Page 28

“Can ye hold on for a wee bit longer? I’m almost finished.”

“What are you doing?”

“Stitching ye.”

“Oh.” The word stitching caused an immediate rush of adrenaline, which sharpened all sensations. It felt like red-hot needles pierced her all over. “Is there any more of Muireach’s magical potion? It knocked me out good.”

“Nae, I’m afraid there isna.”

Amber took a deep breath in. “Fine. I’ll be fine. Just do it quickly.”

“Aye. Dinna move.”

She felt a sharp pull at the small of her back and sucked in more air.

“Just a couple more.”

Another sting, stronger than the one before. “Ahhh, mother of—” She bit her finger.

“Tell me something about yerself,” Owen said. “To distract ye. Something good.”

Something good? What was there to tell that was positive and good? One positive thing was her mother. She’d been the strongest and the kindest woman Amber had ever known. She died several years ago of cancer, and after her death, Amber’s stubborn dad had given up on life.

“Mom’s fried chicken,” Amber said. “That was so good.”

Owen chuckled. “Fried chicken does sound verra good. Yer ma did it herself? Ye didna have a cook?”

Oh crap. Yeah, she still needed to pretend she was from this time. Another pinching stitch caught her breath.

“Breathe, Amber,” Owen reminded her. “Send yer breath through that pain.”

She exhaled through the place in her lower back where it hurt. Surprisingly, that dissolved the pain and relaxed her. She kept inhaling and exhaling.

“No. We didn’t have a cook,” she said, already regretting telling him the truth, but it was as though her tongue couldn’t stop moving. “Did you?”

“Aye, we did. Nae a verra good one. But, aye.” He chuckled. “He hated me.”

There was another pinch and a pull.

“Ufffff,” Amber breathed out. “What? How can anyone hate such an angel like you?”

Owen chuckled. “The story involves his daughter, the midsummer night bonfire, and a big raspberry bush.”

She shook her head. “You’re a manwhore, aren’t you? I knew it.”

She shouldn’t call him names like that. But it was as though her filter had taken a vacation. Maybe Muireach’s potion was something like a truth serum.

“Dinna fash, lass. ’Twas nae but a kiss. I was fourteen, and she was a year younger.”

Thankfully, he wasn’t offended. And she was relieved it wasn’t a story of seduction. Something dark twisted in her when she thought about Owen and other women.

He chose that moment to put the needle through her again, but the pain was weaker this time.

“That gives me an idea,” Amber said. “Let’s play a game. Two truths and a lie. Do you know it?”

“Nae. Are ye sure ye can play games, lass?”

“I think I absolutely need to.”