been gentle enough with her some of the time, even giving her shoulder a light squeeze as he left the room. Not that she needed gentleness. She didn’t need anything from anyone. But she’d found that small offer of comfort a reassuring trait in a dangerous man.
And he was definitely a dangerous man.
God, she had to get out of here. She had to get home. If time passed equally in both places, her plane would have left this morning. Tomorrow, she was due back at work and four days from now she was scheduled to give the presentation that just might land her the promotion she’d been working toward for three years. She had to be in New York by then.
Feeling a surge of stress-induced adrenaline, Julia scooted to the edge of the bed, then rose and went to the window, keeping the musty wool blanket tight around her. Chills sent goose bumps popping up on her arms as she stared again at a world so distant from the one she’d left.
If only she knew why she’d been yanked back here.
Her gaze followed a young boy chasing a chicken across the courtyard, lunging and failing to catch it again and again, yet the kid never gave up. And neither could she. What she could do was keep her eyes and ears open, believe nothing without proof, including the time traveling.
And trust no one but herself.
The same as always.
Julia heard the click of the door and turned, holding the ends of the blanket tight in her fists as Talon walked in. He closed the door, then grinned at her, flashing a pair of killer dimples as he held up a skirt and a little jacket thingie. Seventeenth-century clothes, apparently. The skirt, navy blue and probably made of wool, looked as if it had been mended a million times. The jacket, or maybe it was just a heavy shirt, was dark red with a vivid grease stain on one side. Lovely. Clearly these were loaners.
“Where’s the rest of it?”
“’Tis all ye need, lass. Ye have the shift and the boots, aye?”
“What about underwear?”
He turned his head as if uncertain he’d heard her right. “Underwear?”
Julia groaned. “What do women wear under their clothes in this time? Pantaloons? Corsets?”
Talon made a tsking sound. “Lasses who are not fine ladies wear a shift. Which you have. You’ve no need for anything else.”
She liked her situation less and less with every passing minute. “Easy for you to say. I thought this thing was a nightgown.”
“’Tis both.”
“Of course it is.” No need for luggage if you carried your nightgown around on your back everywhere you went.
Talon laid the skirt and top on the bed, then motioned her closer with his hand. “I’ll be your lady’s maid.”
“Yeah, right. I can dress myself. You can turn around.”
A smile played at his mouth, but he did as she asked.
Julia tossed the blanket onto the bed and picked up the skirt. No nice, neat little zipper, just a lot of strings and ties. She dropped it to the bed and picked up the jacket instead. Even more ties . . . or laces . . . all the way down the front.
Talon turned around, shaking his head at her. She crossed her arms over her breasts, but needn’t have bothered as he focused his attention on the skirt, opening it wide.
“Hands over your head, lass.”
“You don’t follow directions well, Braveheart.”
His eyes laughed at her. “I dinna have all day and ye do not seem to be making much progress.”
If she’d been twenty years younger, she’d have stuck out her tongue at him. With an ill-humored growl, she lifted her arms and let him lower the skirt over her head, then crossed her arms again.
Stepping closer, Talon bent to settle the skirt on her waist. His light brown hair fell forward, nearly brushing her cheek, his face so close she could see the faint scars at the corner of one eye and along the side of a nose that looked like it had been broken more than once.
His scent wafted over her, an infuriatingly intriguing smell of wood smoke, wool, and rough, attractive male. Why
And he was definitely a dangerous man.
God, she had to get out of here. She had to get home. If time passed equally in both places, her plane would have left this morning. Tomorrow, she was due back at work and four days from now she was scheduled to give the presentation that just might land her the promotion she’d been working toward for three years. She had to be in New York by then.
Feeling a surge of stress-induced adrenaline, Julia scooted to the edge of the bed, then rose and went to the window, keeping the musty wool blanket tight around her. Chills sent goose bumps popping up on her arms as she stared again at a world so distant from the one she’d left.
If only she knew why she’d been yanked back here.
Her gaze followed a young boy chasing a chicken across the courtyard, lunging and failing to catch it again and again, yet the kid never gave up. And neither could she. What she could do was keep her eyes and ears open, believe nothing without proof, including the time traveling.
And trust no one but herself.
The same as always.
Julia heard the click of the door and turned, holding the ends of the blanket tight in her fists as Talon walked in. He closed the door, then grinned at her, flashing a pair of killer dimples as he held up a skirt and a little jacket thingie. Seventeenth-century clothes, apparently. The skirt, navy blue and probably made of wool, looked as if it had been mended a million times. The jacket, or maybe it was just a heavy shirt, was dark red with a vivid grease stain on one side. Lovely. Clearly these were loaners.
“Where’s the rest of it?”
“’Tis all ye need, lass. Ye have the shift and the boots, aye?”
“What about underwear?”
He turned his head as if uncertain he’d heard her right. “Underwear?”
Julia groaned. “What do women wear under their clothes in this time? Pantaloons? Corsets?”
Talon made a tsking sound. “Lasses who are not fine ladies wear a shift. Which you have. You’ve no need for anything else.”
She liked her situation less and less with every passing minute. “Easy for you to say. I thought this thing was a nightgown.”
“’Tis both.”
“Of course it is.” No need for luggage if you carried your nightgown around on your back everywhere you went.
Talon laid the skirt and top on the bed, then motioned her closer with his hand. “I’ll be your lady’s maid.”
“Yeah, right. I can dress myself. You can turn around.”
A smile played at his mouth, but he did as she asked.
Julia tossed the blanket onto the bed and picked up the skirt. No nice, neat little zipper, just a lot of strings and ties. She dropped it to the bed and picked up the jacket instead. Even more ties . . . or laces . . . all the way down the front.
Talon turned around, shaking his head at her. She crossed her arms over her breasts, but needn’t have bothered as he focused his attention on the skirt, opening it wide.
“Hands over your head, lass.”
“You don’t follow directions well, Braveheart.”
His eyes laughed at her. “I dinna have all day and ye do not seem to be making much progress.”
If she’d been twenty years younger, she’d have stuck out her tongue at him. With an ill-humored growl, she lifted her arms and let him lower the skirt over her head, then crossed her arms again.
Stepping closer, Talon bent to settle the skirt on her waist. His light brown hair fell forward, nearly brushing her cheek, his face so close she could see the faint scars at the corner of one eye and along the side of a nose that looked like it had been broken more than once.
His scent wafted over her, an infuriatingly intriguing smell of wood smoke, wool, and rough, attractive male. Why
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