“‘Tis time then, Laird Carrick. Ye may enter the circle. Hold the locket in yer right hand—ye do ken yer right hand d’ye not?”
“Get on wi’ it ye witch,” he bellowed through the chilling fog. He could no longer see her. “I’m no a bloody idiot. I want to be on my way. No more of yer teases and twitches.”
“Aye, aye,” she chuckled, walking the rim of the circle. “Close yer eyes then, Carrick, and dinna open them. See yer Jenny as ye saw her in the pool and think only of her as ye hold the locket tight. I will speak the spell the now.”
Carrick stood rock still, the mist enveloping him to the bone as Morag circled him round and round, chanting in ancient Gaelic; words he could not understand, words which had no meaning for him.
Carrick did as he was bid, holding the locket tightly in his hand for fear of it being lost in whatever should happen. What would happen? Silly old woman; probably nothing and best just to humor her. But what if this did work, what if he was truly about to travel some 260 years into the future and actually be with Jenny? The possibility raised insecurities foreign to him. She had looked exactly the same in the seeing pool; hair, eyes, her smile, even the sound of her voice. But there was little hope she would recognize him and he must prepare himself for that.
“Aye!” laughed Carrick. “I’m a bit much for ye. But then I always was, aye, Jenny? “nd ye look exactly the same as when I saw ye last. I would ha’ kent ye anywhere.”
“Jenny?” Cat grew serious, recognizing the name from her dreams. It made her cautious, yet curious. “Who is this Jenny you are talking about? My name is Caitriona and you somehow got yourself here to my house.” She looked him up and down carefully now that he was standing-somewhat wobbly-but standing nevertheless.
She noticed his kilt, done in the old style, wrapped about the waist, belted, and the rest thrown over his shoulder. She noticed he wore no clan badge, and his tartan looked a bit weary at that.
Good Lord, he was the most stunning man she had ever seen. In fact, he was breathtaking. From his long dark auburn hair tied with leather in a que at the back of his neck, to his massively broad shoulders and chest - a well-muscled chest that she could get a peek of through his loosely fitted shirt. Just looking at him made her dizzy. And he had an uncanny resemblance to the man in her mysterious, recurring dreams.
Wonder what he kisses like. Damn, random thoughts. Stop this. This man is a complete stranger. He could be dangerous. And anyway, he clearly needs assistance.