Page 28 of Dark Victory

Tabby froze. Clearly getting him angry was not a good idea.

“Why do they write about me?” he demanded.

“Historians write about history—anyone’s history,” she said helplessly.

He looked at her destroyed lamps. Only the shades were intact.

This wasn’t going to work, Tabby thought. He had a temper; he was angry with her. He had to go back to wherever it was that he came from—immediately! Clearly, she wasn’t the one to help him. She was simply not up to the task.

Carefully, she said, “What time, exactly, did you come from?”

“Ye dinna ken?” When she shook her head, he said, “Yer magic took me from Blayde in the middle of the night, on June the tenth, 1298.”

Tabby tried to keep her shock from showing. He had come from the late thirteenth century—which wasn’t even close to 1550! No wonder he was such a ruthless barbarian.

His gaze narrowed. “Tabitha, I dinna like being judged. I am the Macleod, an’ those who judge me rarely live to tell of it.”

Tabby trembled. Had he just threatened her?

“I saved ye. I willna harm ye. But heed my warnings.”

Tabby somehow nodded. “Do not get me wrong, because I’m grateful for what you did today, but I’m not sure why you’re here. The police want you dead. You really need to go back to Blayde in 1298.”

A funny, small smile changed his expression.

Tabby tensed. What did that look mean?

“But ye want to help me.”

She instantly knew they had entered extremely dangerous territory. “You clearly do not need my help right now.”

His voice dropped to a murmur. He said, “But ye’re grateful, aye?”

Tabby went still. “Wh-what?”

“Ye’re a grateful woman. Ye owe me now.”

Her mind went blank. Then, as comprehension came, her pulse exploded. He meant to seduce her! She was aghast—but her body was thrumming.

“Ye want me. I want ye. Ye owe me. I will gladly accept a night in yer bed.”

She choked.

He simply looked at her, staring, his eyes distinctly smoldering now.

Tabby whirled, starting for the kitchen, tripping as she did so. She was grateful, true, but he expected her to pay him back with her body! She would never do such a thing! And what was wrong with her damned body, anyway? Why was she breathless, too warm…aroused?

How was she going to get him to leave?

She paused at the kitchen counter, clinging to it. Then she felt him as he approached, coming up behind her. “Ye dinna need to fear me.”

She made an entirely incoherent sound. “You beheaded Angel while I was in his arms!” She twisted around to face him—a mistake.

She was almost in his embrace, and now, gods damn it, he was amused.

“I am a master with a sword.”

“You could have beheaded me,” she accused.