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ended up in the arms of a pretty,
brown-haired woman whose warm, cocoa-colored eyes were watery with tears. She
clasped him to her chest, her lips moving as she alternately whispered to the
child and peppered his head with kisses.
    One of the other women grabbed Leah’s hand, pressed it
between her own, and repeated an unintelligible phrase over and over. The third
woman approached and draped a woolen blanket around her shoulders.
    Leah smiled, assuming they were thanking her, and tucked a
strand of her dripping wet hair behind her ear.
    Loud, booming male voices burst forth from the line of trees
just ahead. Four large men who looked like something straight out of fantasy
movie broke through the underbrush and ran toward them with worry etched across
their faces.
    Weird. Had she just stumbled upon some medieval reenactment?
    The men stopped next to the woman holding the little boy and
the women all spoke at once, gesturing toward Leah with excitement. The man
with the trimmed dark-brown beard and brown, piercing eyes enclosed the woman
and child in his embrace, kissing them both on the head as he held them.
    Still, none of their words made sense. But their obvious
relief the little boy was safe and no worse for the wear touched her heart. She
was just thankful she’d been close enough to help. In the time it had taken the
men to arrive, the little boy would probably have drowned if she had not been
there.
    The man lifted his eyes to Leah’s and he released his hold
on the woman. He walked toward Leah, his hand resting upon the hilt of the
sword hanging at his side. He stopped just a few feet in front of her and bowed
his head as he spoke in that unintelligible language the women and little boy
had used earlier.
    “I’m sorry.” Leah hoped he knew at least a little English.
“But I don’t speak your language.”
    What had been an expression of gratefulness faded into a
dark expression as his cheek twitched. “You are English?”
    She shook her head, nervousness knotting her stomach at the
strange, negative shift in the man’s demeanor. At least she could speak with
this guy. “No, I’m American.”
    The man’s brow knitted together in confusion. He turned
toward his companions who approached from behind. After a brief exchange, he
faced Leah again.
    “What is an ‘American’?”
    Her mind fell silent. He couldn’t have just asked her what
an American was, could he?
    The other three men approached her, taking up positions to
either side of the man with the beard and crossing their arms as they stared at
her. She shifted her gaze to each man in growing apprehension. “You know, the
United States. I’m from across the pond.”
    “Across the pond?” He lifted his eyes up past her shoulder
to the mountains just behind. “You are a Ruthven? But the Ruthvens do not speak
English.”
    Leah hesitated, blinking several times in mystification. Was
he talking about the loch behind her? “No, the ocean,” she corrected, pointing
in the opposite direction.
    He rubbed his beard as he stared at her. “But there is
nothing past the ocean. Who is your family?”
    The uneasiness in her gut intensified. Since when did
reenactors refuse to break character in an emergency? “My last name is Gunn.”
    His eyes widened with recognition. “From up north near
Thurso?”
    She arched her eyebrows in surprise. “Well, that’s where my
grandfather was from, but, like I said, I’m American.”
    A flash of exasperation flew across his features. “What is
your name?”
    “Leah.”
    “Are you alone here?”
    She shifted her eyes from the men over to the women and
children just behind them. Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t quite put
her finger on it. “Yes. I rented a house just up the hill.”
    He turned toward a man with dark-blond hair to his right and
spoke. The man shook his head and shrugged.
    “There is no dwelling upon this small loch.”
    “I was just there.”
    The women and children moved forward, eying