Highland Shifter (MacCoinnich Time Travel) (3 page)

With bag in hand, she ran after the photograph. She tripped once, scraping her palms on the jagged surface of the rocks, and then took off running again. When the wind calmed for a moment the picture dropped and caught in a weed.

Helen pounced on it.

Out of breath, she placed her stinging hand on her chest, and held the picture with the other. A smudge of dirt layered the picture. Helen brushed the filth aside and left a trail of blood on the image.

“Dammit.”

Her hands were a mess, full of embedded gravel and dirt with just enough blood to cake it all together.

She shook the picture. “See, here. I
’m bleeding to find you, Simon McAllister. So stop trying to fly away.”

The words no sooner left her lips before the sound of the ocean simply turned off. The air around her crackled and rushed out of her lungs.

The colors of the sky disappeared in a swirling tornado. The grass around her flickered and went black.

Panic rose in her throat in a scream, but when she opened her lips the sound didn
’t escape. Gravity sucked her down and pushed her back up.

All Helen could do was sit hopelessly by and pray the world found its axis soon.

Wind swirled around her and a loud thunderous roar replaced the nothing.

When Helen
’s stomach threatened to rebel, she closed her eyes and crushed her hands to her ears.

I don
’t want to die.

As fast as the world shifted around her, it came to a stunning halt.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Helen held perfectly still, fearing any movement would start the tornado again.

Her skin chilled. The temperature felt almost frigid, and the smell of the air had changed.

The sound of a horse neighing forced her eyes to spring open.

She was in a forest, a lush green forest with dew dripping off the trees. A massive black horse stood a couple of yards away and eyed her with curiosity.

“Well now, what have we here?” A deep, tender voice rumbled behind her.

Helen jumped to her feet and let loose the scream that had been lodged in her throat before. Now filling every inch of the surrounding forest with her shock, she spun, dropping her backpack at her feet.

There, standing in the middle of the forest and draped in only a kilt, stood the man from the book. Only this man was massive, huge in a way a picture could never describe. Thick arms and a bare chest so ripped with muscles, Helen couldn’t help thinking he could do some serious damage to anyone if he had a mind to.

And she was alone with him.

Her head reeled.

It was too much. Everything had happened so quickly. She started to back away from the stranger, her foot caught on her pack, and down she went.

Fine with her. Maybe she’d hit her head and wake up in her bed and all of this was nothing but a dream.

Chapter Three

Simon lunged to catch this stunning traveler before she hit the ground, but he couldn
’t move fast enough. Kneeling beside her, he carefully pushed a lock of her hair from her forehead. Her eyes were shut, her breathing slow and steady. “Come now, lass. Wake for me.”

She didn
’t. With gentle fingers, he brushed through her hair and felt for any lumps or tender patches. Finding none, he lifted her head, rested it on his knee, and waited for her to wake.

“When?” From when did she travel, and why? She wore a cotton shirt with perfect stitching. His eye traveled to her thigh and stuck there. Shorts were from a time in which he
’d once lived. Memories of days running in the park, or on the playground with others in similar clothing, were etched so deeply in his past he had to close his eyes to reach it.

Forever ago.

It seemed it had been a lifetime since he saw this woman’s garb worn by anyone. Even his own mother and aunt didn’t bother any longer. Lizzy, his mother, rebelled against the clothing of this century for nearly five years before giving up the fight. His Aunt Tara gave up shortly after Simon and his mother arrived. Either way, Simon wasn’t used to seeing women with their legs bare for anyone to gaze upon.

He liked it.

In a strange way, he missed it. Her sun kissed skin was free of any hair. Smooth. His hand itched to feel the silky surface. But before his fingers made contact, the woman winced and shuddered as she came awake, jarring him from his thoughts. If she’d been any other girl, he’d worry about the impropriety of her head being in his lap. This girl was from a different time, and he doubted she’d be shocked at his closeness. Well, at least not as much as a common lass from this time.

“There you are,” Simon whispered.

Her jaw tightened, and her body went rigid.

“You
’re still here.”

It wasn
’t a question. It was a statement that brought a smile to Simon’s lips. “Aye.”

“Where am I?”

Anyone else, he would have scoffed at the question. “Scotland.”

She nodded, eyes still closed.

“That’s good.”

“You are not from Scotland.” Easily deduced from her lack of accent.

“No.”

“America then?” It was a trick question since America was little more than an unexplored land full of Indians at this date in time.

The girl nodded, smiled. “Yeah, California.” Her eyes were still closed.

“Who
’s the leader…? I mean president?”

Her brow pitched together before her eyes sprung open. “Obama. Geez, I didn
’t hit my head that hard.”

Bright blue eyes met his.

Beautiful.

Obama. Not a name he recognized. This woman must be from a future he hadn
’t experienced. The confusion marring the expression on her face as it searched his made him wonder if she knew what she’d done.

She gazed at him for several seconds with a multitude of emotions filling her eyes. “You
’re him,” she finally said.

Simon held his tongue. If there was one thing he
’d learned in this time, it was to let others speak their piece before he offered his own. Patience was something he’d learned through the years. Not something practiced in this woman’s America.

She knew him, but Simon knew nothing of her. Maybe she was sent from the future with a message. A warning. Lord knew he
’d had plenty of them.

“What
’s your name, lass?”

“Helen.”

When she didn’t offer more, he asked. “You were looking for me?”

Helen shook her head.

It was his turn to look confused.

“You
’re not looking for me?”

“I
’m looking for a child. Y-you look like someone I’ve seen before.”

Her gaze moved to his plaid, her cheek was firm against his thigh. Helen scrambled to remove herself from his lap, but her eyes never left his. “Who are you?”

“’Tis you who showed up from nowhere, and you who needs to answer my questions. Where did you come from?”

She took in the woods around her, her eyes pitching together again. “I was walking in a…. I don
’t know, meadow, I guess. I dropped something.” Helen glanced down at her hand. In it was a paper crushed within her palm. She uncoiled her fingers and flattened the paper to her other hand. “Then everything went crazy.”

“A meadow?” Simon glanced at the trees above their heads.

“Maybe I did hit my head.”

Simon didn
’t think the confusion on her face was false, but he didn’t dare say anything that would damn him or his family. Better to keep quiet and learn.

Kong
, he called his horse in his head.

The massive animal started toward them. Helen
’s focus changed from the woods to the animal.

“Where did he come from? Where did
you
come from?” Helen backed up a few steps.

Simon took a step toward her, and she scrambled out of his reach. Stopping, he placed a hand in the air.

“I’ll not hurt you, lass.”

“You weren
’t here. None of this was here.”

“Right. You were in a meadow, chasing that paper, then noise erupted, and darkness fell.”

She was nodding now, eyes full of hope. “Right.”

“Then everything stopped, and you were standing here.”

Helen’s head bobbed on her neck. “Exactly.”

“Only you don
’t know where here is, do you?”

“Scotland. You said Scotland.”

Where wasn’t the right question, but Simon wasn’t about to ask her the harder one.

“Helen?” He approached her slowly, as he would a child. His hand lifted to hers.

“What the hell is going on?”

Spunk, he loved a woman with passion. “I have answers, but I think you
’d feel better in the presence of other women.”

Even from her time, a woman alone in the woods with a man would be frightening. Unless the woman was a fighter, or police officer. This one looked soft and vulnerable. It was a very good thing he
’d come upon her instead of any other medieval man.

“You
’re not a woman.”

He laughed. “Nay. That I
’m not. But my family is full of them. They can help.”

* * * *

Helen had never been on a horse in her life, let alone with a man as solid as Fort Knox at her back. Yet here she was sitting ram-rod-straight on a huge horse with a huge man flush against her.

He looked nothing like any man she
’d ever seen. Every ounce of his body looked as if it had been carved from stone, every muscle firmly in place. Dark locks of hair draped around his face, a scruff of facial hair afforded him a mysterious look any woman would appreciate.

The skin on her bare arms tingled, not in the way it should considering she had no idea where she was, or more importantly, how she
’d come to be there. It was because of the man whose muscular legs tensed against hers as they rode.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Helen thought she knew him. A strange sense of déjà vu washed over her every time he spoke. She supposed it was like thinking you knew a celebrity simply because you
’ve seen them on the big screen. Yes, that had to be it. The picture in the book resembled the man at her back, therefore she thought she knew him.

Get your head out of that book
, she chastised herself. She ought to be thinking about where she was, or where her car had disappeared to. Maybe she’d fallen when she’d reached for the picture and hit her head when she fell. That would explain a lot.

Helen reached for the top of her skull, feeling for a knot.

Nothing.

“You didn
’t hit your head.”

Statement, not a question.

“Excuse me?”

“You
’ve not hit your head. Everything you see from this moment on is real. Remarkable, but real.” His deep voice rumbled in his chest and stroked upon her back in a hauntingly familiar caress.

“How do you know my thoughts?”

He laughed. “I’ve been where you are.”

The horse under her stuttered in his step.

“What’s your name?”

He leaned back on the reins. The horse stopped.

Every noise in the forest waited for her next breath. Without being told, Helen lowered her voice. “What is it?” she whispered.

The man behind her went rigid. The reins in his hand fell to the side of the horse, raising alarm in Helen
’s blood.
What if the horse bolted without its master holding him tight?

Helen bent over the horse, grasping for the leather.

“Shhh.”

Crouched over the animal, Helen
’s gaze wandered beyond the trees, deeper into the forest. A forest that hadn’t been there before the strange storm swept her away.

Heat inched up the right side of her face. She turned toward it and caught movement in the wood.

The man beside her turned his head to follow hers. His hand drew the sword strapped to the costume he wore.

The same clothing the man in the picture wore.

“What is—?”

His free hand clamped around her mouth, silencing her.

Every nerve in her body stood on end waiting for release.

Helen held still when the man behind her let go of her mouth and reached into a small pouch strapped to his thigh. He drew a jewel-encrusted dagger and pressed the hilt of it into her palm.

She started to tremble. Helen couldn’t help her body’s shudder any more than she could stop blinking her eyes. The forest seemed to wait, quiet with anticipation. Her breath held in the back of her throat for some sort of action.