Reunited (Book 2 of Lost Highlander series) by Cassidy Cayman Page A

creeps.
    He knew he had to be close to the ruins. One of them was little more than a foundation stone, the other an overgrown bit of crumbled hearth, half a wall and just enough overhang for him to get underneath.
    Jogging out of the cover of the trees, he stopped in his tracks and stumbled backward. The crofter’s huts were there, a hundred yards away, but they weren’t in ruins.
    They were neat, compact cottages, each with four intact walls and sturdy stone chimneys. He blinked as a thin stream of smoke puffed out of one of them. There was a garden overflowing with fall vegetables between them, a closed up chicken coop and goat enclosure in the back.
    “I’ve gone completely mad,” he said, turned and ran back into the forest.

    ***

    He awoke to cold ground under his back and the lowering sun shining through the tree branches, revealing a brilliant purple dusk.
    He turned his head slowly to the side. He was in a clearing, and that was about all he knew. He didn’t know if he had passed out, fallen and hit his head, or had simply lain down to sleep, his only recourse other than try to accept what he couldn’t.
    He sat up and ran his hand across his face, then raked his fingers through his hair. Nothing seemed to hurt, and there weren’t any raised bumps on his skull.
    He lay back and stared at the darkening sky some more, wondering if things would start making sense eventually, or if he was going to need to take action. And if that was the case, what action should he take? It wasn’t like he was faced with an enemy.
    There was a shuffling a few yards away from him and he swore under his breath. The second he had to go and think of enemies, one appeared? That seemed unfair.
    He laughed to himself. He hadn’t been in a fight in ages, and the thought made his blood course with adrenaline.
    A whimpering cry followed the shuffling sound and he leapt to his feet, making off silently toward it in a first offensive.
    Through the increasingly dim light, he made out a crouched form next to a boulder and using all his stealth, crept up and grabbed the person by the shoulders, so he could see who he was up against.
    “Oh, shit,” he said, dropping his hands and stepping back. “Jesus. I’m sorry.”
    The enemy he had snuck up on to neutralize was a small, crying woman. She was cowering against the boulder, looking at him with as much horror as if he were the devil himself. He dropped to his knees and held up his hands.
    “I didn’t see who ye were,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt ye. Oh, Christ, did I hurt ye?”
    He’d grabbed her pretty roughly. Her thin shoulders were shaking and her chest heaved.
    He realized with a jolt she was wearing a long blue dress, with a bunch of layers and buttons.
    It wasn’t exactly low cut, but he noticed a lot of creamy skin exposed nonetheless, and he jerked his eyes away from her enticing cleavage to continue begging her forgiveness.
    “Ye’ve no need to continue taking the Lord’s name in vain,” she said tartly, drawing herself up straighter and swiping away the tears that had stained her face.
    He blinked a few times to try to clear his messed up mind. He had to be in some sort of dream.
    She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her russet hair flowed down her back in a twisty braid, with long, shiny strands tumbling over the front of her shoulders, which drew his eyes back to the swell of her small, pale breasts.
    Feeling like he was drunk and moving in slow motion, he swallowed and searched her face. She looked vaguely familiar, but he never could have forgotten such a face, if he’d ever met her before.
    Her porcelain skin was luminous, even streaked with tears as it was. Her large eyes—he leaned closer to try to see their color, maybe dark brown?—were now narrowed at him, her inky black lashes almost brushing her angrily furrowed brows.
    “God, I’m sorry,” he said, then smacked himself in the forehead. “Truly, lass, I am sorry.”
    She stared