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“Owen?” he said.

“Aye.”

The man sighed and shook his head. “Only ye can come in bright daylight dressed like a Sassenach bastart. Let them in!”

Owen threw an amused glance at Amber. The gates opened, and they rode in.

Malcolm descended the stairs from the top of the wall.

“I was this close to giving the command to shoot ye,” he said, pinching his thumb and index fingers together. “Come here, ye rascal.”

He took Owen in a bear hug, and the men clapped each other on the back.

“What’s going on?” someone said.

Dougal Cambel’s angry voice made Owen’s gut tighten. He released Malcolm and turned to face his father. Da marched towards them together with Craig, Domhnall, and several other men. Behind them, the northern wall with the crumbled part had short, sharp spikes installed into it. Owen’s stomach churned as he imagined Marjorie having to fight off the MacDougalls. Craig had told Owen in confidence that the spikes had been suggested by a warrior from the future who’d helped Marjorie protect Colin and the castle. The gates were made of new wood—were they part of the defenses? His brave, strong, sister… He wished he could’ve been here to protect their home. He’d miss her. With a bittersweet ache in his heart, Owen wondered how Marjorie’s and Colin’s lives were in the twenty-first century, and he hoped that man made his half sister very happy.

“Owen, son,” Dougal said, “ye’re alive.”

Owen’s father gripped his shoulder and squeezed it. The affection was unexpected, and Owen hugged him back but was ready for the questions he knew would come.

“What happened?” Craig asked. “Why are ye in Sassenach clothing? And who’s the”—he frowned, eyeing Amber—“lass?”

“Yes, I’m a lass,” Amber said, and Craig cocked his eyebrow. “Thank you very much.”

Craig exchanged a look with Owen. No doubt, his half brother had recognized the accent. Everyone turned to study Amber.

Owen cleared his throat. “’Tis Amber. We were kidnapped together by Sir de Bourgh during the siege of Inverlochy. He took us to Stirling. We managed to escape but had to disguise ourselves as the English.”

“We feared ye were dead,” Craig said. “When we took back the castle, ye were unaccounted for. No one saw ye fall, and there was nae body. ’Twas like ye’d disappeared…”

It occurred to Owen that his brother might have suspected he’d gone through time. The thought seemed funny at first, but he realized it was a real possibility.

“I kenned ye were nae dead,” Da said. “Ye’re too cunning to let death take ye so soon.”

“Didna feel that way at times,” Owen said.

His father paled, and Owen’s Adam’s apple jumped as he struggled to swallow. This situation was too similar to what had happened to Ian. Many years ago, in a battle with the MacDougalls, everyone had thought Ian was killed and the MacDougalls had taken his body. The Cambels had assumed he was dead, but he’d been sold into slavery and had only returned home from the caliphate this year.

Owen knew very well that his family didn’t want to relive the horror of that.

“And who are ye, lass?” Craig asked.

Amber exchanged a glance with Owen, and he nodded, encouraging her to share the story they’d both agreed on.

“I’m from the caliphate. I was hired by Kenneth Mackenzie.”

Craig frowned as he studied Amber. His da and the rest eyed her dubiously.

“And how exactly did ye end up being kidnapped together?” the older Cambel asked as he looked between them.

“Owen helped me,” Amber said, her voice ringing with gratitude. “He saved my life from the English.”

Owen clenched his teeth. He’d rather they didn’t know that.

“Ye helped a woman,” his father said. “And ye lost the castle to de Bourgh. And got yerself kidnapped.”

His upper lip rose in the same kind of disgust Owen had seen countless times. It had only resulted in a younger Owen wanting to rebel even more against him, to show his father that he didn’t need his approval, that he couldn’t care less.