Page 6 of Laird Of Her Heart

“Right. I know. The Macintoshes doona tolerate spies.” Her head was starting to spin from being upside down and jounced around with each step. Her temper was on a short leash. “But honestly, if I were a spy, would I wear the Cameron colors? It seems a little counterproductive in my opinion. I mean, if I’m spying and all. I might as well wear a t-shirt that says, oh, I dunno, honk if you love spies.”

His brow rumpled but he didn’t respond. At least, not to her. “She speaks strangely,” he complained to Declan.

Her captor snorted a laugh. “She dresses strangely too.”

“Aye. She does at that. I’ve heard the Cameron lasses are a wild lot, but I had no idea—”

“I’m. Not. A. Cameron.” She reached out and smacked the blond, but only because he came close enough. He reared back and gaped at her—as though he’d never been smacked before—and then he quickly moved out of range.

It hardly mattered, because, apparently, they had reached their destination, a camp on the edge of the woods. The sounds of nickering horses and clanks of pots gave her her first clue—she was facing the other way, after all.

Her second clue was that Declan dropped her on the ground. She landed with an oof. She glared at him. He didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. “Go get my brother, Ewan,” he barked, and the blond trotted off to one of the larger tents.

When she stood and brushed off her jeans, Declan bristled and she shot him a sardonic glare. Did he think she was stupid enough to run away? For one thing, these enormous men had her surrounded. For another, she never ran. Not if she could help it.

Instead, she made a quick survey of her surroundings. The camp was little more than a huddle of tents with the forest on one side and a sweeping plain on the other. A small herd of horses was hobbled to one side and a deer roasted over a pit fire. An entire deer. Before she could silence the thought—she often had that problem—she said, “You killed Bambi.”

Declan’s brow rumpled. “I dinna kill anyone.” And then he asked, “Who is Bambi?”

“Never mind.” She crossed her arms and turned away, pretending to ignore them. But she wasn’t. She was aware they were all staring at her like she was a curiosity in a zoo, but she was taking in tiny details as well. Like the fact that their clothes were all handmade and simple. Their hair appeared to have been cut by Edward Scissorhands and most had beards, which were scraggly and long. But it was their weapons that really gave her pause.

One held a crossbow dating from the thirteenth century. Another had a Macintosh dirk that resembled one she’d seen in a museum. Declan had a simple calfskin sporran tied to his belt.

Odd. Could she have wandered into some Renaissance faire? But no, it had been evening when she stepped into the woods and now it was daytime. Early afternoon. And the forest surrounding Grandma’s home went on for acres. It couldn’t be—

“So.” She flinched as a deep, melodious voice wafted to her on a ribbon of humor. Shivers danced through her, along with a prickling sense of premonition. “Ye have captured a Cameron spy?”

She turned slowly and froze as her gaze landed on him. On that so-familiar face. Broad, handsome, savage. Much more captivating than the sketch had been. Much more captivating by far.

She must be hallucinating. She had to be.

He was the hero of her dreams come to life.

Dominic Dundragon, Laird of the Macintosh clan.

Large, looming and in the flesh.

Her head went woozy. Her vision blurred. And then, for the first time in her life, she fainted. For real this time.

* * *

No one caught the girl when she fell. Dominic shot a glare around the circle and the lot of them winced. As well they should. “Where did you find her?”

“Sleeping in the ciorcal cloiche.”

“Sleeping there?” An odd place to sleep. He tipped his head to the side and studied her. Her clothes were odd, made of materials he’d never seen, from the Cameron blue of her trews to the blousy tunic covered in flowers. Her shoes were strange as well, made of a hard black substance and peppered with holes. But nothing captured his attention as much as her face. She was beautiful. Her features were delicately hewn, her hair was jet back and her neck was slender and swanlike.

His gaze flicked downward and he swallowed heavily. Aye. Her face was captivating, but not nearly as stunning as her form. Though she dressed like a man, there was no denying she had the curves of a woman.

And what a woman. He’d never met the like. Never clapped eyes on a creature so bewildering and…alluring. Lust, and something, else rose within him. She was—

“You ye think she’s a fairy?” Young Duncan piped up.

Snorts rounded the circle. They were all braw warriors. Not one of them believed in fairies. Probably.

“Nae,” Ewan said. “More likely an elf.”

Dominic glared at him. “She’s no’ an elf. She’s a girl.”