Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends #1)(42)

A glade opened ahead. Low bands of sunlight streamed between sparse tree trunks to the east, lending an ethereal quality to the spacious clearing. The visual serenity stopped me cold, and I drank in the beauty of nature’s living masterpiece. Large insects flew through the rays of light, flashing iridescence with their wingbeats. A brook babbled on the far side of the open space, its banks teeming with wildlife drinking their fill. Heads popped up in succession as they took note of my presence.

Captivated by the scene, I held still, my eyes wide but my mouth firmly shut against flying insects. The animals moved toward me as if entranced. A deer, two hares, a beaver, and several species of birds walked, waddled, and flitted closer and closer to my dumbfounded self.

Had I been dropped right onto the screen of a Disney animation? Unless I’d missed the memo, forest creatures didn’t hang out together, greeting newcomers. Since I hadn’t eaten anything in nearly a day, I figured it had to be an inhaled hallucinogen, like pollen molecules floating in the air. An odd, heavy calm washed over me as the animals came within touching distance and stopped.

Suddenly, the hairs shot up along the back of my neck and chills raced down my spine. I turned around. Ten paces away stood my relentless purser. An air of confidence radiated from my adversary. Leanly muscled, he still wore only a brass torque around his neck. The unclothed man appeared to be plenty warm in spite of the cold bite in the air.

As I blinked heavily, staring at him, delayed comprehension trickled into my bewitched brain: I hadn’t drawn the fauna from their water source—he had.

He tipped his head to the side, approaching in measured steps.

My heart thundered in my chest. Either my foe was an expert tracker or he’d been a constant, unseen companion all along. The latter would’ve explained my intuitive need for continued flight.

The overpowering calm I’d felt—and still felt as it fought for supremacy over my panic—emanated from him. He brandished some kind of magick. I’d read about the Picts communing with animals to aid in capturing them. They also thanked them for the gift of their life and death prior to eating them. Great. I’d become subdued prey.

He opened his arms wide, palms up; apparently, he knew the universal gesture for “I mean you no harm.” Yeah. Right. Naked man. Chasing woman. Aggressive history. Our roles dictated my lack of trust in anything he had to offer, peaceful . . . or not.

With every stubborn cell I possessed, I fought the foreign pacifying influence, embracing a healthy dose of fear. I whirled around and bolted toward an opening on the far side of the clearing. Sharp pain lanced through my ankle with every jolting step. By the time I’d reached the thicket beyond the glade, my lame gait slowed more from the density of the scrub than any handicap. Thorns and tree branches scratched my arms, but I pushed through the pain, forcing my way through the vegetation.

The terrain dropped off quickly as soft forest floor turned into irregular rocky surfaces. The change in topography thinned the plant life, allowing me to pick up my pace. As I jogged along, broken rocks crunched under my footfalls. An incline littered with loose rock sent me surfing down several yards, arms flailing to keep my balance, and I belatedly realized that my haste had blinded me to a serious geographical warning.

My entire body shot out over open air. Adrenaline fired through my veins as I spun around, scrambling for a handhold on the edge of a ravine. I slipped down a sheer face of rock and earth, grasping desperately with my hands to find a brake to stop my descent. Finally, my fingers clamped around a thick protruding tree root.

I clung to my lifeline, gasping for air. Every small detail sharpened as the fight-or-flight drug rocketed through my body. With my weight supported by only my arms, I lifted my good foot and toed it into a fissure in the rock. A ledge would’ve been better support, but I was terrified to look around for one. At least the foothold relieved some of the immense pressure on my shoulder sockets.

Perfect. My idiotic self had literally run into a no-way-out situation. Correction—no way out . . . but up. Even as my white-knuckled fingers held a death grip on the roots of my very own tree of life, I didn’t need to look up to know the man who’d chased me had arrived. I felt him.

I sighed. If my pursuer would be the cause of my demise, I’d be a party to the decision. I’d fearlessly look fate in the eye and accept its inevitable course.

A glance up confirmed his presence. He’d stretched flat on the ground, his chiseled face hovering directly over mine. Our gazes locked, and . . . the strangest thing happened. Dark eyes pierced mine with a look of kindness. And . . . hope? He raised his brows, lowering a large hand down, his entire demeanor conveying safety.

Instinct reigned supreme in my gut, not trusting for a microsecond the gentle fa?ade he portrayed. Unfortunately, I had limited options and didn’t want to precariously dangle a moment longer. Frying pan or fire? I made the obvious choice. I released a hand, thrusting it directly into the flames.

The corners of his mouth curved up imperceptibly. With a solid grip, he hoisted me out of harm’s way, pulling me firmly into his arms . . . and his world.

*

Sunlight streamed onto my face and chest, warming the slight chill away. I limped alongside my tight-lipped escort, wondering about him, his people, and the age into which I’d been thrown. Valuable information could be gained from any of the Pict time periods, their lives practically stricken from known record by an absence of information. My inner archaeologist refused to settle down even in light of everything I’d lost. Priority one, however, remained the same; communicate with him to find a way back to the box.