Amber crossed to the window and opened the heavy blinds. The milky dawn of Scotland didn’t stop the glare of light from pouring into the room.

Within an hour Lita and Anabel had all the measurements they needed and were busy hand stitching clothing for Helen to wear. At home, Helen’s wardrobe consisted of clothing made in China or Taiwan. To have something not only tailored to her, but handmade, was truly jaw-dropping.

Once the maids left the room, Amber opened the conversation about her near future. “It took time for Lizzy and Tara to accommodate to the clothing we wear here. As I’m sure I’ll have to adjust when I travel with you.” As she spoke, a shadow of excitement washed over her face.

“Do Tara and Lizzy ever wear clothes from the future?”

“At times, though not often any more. And never in front of nonfamily members.”

Amber helped her into the second dress set aside for her the day before. As they spoke, Amber pulled on the corded fastening on the back of the gown. Helen wouldn’t look at a zipper again in the same way. Little connecting metal teeth did wonders to fashion.

“I don’t think I could wear this every day.”

Amber laughed.

“You’ve heard that before, haven’t you?”

“Lizzy complained the most and still refuses a corset more often than not.”

“You’ll understand her frustration when you come home with us.”

“Aye, you have the right of it.”

Why was it Amber was resolved to shoot hundreds of years into the future without showing a nerve?

“Tell me, what is your strength?”

Helen moved to a chair and pulled a brush through her hair. Amber followed her and took the brush from her hand to finish the task. Helen didn’t have girlfriends and seldom had another person brush her hair outside of a salon. This quiet moment caught her in her chest. “I’m a photographer.”

Amber waved a hand in the air. “Not your job, though the thought of women working as anything but maids and merchants still baffles me, but your Druid strength?”

“Oh, that. I’m not sure how to explain it.”

Amber dropped the brush and proceeded to pull strands of hair together in a small intricate braid, pulling only small amounts of hair as she went. Out of a pocket in the fold of her dress, she produced a copper color ribbon and wove it into Helen’s hair. “Try.”

“When I’m searching for something, or someone, I feel, eh, energy I guess you might call it. Kind of like dogs knowing where something is by scent.”

Amber kept weaving, her hands steady. “Can you control it?”

“I’m not sure what there is to control. The feeling is there or it isn’t.”

“Does it overwhelm you?”

“Only when I find what I’m looking for. The air feels thick, like humidity on a hot day.”

Amber’s fingers stilled. “But it vanished quickly?”

“Yeah.”

Helen heard Amber swallow and before she turned her head. A brief unease shifted in Amber’s gaze and she went back to Helen’s hair. “Now that you know your gift is a skill much like stitching a skirt, or weaving hair, it grows with practice.”

“I wouldn’t have a clue how to practice.”

Amber finished her task and laid her hands on Helen’s shoulders. “My family can help.”

“Getting me home is a priority, not sharpening my Druid skills.”

“That is where you’re wrong. You’re here for a reason. ’Tis important to learn all you can before returning.”

“You sound like some divine intervention happened. I stumbled on the necklace by accident and ended up here searching for a lost child.”

“But you found a man, a warrior worthy of your attention.”

Helen met Amber’s gaze and felt her cheeks flush. “Simon’s easy on the eyes, but we come from two different worlds.”

“You come from the exact same world.”

Okay, maybe they did. Still, his life was clearly in the sixteenth century while hers wasn’t. “He’s kissed me, but that’s all.”

Amber smiled and said nothing. Helen remembered that Amber’s empathic gift gave her the advantage in their conversation.

“I’m not relationship material. Hell, I don’t even date.”

One brow on Amber’s face lifted.

Helen pushed from the chair afraid of what Amber might see if she chose to dig deeper into her mind. “I don’t know what you guys eat for breakfast around here, but I’m starving.” Maybe changing the subject would help.

Before she reached the door to the room, Amber laid a hand on her arm. “Somewhere deep inside you’ve been hurt. I won’t pry, but if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

An instant surge of tears filled Helen’s eyes. For a non-emotional woman, the feeling left her disjointed and bare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Amber dropped her hand and her eyes. “As you wish.”

“I wish for food.”

As they made their way down the same massive staircase, the sound of men’s voices shouted from the hall below.

“They attack from the North and the East, the village is directly in their path.”

Amber held her arm out to stop Helen’s descent. They leaned over the banister and listened. From the sound of the voices, and the sheer number of men gathered below, Helen thought an entire army had assembled in the Keep.

“What’s going on?” she whispered to Amber who glanced over the rail with white knuckles.

“An attack, I think.”

Attack? “You mean here?”

“Close enough to drive my father’s men inside.”

Her father’s men. As in, his army. Dozens of fierce warriors all with fierce swords and unnamed weapons kept filling the room. Some walked around Ian, Simon, Fin, Duncan, Cian, and Todd and warmed themselves by the fire as if they had walked into their own home. Worry crept into Helen’s thoughts. “I don’t understand.”

Amber placed a hand on Helen’s and winced as if burned. After pulling her hand away, she said. “Don’t fret. My father is a very powerful Laird with many men in his service. We’ll be fine.”

The sound of several small feet tapped behind them. Helen turned to see many of the MacCoinnich children gathered. “What’s happened?” one of them asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Shh!” Briac, the oldest of the children scolded. “Listen.”