Sophia startled awake in a strange bedroom and sat up with a gasp, raking her gaze around the room. She took in the fire crackling in the marble fireplace, the antique furnishings, including the massive wooden canopy bed she lay in, with its silken covers and beautiful curtains which were pulled back to either side of the bed. A white candle in a pointed, tall, floor length, candleholder stood next to the bed. That’s odd, where are the lamps? And where exactly am I?

As her head cleared, she remembered her outing with Shadow, and how the wolf jumped into the lake. Why did he do that, anyway?  Damn suicidal wolf! All that pestering he did just to have her lie face down in the lake.

 Her brows wrinkled, a displeased expression on her face. She also remembered her somewhat erotic hallucination about a very handsome man, hell three handsome men, but the other two hardly signified.  She chuckled. Yeah, right! As if that really happened. He was absolutely gorgeous. So gorgeous in fact, that if she dreamt about him every night for the rest of her life, she wouldn’t mind it, not at all. Not if he keeps kissing me like that. A girl would be tempted to take sleeping pills to have him appear in her dreams.  Sophia’s gaze flickered across the room again. She could fantasize about Mr. Dreamy later, she decided.  Now, the main question: where was she?

   Looking around, something odd struck her yet again. Candles?  Fireplace?  Not that there was anything really unusual about a fireplace, but they’re usually gas these days, not wood.  The warmth from the room seemed to come from it. And why was the floor made out of stone? Someone would have a high electric bill in the winter. Electricity! Where was it? There was no sign of it anywhere. No electrical sockets, electric lighting, TV’s, nothing.  Everything looked so…ancient.

   Sophia's heart pounded with a mixture of fascination, awe, and fear of the unknown.

   Her thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the door. In stepped a girl no more than fourteen years old. She wore the strangest clothes—a plain brown woolen floor-length dress with a beige apron. Her hair was pulled back, braided and tied at the end with a ribbon. She looked like she came straight out of The Little House on the Prairie. What was she? Amish or something? Or was this some kind of Pioneer village?

   “Good evening, miss. How are ye feeling? Better?” the girl said with a heavy Scottish accent, a huge smile plastered on her face.

    Is it Scottish? Or is it Irish? What the hell— they’re both very similar.

   Sophia tried to answer the girl, but her tongue appeared to be stuck in her mouth. Instead of words, croaking noises came out.  She offered a meager smile.

The girl walked over to the huge window and pulled the curtains back to either side. The sun had just begun to set. It seemed so much later to her, since the curtains had been closed and the room had been nearly dark, only lit by candlelight.

   She craned her neck to get a better look out of the window, then frowned when she realized she was going to have to get up. Throwing a leg over the edge of the bed, she began to rise but stopped just as she pulled the covers  aside, and noticed that she was completely nude. Sophia let out a little yelp before pulling the covers back up to her neck.

“I’m naked!” She turned to the girl, shock written all over her face. "Why am I naked?"

   The girl noticed her dilemma and walked over to the old-fashioned wardrobe in the far corner of the room and pulled out a pink nightie thing, an old-fashioned long white silk dress-like thing, and plain white woolen stockings, kind of like an ugly pair of thigh highs! She folded them over her arm and walked back towards Sophia.

   “My name is Meagan, miss,” the girl said with a short curtsy. “This belongs to the laird’s sister. I fear it will be a wee bit long for ye. Lady Ellie is almost as tall her brothers.”

  Laird? What the hell is a laird? She was trying to think back to when she was watching the Discovery Channel, as she often did on Tuesdays and Thursdays. They had a special about Scottish history. A Laird? “Come on, Sophia you know this,” she chided herself. Oh yeah, a Laird was a member of the gentry, but ranked below a baron or something like that, her mind mimicked the narrator of that certain episode.

   “’Tis better than nothing though, and ‘tis fine material, if ye be asking me—”

   “Meagan,” Sophia said, testing her voice to make sure she could indeed carry on a conversation. “Why am I naked?” Each word was pronounced slow for emphasis.

Meagan grinned. “Ye ken ye dinna know? Ye should ask yerself that. ‘Tis ye who came here with nary a stitch of clothing. Had our men gawking when the laird carried ye in, wearing naught but his blouse, ye pretty legs bare and all.”

“I am confused? Who? What?”

Meagan shook her head. “’Tis best I let her ladyship explain it to ye.” She tilted her head to the side. “What be yer name?”

Her ladyship? Laird? Whhattt?

“I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself earlier.  I’m Sophia Sinclair.” 

    “So ye be of the Sinclair clan then?”

    “Clan? Oh no. Just a Sinclair from Black Mountain, North Carolina.”

    “Never heard of the place; and beg yer pardon, miss, but ye speak strangely.”

   Sophia laughed. “So do you. My accent is American. What’s yours?”

   “Yer’re from America? Never heard of it! But that be why yer speech is peculiar.” Meagan drew a long breath. “My accent is Scottish. 'Tisn't strange for Scotland.”  The last was said with cheekiness.

     “I’m where?” Sophia nearly shouted as she grabbed the clothing the girl held in her hands.  “Do you mind turning around so I can dress, please?”

   Did that girl actually say Scotland? Her hearing had to be off! Scotland? She was just in North Carolina. If this was Scotland then what jet brought her here, and how, and most of all, why? How long had she been out for anyways? It would be a seven to nine hour flight. What the hell? She boarded no plane, or jet, or any other flying device. It was simply not possible. Maybe this was some kind of Scottish Village named Scotland? Helen, Georgia was practically German, and New York had China Town. Yes, that had to be it. She was still in America at some strange town named Scotland, somewhere in North Carolina. When she thought about it, it made perfect sense.

   “Do ye need any help, miss?” Meagan asked as she watched Sophia yank the dress over her head without letting go of the blanket. “Ye’ll never manage to dress yerself that way.”

    “No, I can dress myself, thank you—and for God’s sake, stop calling me miss. My name is Sophia.”  Her arm got stuck in the neck hole of the dress. It was difficult dressing herself half underneath the cover. “This would be easier if you would turn around, you know?”

    Sophia wasn’t about to parade around naked, even though Meagan probably had already seen her nude, along with a few other people, she wagered; and she was not too happy about that either. How embarrassing!

   “Aye, miss…I mean Sophia,” Meagan said with a shy smile.

    Okay, what’s this big frilly long white cotton slip-thing? And how do I get it over my head? 

    “Um, excuse me, miss, but ye have to put yer shift on first.” Meagan giggled, completely ignoring Sophia’s request for privacy. “And don’t forget about yer stockings.”

    “You want me to put a slip over a slip?” Sophia asked confused. “And where is the underwear?”  

    “Nay, miss. Beg yer pardon—I have to remember to call ye Sophia, since ye are so kind as to let me use yer given name.”  Meagan pulled the dress off Sophia and ignored her as she tried to yank the dress back. “Put the stockings on first, then the shift, then the petticoat. ’Tis the way ‘tis done.”

    Sophia’s hands came up to cover her chest. Dammit, but she was completely nude. Her hands did little for her modesty. She pulled the stockings out of Meagan’s hands and quickly slipped them on. “You’re shameless, you know?”  

Meagan grinned, rolling her eyes as she turned her head and held out the ‘shift’ to her.  

She took it and quickly pulled it over her head. She didn’t care how strange her borrowed clothes were, as long as she was wearing something.

Next, Meagan held out the silk dress. “I thought this was the dress.” Sophia pointed at the shift.

Meagan chuckled at her ignorance. “Nay, this be yer gown.” Meagan assisted her with the dress, laced Sophia up and fastened the buttons on the back.

Sophia felt stuffed in all those layers.

    She wondered about Meagan’s odd speech. Did all Scottish talk so medieval? Scottish? Damn, she almost forgot. Scotland. She’d like to take a better look at this town she never heard of.

   She practically bolted to the windows, nearly tripping on her long skirts, full of curiosity. Her mouth fell open as she gazed out the window. A large courtyard stretched out below her; and beyond it were dozens upon dozens of cottages, and that was just from her vantage point. She bet there were a lot more.  Large crop fields were scattered about further in the back, yet she  couldn’t make out what kind, since they were too far away. There also was a white church in the center of the village. In front of the church were lovely flowering bushes and trees. This was all so very adorable and very simple. No apartment buildings, malls, cars, or the normal rusticity she was used to.

   “Errr…Scotland as in the town, right?”

   “Town? Ye are in the Kincaid keep and that below is the Kincaid Village.”

   “So with Scotland you meant the country?” Please say no!

“Aye miss, we be in the Highlands. A true Scot doesn’t consider the lowlands part of Scotland. They be more English. Damn traitors that they are.”

    Before she could question the girl further, the bedroom door opened yet again. This time it was a very pretty older lady. Although older was a bit far stretched, she could be Sophia’s older sister.  The woman wore an indigo and white striped old-fashioned gown. Her raven hair flowed down her back in a thick braid, covered by a white headdress. She looked as regal as a queen, stunning. She gave a friendly smile to Sophia as her brilliant dark azure eyes sparkled.  There was something in them, telling Sophia that she knew something Sophia did not. Or perhaps it was her imagination that made her think so.

Sophia presented the lady with a polite smile.

    “Dearling, are you feeling better?”  The woman inquired with a delicate Scottish accent, unlike Meagan’s coarse one.  She took a place next to Sophia on the bed, hands folded in her lap.

    “Yes. Thank you for your concern and your hospitality, Ma’am,” Sophia said, not entirely sure of what else to say. A few things came to mind though. Where am I? How did I get here? And how many people saw me naked?

    “Nay, lass, we’re not very formal here. Please call me Isolode.”  She patted Sophia’s hand. “You have to be out of sorts. I promise love, everything shall be well.”

    Sophia had no idea exactly what her ‘all right’ meant. All right to Sophia meant being in her little apartment, tucked in her bed, watching Oprah, sipping on peppermint tea and yes, even having that blasted wolf howl in the middle of the night.

    “Meagan, lass, do go on and tell the others that we shall be down shortly for supper,” Isolode ordered in a soft tone as she motioned for Meagan to leave.

    Isolode waited until Meagan closed the door behind her before speaking.  “I am Isolode Kincaid,”  she said, reintroducing herself.

    “And I am Sophia Sinclair, and before you ask, no, not of the Sinclair clan.” Sophia gave a uncertain smile.

    “Nay lass, I would never have said the Sinclair clan. You don’t have the look of those Sinclairs. Your looks are too gentle. I love the lots of them, but they weren’t blessed with fairness.”

    “Thank you,” Sophia said. “…I think.”

Isolode smiled.

“I’m in Scotland? The country?” Maybe Meagan was just pulling her leg.

Isolode blinked. “Aye.”

Not a joke then. “Like the country next to England and Ireland?” It couldn't hurt to clearify the question.

“Aye.” She paused. “What happened, lass? How did you come to our village?”

    “Things aren’t very clear to me right now. I can’t remember much,” Sophia said as she stood up and began to pace back and forth. “I fell into a lake…. Well, I was thrown—”

    “Thrown? Who would have done such a vile thing? Was it a Montgomery?” Isolode asked, concerned, as she too, rose.

     “Montgomery? Oh no, it wasn’t like that!” Sophia reassured her. “It was an accident. My pet threw me in from the top of the waterfall--well, he kind of jumped in.” She paused and tapped her finger on her lower lip as she considering something. “Though he isn’t really my pet, nor do I believe anyone could own Shadow.”

    “Shadow?”

    “Yes, Shadow." She grinned and stopped pacing. “That’s what I named my wolf. I know I don’t really own him, although he does seem to belong to me somehow.”

    “I beg your pardon, but did you say wolf, lass?”

     “Yes. At first I was afraid of him because of his unusual size, but he was just so friendly. He really wouldn’t hurt anyone.” Sophia pondered on that a little. “At least I don’t believe he would.”

    “You were thrown into the lake by your pet wolf?”  Isolode asked doubtfully.

    “Yes…umm…that’s about it.”

    “Poor lass, I think you bumped your head a wee bit too hard.”  Isolode put an arm around Sophia’s shoulder and guided her out of the room. “You must be famished. Come, lass, let us go eat. We may discuss the matter later, on a full stomach.”

    Sophia knew her story sounded crazy. Thank God she didn’t get to the part about her emerging in Scotland after her fall in North Carolina. Isolode might have had her committed to a mental hospital if she did, under the circumstances Sophia could hardly blame her.

She sighed. How would she figure out how she had gotten here? And if she was here, did that mean Shadow was too? Would he have left her? No, she didn’t believe he would have. So where was he? And exactly how long had she been asleep?

    They left the bedroom and entered a long hallway full with old portraits. They passed several rooms before they reached a spiral staircase that was made completely out of stone. The stairs were covered with burgundy carpet with gold trimmings. Along the walls were iron wall torches, lit with candles. Everything was so exquisite, from the gorgeous custom painted artwork to the marvelous antique furnishings. The staircase in particular was immaculate. It felt practically medieval, as if she was in a museum. 

    At the bottom of the stairs was the foyer, in front of her stood two huge wooden doors which led out to the courtyard, or so she guessed. She heard chatter and laughter coming through the other wooden doors to her left. Unsure, she looked over at Isolode.

   “There is nothing to fear, lass. ’Tis only my sons, my father, my aunt and some friends, and some of our chieftains. They won’t bite. There is no need to fret, my dear.” Isolode pushed open the doors.

   The main hall was a formal dining room with a huge rectangular table which could seat….well a lot of people. Eighty? Ninety? Well, a lot! Along the wall was a variety of artwork and a couple of serving tables. Servants? Wow, they have to be very wealthy. The house alone should have told her that much. House? It’s more like a small castle.

    Sophia followed Isolode to the far end of the table, and stopped abruptly, grabbing onto the closest thing to her, a sturdy wooden chair. “You!” she shrieked.

 Impossible! He can’t be the man from her dream!  He sat back in his chair, analyzed her with his liquid eyes, lingered a bit longer when he reached her lips, and smiled appreciatively at her, then as if displeased with his own thought, his expression changed into one of disdain.  

“Who are you?” she asked.

He arched an arrogant brow. “”Tis I who should ask that question, lass, not you.”

What? Why that rude impertinent man! She folded her arms across her chest, stuck her chin out stubbornly. “Well since you’re lacking in manners, I will introduce myself first. Sophia Sinclair.” She copied his brow lift, then bobbed her head, indicating that he should go next.

His feature instantly darkened, eyes turning into ice. “Liar.” Never before had one word sounded so dangerous.

“What,” she sputtered.

“I know the Sinclairs and you’re not one of them. Who are you? A spy? A Montgomery?”

“A spy? Me? Are you crazy!”

He pushed his chair back, stood, and strode towards her.  His body language spoke of a man who was sure of himself, one that expected obedience and did not welcome defiance. “Who are you? I will not ask you again, woman! Speak!”

“How dare you talk to me like that!” Her face turned red with anger. “Just because you’re bigger and stronger than me, doesn’t mean that you can boss me around. My name is Sophia Sinclair. Did you hear me, you arrogant—”

He grabbed her and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

“Cameron, put her down!” Isolode demanded.

“Put me down!” Sophia said at the same time, wiggling in his grasp, pounding her fists on his back, meeting a wall of hard muscles.

“I am laird here, and I say the wench lies! I will not have a spy amongst my clansmen. Too many have fallen at the hands of an enemy. Now one comes to us in the guise of an angel. It will take more than a tempting lass to bring me to my knees.”

She stopped kicking for a moment. He thinks I’m tempting? That I look like an angel? Maybe he was no quite so bad.

"Don't coddle her, Mathair. She is to be our prisoner," he continued.

Never mind, he was worse than she originally thought.

“Cameron, be reasonable—”  Isolode started.

“Mathair, you do me no honor with your disrespect. You may be the lady of this keep, but you are still just a woman. I am laird, master of this castle, leader of our people.” he said as he spun around and marched out of the great hall. “I shall find out one way or another if she is a Montgomery.”

Did mathair mean mother? Sophia wondered, thinking Isolode looked too young to be Cameron's mother.

“I’m not a Montgomery! I am Sophia—”

“Spare me your filthy lies,” he snarled.

"I never lie!"

"Ha, 'tis a lie if I ever heard one!"

He carried her as if she weighed no more than feathers up three flights of stairs, and then up a small spiral staircase.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To the tower, where you can rot until you decide to tell the truth.”

"You can't do that! It's illegal!"

"I decide what's legal on my land. I am the laird."

"I don't care if your king. You can't kidnap me and lock me away in some tower!" She grunted, frustrated. "I want my phone call!"

"Your phone call?"

"Yes, if I am going to be locked away like some prisoner, then I want my call."

"Don't try to fool me with your foreign tongue, wench. You get nothing until I get what I seek."

"What the hell do you want?"

"The truth."

“Why don't you believe me?” She pounded at his back some more and kicked her legs, aiming unsuccessfully for his face. He clamped a firm hand over them, stilling them. “Damn, you’re strong,” she muttered.

“Aye, unlike those cowardly Montgomerys.” He directed the insult at her as if she cared if he considered the Montgomerys cowards.

He kicked a door open, and rudely dumped her on the cold, hard, stone floor. "When your stomach churns with hunger, me thinks your tongue will loosen."

He slammed the door shut. It rattled from sheer force, as the sound of a key turning and locking echoed in the circular room.

His face appeared through the meager bars on the front of the door. "Sleep well, Sophia."  His white teeth flashed as he smiled, wickedly. "It get's cold at night, but you have rats to keep you warm."

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