The car started to shudder as if it were in quicksand. “Okay, perhaps a little less would help us actually move,” he told her.

Amber’s brow pitched together. “Is that me?”

“Just pull it back to reach only inside the car.”

The thick band around the car eased in slow degrees. Distraction. She needs a distraction.

“So…” he began, “Jake and Selma?” He could care less about the gossip of the two in question, but the car instantly surged forward when Amber thought of the couple and released his shield from around the car.

“I should have seen that coming,” she told him as he pulled the car into traffic en route to the restaurant.

“You didn’t?”

Amber shook her head. “When I met Selma and Jake, everyone’s emotions were rampant in my head. Concentrating on any one person was difficult.”

“He cares for her.”

“Agreed. She has no idea how much,” she told him.

“Agreed.”

They sat in silence for a moment. “It’s not easy for the others,” he said. “The ones who join us and aren’t Druid.”

She stared at the passing traffic and a sense of peace washed over him.

“I was a child when Todd joined us. Myra’s husband is from this time—Jake’s brother in arms. He adjusted eventually.”

“There are plenty of Todd’s out there. Men and women who join the manor and keep order. Not everyone picks a spouse who shares his or her Druid heritage. Those of us who do understand the risk or the gain.”

“You make it sound as if the manor is filled with people from all walks of life in your future.”

“It is. Though the manor is larger than it is now. The houses surrounding Mrs. Dawson’s home become sanctuaries for families who attempt to raise their children in relative normalcy.”

“Not unlike my parent’s home.”

He laughed. It was hard not to. “MacCoinnich Keep is much more than a home.”

Amber shrugged, looked out the window. “For me it was home. Nothing more or less than Dawson Manor. I kept up with the cats in the barn, knew when they were giving birth. Those who roamed the halls—the maids, the cooks, the knights—all were essential in the movement and protection of my childhood home. But it was still my home.”

The thought sobered Kincaid as he parked in the lot and jumped out to help Amber.

His wife had grown up the youngest child in a medieval Keep…during medieval times. She had family members who had crossed centuries and would again to keep her from harm. He however, grew up with menial financial means in a single room apartment with strangers. Growing up, even his own father was nothing more than an unapproachable enigma. Kincaid had leapt at the opportunity to belong to something, anything.

The host sat them at a table in the back of the restaurant where Amber picked up the conversation from the car.

“Where is it you grew up?” she asked.

“Outside the manor,” he told her. “My mother disappeared early on and my father was stuck with the burden of raising me.”

“She left you?” How can a mother leave her child?

“Not all mothers are the same. Mine spawned and left.”

“How very cold.” She looked away.

“It’s hard to feel anything for someone I don’t know.” Anything other than hatred and disappointment, that was.

Amber sat rod-straight, her eyes never left his. “I’m sorry,” she told him.

He was about to ask about what, when he heard her.

For the loss of a childhood.

He shook his head. “My father knew I was a powerful Druid early on.”

“How? You were a child, how did he know?”

The memory of his father out of control swam in his head. Kincaid wasn’t sure what his father’s drug of choice was… he just knew good ole’ dad wasn’t often lucid and logic and loyalty to his family wasn’t there. “I got into a fight at school. The other kid tossed his fists, but they never landed where he intended them. My dad…he knew, said something about my mom being un-human. He mentioned the word Druid…I thought it was a joke.”

“Druids are human.”

“Not to my dad.”

Amber’s eyes turned cold. “He treated you differently.”

“He treated me indifferently. Like a dog that needed to be fed and housed.”

Amber reached across the table, took his hand in hers. Warmth and the feeling of home settled over him. He’d never, ever, said any of this to anyone in his life. Hell, he hadn’t thought of the man who fathered him in years. “I’m sorry,” his wife said in a soft whisper.

Kincaid offered her a smile. “He had a hard time keeping a job, and when he had a chance, he pushed me off his to do list. I found the manor and those like me, and I made myself useful. It wasn’t long before my new family understood my worth.” He shielded her from his thoughts, the memories of those early years and how painful they were.

“Your ability to shield others?”

“Yeah.” He removed his hand from hers, patted his leg where one of his weapons was concealed. “I’m not a bad shot, either.”

“I’m sure you’re a valiant warrior,” she told him.

“Even in a kilt.”

She laughed then, and he felt the need to make her do that again. He liked her innocent laugh, and she didn’t let it out often enough.

“I have a hard time picturing you in a kilt.”

The waiter arrived with their wine and left a helping of bread. Remembering the time she was from, he removed a chunk of bread and placed it on her plate.

“My kilt is modified, but I do own one, or two, actually.”

“The plaid of my family?” she asked.

“Is there another?”

His question pleased her and brought the smile he loved to her lips.

He told her about his travels in time—how he’d always battled alongside her ancestors and probably even some of his own at some point.

Their dinner arrived and for the first time since Kincaid had landed in this century he felt like himself again. When the emotions of those around them started to leak in, he’d bring up his shield stronger and force them out.

It was just him and Amber.

“My father would like you,” she said between dinner and dessert.

He sat back, drank his coffee. “Your father would question every move I made.”

“Aye, he would. But in time, he would approve.”