. That was the funny thing about dreams; they didn’t follow the usual laws of nature. In them, people could fly, be animals, run without going anywhere, and not really feel pain. Even time didn’t exist.

Then again, dreams could suddenly spin out of control and turn into nightmares in the blink of an eye. It had happened more than once to Catherine, and she was not willing to risk it happening again.

Especially not with Robbie MacBain. He was her dream guy. The perfect male, handsome and rugged, protective and possessive without being a caveman, patient and good-natured, and sexy as all get-out. Even when she was wide awake, the guy could woo her into forgetting herself. Heck, but for hisnoble intentions, she might not have needed this dream at all. His kisses in the barn and the kitchen could have led to a rather salacious conclusion with only the slightest urging from her.

“What are you staring at?” Catherine asked, smiling at Mary, who had glided down to perch on a rock in the middle of the tiny stream. “Yes,” she said, going to her knees and dipping her hands in the cold water. “If Robbie can talk to you, then I might as well, too.”

But Mary said nothing, not even a rattle.

“He’s blaming you for my being here,” Catherine said, continuing the one-sided conversation. “You made me fall off that ledge and bump my head. That’s the thanks I get for sewing you up.”

Catherine tucked her tangled hair behind her ears, splashed water on her face, scrubbed her cheeks with her hands, then leaned down and drank directly out of the stream. She used the corner of her plaid to wipe her face, stood up, and looked down at Mary—

specifically at the pink threads on her belly.

“You… ah… didn’t get hurt while helping Robbie hunt for that wizard’s tree, did you?”

Mary spread her wings, stretched to her full height, and bobbed her head.

Catherine stepped back in surprise. “What did you say?” she whispered, finally knowing for sure that she was dreaming. She could swear she had heard a voice, a woman’s voice, say that it was time to get back to camp, that there was danger in the woods.

She twisted the knot of her plaid. “H-How do you know that?” she asked, scanning the dense forest as she took another step back. “What MacKeages?” she breathed, staring at the owl, shaking her head to clear it. “What warriors?”

Catherine decided she didn’t carewho was talking, she was getting back to Robbie. She spun on her heel and ran smack into a solid chest. Large arms wrapped around her so tightly her scream of surprise came out as a squeak. She was lifted off her feet, only to find herself nose-to-beard with a wild-haired, dirty-faced, green-eyed giant.

And if that wasn’t enough, the stinky brute was grinning. Or he was until the blade of a sword silently slid between them, right along the man’s neck, actually slicing off some of his beard.

The giant stilled, his eyes rounded in surprise.

Catherine didn’t dare breathe.

Robbie, his voice guttural and soft, said something, in what Catherine guessed was Gaelic, that sounded rather threatening.

Her captor opened his arms without warning. Catherine tumbled to the ground, scurried backward like a frightened crab, and stood, not once taking her eyes off Robbie, who was holding his sword under the man’s chin and glaring at him so hard it was a wonder the guy didn’t fall over.

“Go back to camp, Catherine,” Robbie said, keeping his eyes on the man.

The giant glanced toward Robbie without moving his head and very hoarsely and very quickly started speaking.

Catherine didn’t wait around to see what he had to say and scurried past them and ran toward the clearing, where she found three more giants dressed in the same plaid as Robbie and Ian. They were sitting beside the blazing fire, and Ian was sitting in the middle of them, clutching the hands of one of the men and quietly sobbing.

Two of the men stood as soon as she broke into the clearing, their hands going to the hilts of their swords. Ian and his companion were a bit slower getting to their feet, with the younger man putting a protective arm around Ian.

Okay, she wanted to wake up now.

“Catherine,” Ian said, rushing to her, tears streaming down his face into his beard and his smile so big it must hurt. “This is my son, Niall,” he said, pulling her by the arm over to the large man. “He’s Laird Niall now,” he added excitedly. “That means my son is their leader,” he explained, puffing his chest even further.

Ian then said something in Gaelic to Niall, who was staring at her as if she’d just crawled out from under a rock.

“I’ve been telling him the story we decided on last night,” Ian told her, giving her arm a pat. “Don’t let his glare scare ya, lass. He’s not caring to see ya in that MacBain plaid, is all.”

Niall said something to one of the other men, and the guy frowned at him, then at her, and started undressing. Catherine squeaked and turned away, only to come nose-to-chest with Robbie.