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straightening her curls out the day before, and she'd used her flat iron to flip out the ends. It seemed so silly now, here, in this place. It made her realize how so many of her day-to-day troubles were rather insignificant when compared to the grandeur of this land. Another gust of icy wind made her shiver as it lifted her blonde strands off her neck and swirled them around her face. Her white camisole 45
    fluttered around her, and she thought that Bermudas and a tank top seemed so normal for her, and in just seconds of looking into Connor's eyes last night, she'd felt naked. It was funny how that worked.
Her reverie was interrupted as a tall shadow appeared next to her. Connor, of course. He was well above six feet tall, at least 6'4" and strong. Very strong. He had lifted Mackenzie off the horse as if she weighed nothing, and his large hands spanning her waist had made her feel small and dainty. She was 5'9" neither small nor short, and yet Connor easily made her feel tiny. She glanced up at him and could see his ancestors' Norse influences in his high cheekbones and blue eyes. The dark hair should have looked out of place with eyes so bright, but it fit him. It added a rugged quality to this handsome man who exuded sexuality. But there was no doubt in her mind about what he was. He was dangerous.
    "Are you ready?" he passed her a canteen of water, no, Mackenzie mentally corrected herself, a bladder, probably sheep...eewww...oh well, she was pretty thirsty. She held it bravely to her lips and drank deeply. Then she sighed, well it wasn't her usual brand of bottled water, but it worked.
    "Thank you." She handed it back to Connor, noting the way he was staring at her mouth. Did she have something on her face? She nervously darted her tongue out to moisten her lips, and she watched Connor's eyes follow the movement. He gave nothing away though, his face was masked as if through years of keeping everything inside himself. She briefly wondered what it would be like if Connor were to look at her without his guard up; if he caused this much havoc to her 46
    senses with his unfathomable gazes, how would she withstand a straight dose?
"Come along, Miss Stewart. We must ride." He put his hand on her wrist to pull her along.
    "Where are we going?" The searing heat from his hand made her question less of a demand and more breathless than she liked. She frowned. It seemed a bad habit she was picking up just by being near him. Perhaps he'd put it off to the fact that she was trotting to keep up with him.
    She could tell that Connor didn't like to have his commands questioned. He raised an eyebrow at her and placing both hands on her shoulders, spun her around to face the lake. He pointed.
    "There." Monosyllabic, typical.
    Mackenzie followed his arm. The heavy fog rolled away from the castle she'd been looking at. Typical, even the elements follow his commands Mackenzie grumbled to herself. Her grumbling was cut short by the mythical sight before her. She gasped. A whitewashed castle stood prominently on an island jutting out into the water. The gray waters danced beneath the mist, and the medieval castle slipped out of sight behind the rolling fog. The glimpse she'd caught earlier through the fog had nothing on the beauty of a clear view.
    "We're going to a castle? Wow, is that your castle?"
    She didn't want to admit it, but she was impressed. She never really knew what to expect from Connor; he kept surprising her. The castle looked exactly like the one she'd been staying in just the day before. Had it really just been 47
    yesterday? Mackenzie shook her head a little, still a bit dazed.
This time there wasn't any accompanying nausea with the thought of where, and more precisely, when she was. She didn't know if that was good or not, that she was getting used to the idea that it was the 1700s. Perhaps it had something to do with his lairdship's blue eyes? He didn't answer her, and she didn't like the silence, it made her