"Are you expecting travelers at Glenbrae?"

"Maybe some German students due tomorrow later in the day. And there is a club meeting scheduled at the house. No one else." She frowned. "Why?"

"No matter." He could not tell her they were being watched, stalked like deer from the forest. She would only think it more of his mad imaginings. At the moment, his greatest concern was seeing her safely back to the house.

Maybe it was English soldiers who stalked them, he thought grimly. Were he alone, he would have enjoyed the hunt. But not when protecting her was his first duty.

He cursed himself for staying so long in the loch. Her safety was his only duty now. As a knight, he had sworn to protect all women.

Hope stared at him. Maybe it was her theta waves run amok. Maybe it was just her hormones. For whatever reason, she was actually starting to believe the man. And that was dangerous when she had too many problems of her own.

They were crossing a mound of boulders when she felt him falter. She looked down and saw that his leg was rigid. With every step the muscles above his knee knotted, straining beneath the skin. He had to be in agony.

She stopped short. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I will endure."

"Endure? You can't keep going on that leg. We'll just stop here until you-"

"Not here."

"And why not?"

MacLeod scanned the rocky bank and the small stone house up the slope. "What is that place?" He pointed awkwardly.

"A shed for local fisherman. They store their gear inside when the salmon are running. But-"

"It will do." He hobbled forward.

"Do for what?"

"A place to rest."

Her eyes narrowed. "What aren't you telling me, MacLeod?"

Up the hills the shadows moved again, slinking within the greater darkness of the forest, and MacLeod felt another cold stab of warning.

They were exposed, undefended. There was no time for argument or negotiation. "We will go up there."

"I'm staying right here," Hope said firmly. "We'll wait until you feel better."

"Not here." He pulled her the last steps up the hill toward the rough building, then shoved open the door and sank down on an uneven pine bench. His face was rigid with pain as he turned away to rub his knee.

His thigh was an agony of rebelling muscles in need of rest and blessed heat. But there was no time for rest. Every instinct warned that the woman was in danger.

Was this why he had been brought to her time?

He worked one hand down his knee in stony silence. Even then he kept an eye on the open doorway, watching for any unexpected movement.

"Did anyone ever tell you that your ego is roughly the size of Siberia?"

"No." He had no idea what she was talking about.

"Consider yourself told." She sat beside him and brushed away his fingers. "Now, stop fighting."

He could never stop fighting, MacLeod thought. It was nearly all he knew. He flinched at her touch, though her hands were light. Each movement was a dangerous distraction that made him soft, and life had taught him that any softness was dangerous.

"Relax," she ordered as her hands slid over his leg.

He shifted slightly so that he had a clear view of the open doorway and the slope beyond. From here he could see any movement in the trees.

He forced back a groan of pleasure at the slide of her hands. Too warm. Too soft. A man could drown in such softness. "Arguing with you is like arguing with a Vatican prelate."

"A pretty compliment, Mr. MacLeod."

"It was no compliment, I assure you." Against all his efforts, a sigh hissed between his teeth. She was skilled in her touch. Already some of his pain had left him. Much more and he would be a boneless mass of no use for anything. "You have worked as a healer?"

"My uncle was ill at the end of his life." Hope frowned. "It was a slow and painful way to die.

Massages were the only thing that gave him any relief."

"He was fortunate that your hands are gentle."

"I only wish I could have done more." Her voice wavered. "All I could do was watch him fade away. Every day I lost a little more of him, but he never complained, not once." She blinked hard. "I don't know how we got onto this topic."

"You loved him greatly."

"Everyone did. I'd lost my parents years before, and I was so sure Uncle Dermot would live forever." She smiled sadly. "He was always so busy, so noisy. He could fill a room all by himself.

And he taught me everything I know about books."

"Books? He was a monkish man, your uncle?"

"Hardly. He liked nothing more than a fine cognac and a big cigar. Endless arguments, we had over that, especially when his heart began to show the strain. And how he loved his collections. Fine leather, smoothed by centuries of hands, was worth more than diamonds, he said. Fragile pages were treasures beyond all price." Her eyes rose, gazing at something seen only in her memory. "He could tell you everything about inks and papers. He could talk for hours about stitching and binding, folios and first editions. He was a genius at details. And yet at the end, after his last stroke, he couldn't see anything," she said bitterly.

"Death is seldom at a time of our choosing. At least he died in the company of someone he loved. A man could do worse." MacLeod thought of fellow soldiers fallen far from home, with no one to mourn or mark their graves.

Yes, a man could do far worse.

He sank back against the wall, watching the open doorway.

"Have you had a doctor look at your leg?"

"A leech?" He grimaced. "All they know is how to spill blood and mutter learned phrases into their beards. In Jerusalem, Damascus and Venice, they said the same thing. Nothing could be done." He groaned with pleasure as her fingers worked the knotted muscles.

"Rubbish. What you need is a good orthopedist. Maybe laser surgery would help."

The strange words drifted over MacLeod, sounds with no meaning. Weakness was for others, not for him. He understood neither her fussing nor her concern. But he admitted that both were becoming highly pleasurable.

He stiffened as a twig snapped somewhere outside up the slope.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No."

"Then why did you just jump?"

MacLeod felt a prickle at his neck. Without doubt they were being watched. An attack could come at any moment.

He turned, searching for a weapon.

"I asked you why-"

MacLeod cut her off. "Be quiet, woman." He checked the lower slope of the hill, surprised she felt no awareness of danger. Outside, the wind whispered around the half-open door and a new uneasiness drove him to his feet. He found a wooden stick and tested its weight in his hands.

"Sit down, MacLeod. You're in no condition to-"

Behind Hope the door clanged shut.

She stood up angrily, hands on her hips. "Hey, who's out there?"

MacLeod lurched toward the door, but even as his fingers met wood, he realized he was too late.

Outside, the metal bolt slid home with an angry crack.

CHAPTER TEN.

"PROBABLY JUST THE WIND," Hope muttered. "You sit down, and I'll take care of it."

MacLeod ignored her. Gritting his teeth against the pain at his knee, he seized the metal door handle and shoved upward.

Nothing moved.

"Why doesn't it open?" Hope asked.

"The bolt is cast from the outside," he said grimly. Someone had locked them in.

"It can't be locked." Hope pushed away his hands, wrenching at the handle. "I don't understand,"

she whispered.

Nor did MacLeod. He studied the high stone walls stretching unbroken to the timber roof. There were no windows, only a tiny slit for smoke high overhead. He cursed softly, furious that he had let himself be caught like a gangling whelp of ten. A few minutes of soft conversation had turned him into a witless clod.

But no one and nothing would get past him to harm Hope. They would try at their peril.

"It's got to open." Hope was still struggling with the door handle. "There's fishing tackle and a few supplies but nothing else in here. Why should someone come to lock the door?"

MacLeod limped across the room and gently pulled her around to face him. "The bolt will not open, not from inside. We must wait for someone to look for us."

"I'm not waiting. Not in here." She made a low, angry sound and pulled away to pace the floor, her shoulders stiff.

MacLeod saw that she was shivering. He tugged a length of heavy canvas down from a row of pegs on the wall. "Put this around you."

"Don't you dare snap at me," she said tightly.

"It is not a...snap. It is a polite suggestion that you cover yourself before you grow any colder."

"Polite, my eye." Even when he pushed aside her hands and draped the heavy cloth over her shoulders, she continued to shiver. "I don't like this."

MacLeod didn't like it either, but the only thing to do was settle back and await discovery by one of her friends. The bolt was too heavy to break, and he had no hope of climbing to the roof hole.

His companion stood stiffly, glaring at the door as if she could open it by sheer force of will.

"There is no reason to stare at the door."

"You don't understand. I can't-I don't-" Her hands clenched at her waist. "I'm not good with this. Not with small spaces and locked doors."

MacLeod saw her hands twisting. His brow rose. "There is nothing to fear. You are safe with me. I give my word."

She laughed wildly. "Safe in this tiny room? The walls could collapse any minute and we would both be crushed." Sweat stood out on her brow as she braced an arm against the door and shoved.

"This thing has got to open." She leaned her whole weight forward and shoved fiercely, again and again.

MacLeod added his own weight, though he knew it was useless. With each push the door shivered, but held firm. Solid oak.

Hope still did not stop.

He took her hands and held them tightly. They were tense, shivering, and he slid the canvas down over her shoulders. "Not ten men could break such a bolt. You must accept that you will be safe with me. I will do you no harm."

"It's n-not you I'm worried about." She drew a jerky breath.

"There is space enough for both of us."

"No, you don't understand," Hope whispered. "No one knows. I was ashamed to tell anyone."

"To tell what?"

Her eyes were dark with panic. "I...I can't say it."

MacLeod stroked back a curve of her hair and felt tears on her face. By heaven, she was crying. "I will guard your secret. I have held many."