Page 9 of Connal

At once she sensed she wasn’t alone, and slowly turned to face the room’s occupant.

Connal MacMar stood like a statue of himself, a dripping rag in his hand, and water streaming down his bare chest. In front of him stood a small table with a basin and jug, which explained why he was wet. His trousers––the only garment he wore––had been loosened and hung low on his hips. His expression appeared as shocked as she was.

Maybe I should have stayed where I was.

“Hello again.” Valerie reached behind her, only to discover the door didn’t have a knob. “Sorry to bother you, but this gentleman…ah, Mr. Fletcher. He said I can’t leave this island. Also, I think he’s trying to drug me.” She waited for him to explain that away, but he simply stared as if he couldn’t believe she was standing there. “Do you have a telephone? I only need to make one call, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

Connal dropped the rag in his hand into the basin, splashing himself, but instead of giving her a phone or speaking he pulled on a linen shirt, sat down in a huge chair by the fire, and gestured at the empty one across from it.

She could keep running around this cavernous place, or she could sit and talk to the man who had rescued her from that thing in the water. Now that he had put on a shirt she wouldn’t have to avoid staring at that magnificent chest of his, either. Only the shirt was turning transparent in a few places, and clinging to his muscles, and making him look like a body builder turned poet.

Stop that and just talk to the man.

As soon as Valerie sat down Connal’s head turned, and he watched the fire burning for a few moments. Then, very reluctantly, he met her gaze.

How can such beautiful eyes be so chilly? she wondered. Glaciers didn’t look that cold. Then she realized his eyes matched the color of the stone in the silver ring she’d found in the lake. While I was drowning. I should be dead. How did I even get here?

“Duncan claims you came from the twenty-first century, Mistress Baker. ’Tis truth?” When she nodded his jaw tightened. “You’ve journeyed back through time, then. Our era, ’tis the twelfth century.”

She almost laughed out loud, but obviously he wasn’t joking. It also made sense of everything she had seen. “Mr. MacMar, for one thing, time travel isn’t possible. Also, the past doesn’t exist anymore outside memories, which obviously I couldn’t have of this place.” And realizing that spooked her all over again. “I’m completely confused.”

“I cannae explain such, for ’twasnae my doing. ’Twas Fae magic.” He gestured at her hand. “The ring you wear belonged to my lady wife, Joana. A year ago she died.”

Nothing in this place had stunned Valerie as much as hearing that. She almost told him about Dale, but decided it was merely an unhappy coincidence. “This is a bad day for you, then.”

“Aye.” Connal propped his elbows on his knees and folded his hands as he leaned forward. “Caladh, ’tis a place of sanctuary. ’Twould seem Joana’s ring brought you here. For that, the clan shall protect you.”

All this nonsense about the ring made Valerie reach to tug it off, but for some reason it wouldn’t budge. “I don’t need your protection, Laird.”

His brows arched. “You said different when I brought you to shore.”

“That was because that thing––that aquatic being that looked like a man––tried to grab me. Is he part of your clan, too?” When he shook his head she sighed with relief. “He really had gills on his neck, didn’t he? I wasn’t hallucinating?”

“Merrick’s no’ human. He and his kind, they’re called the Finfolk, and live beneath the sea.” Connal hesitated before he added, “He wishes offer you sanctuary as well, if you’re willing to join his people. Only ken once you do, you cannae change your mind.”

“Ah, no, that’s okay. Salt water wrecks my hair.” What a stupid thing to say, Valerie thought, the beginnings of a tension headache tapping at her temples. “Can’t I just go back to my time in New York?”

“We’ve no’ the power to return you.” His gaze shifted to her hand. “Where did you find Joana’s ring?”

She didn’t want to tell him about Dale’s lover trying to kill her, so she gave him a carefully edited version of the truth.

“I was in an accident by a lake near where I live. My car fell off a bridge and filled with water. I couldn’t free myself or escape, so I was drowning. A rose I tossed into the water before the accident floated in front of me, and your wife’s ring was hooked on the end.” She didn’t want to ask the question that kept bounding around her brain, but if there was even a remote possibility… “I’m not dead, am I? If I am, I’d really like to know now.”

A little sympathy warmed Connal’s cold eyes. “You yet live, Mistress.”

“Since I still think I’m alive, I’ll believe you.” She rubbed her thumb over the pale green stone in the ring. “I don’t know why I put this on my hand. Things got a bit blurry at that point. Maybe I hoped someone would find it when they recovered…when they found me, and they’d return it to the original owner, or something like that.”

He looked back at the fireplace again. “So you did. You returned it to me.”

“I guess.” Technically she hadn’t yet, and she tried discreetly tugging on the ring again, but it seemed glued in place. “Mr. MacMar––ah, Laird MacMar––I really can’t stay on this island. I don’t belong in this time, and I could create problems if I stay.”

Connal eyed her. “What manner of problems?”

“If this really is the twelfth century, then I know too much about your future,” Valerie said. “I could say the wrong thing to the wrong person and alter history. Also, being removed from my time will alter my own future. Everything I was supposed to do now won’t be done.”

“You were drowning before you came, aye?” When she reluctantly nodded he sat back in his chair. “’Tis likely that you wouldnae live to do more in your time. As for what you ken of the future…I trust you to say naught to anyone.”

“Why would you trust me?” she countered. “I could be a terrible person. A criminal. Someone who wants to wreck history.”