A large tent sat in the middle of a small clearing. Several fire pits littered the ground. Well-armed men held massive swords and crouched low as if ready to fight. Philip wouldn’t stand a chance, tied as he was. Even loose, he wouldn’t live long if these men decided he wasn’t useful.

“I’ve grown used to bloodshed.” A voice rose from inside tent. The men surrounding it stood ready for a fight.

“What is it you fight for? Land, gold…or are you a mercenary?”

The faceless man laughed, his voice gruff with age. “Hardly that anymore.”

“Then what?” Ian kept asking questions.

Philip watched.

Simon urged him forward but kept Helen slightly sheltered by his body. The mist started to turn into droplets of rain, adding to the misery.

“I want what your women can provide.”

Fin laughed, but Philip noticed Fin’s hand tighten on his sword.

Helen tucked behind Simon. Dressed as she was the men in the camp wouldn’t mistake her for a woman. At least not from a distance.

“Our women? There are plenty more littering the Highlands.”

“Not the kind of women you have. We both know what I speak of.”

Philip’s mind scrambled. Something about the voice sounded familiar. Maybe it was the fact that it wasn’t laced with a Scottish accent, or maybe it was the verbiage used.

“Our women are of no use to you.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Still, they will not be a part of our negotiations.” Ian glanced over to Simon who gripped Philip by the arm and took two steps forward. “The bloodshed ends today, Malcolm. They do call you Malcolm?”

Philip lost his footing. Simon righted him and kept him moving.

“How do you know my name?”

“Not all of your men died quickly,” Ian explained.

“The bloodshed ends when I get what I want. You’re outnumbered here. I’ll be a good sport however and give you a few minutes head start.”

Ian laughed and the sky rumbled. “’Tis you who will need more men.”

The voice inside the tent laughed as well and then the man behind the voice stepped into view. He held a crossbow that was pointed at the ground. Long grey hair touched his shoulders. Weathered skin ran over taut muscles on his forearms and chest. Philip’s skin crawled and his heart sped up. It can’t be.

“My bow will remove you first.”

A loud click broke the silence. All eyes turned to Todd.

In his hand was a twenty-first century gun.

Malcolm went deathly still.

“You recognize the threat, don’t you?”

Malcolm nodded, his face turned in Philip’s direction.

“Set the bow down,” Todd instructed. “My bullet will hit you faster than any bow can travel.”

“Son of a bitch,” Philip murmured.

“We have someone who might convince you to find a new sport.” Ian nodded once and Simon shoved Philip down the short embankment.

Philip tripped and tumbled several feet before managing to stand again. When he did, he was a few yards from the tent. A few yards from his brother. “Mal?”

Malcolm’s face twisted into a look of horror. Recognition flooded his features and his anger rose to the boiling point. “How the f**k?”

Philip could say the same. Malcolm looked sixty years old. Yet when Philip had seen him only a couple of days before he was a thirty-year-old man in his prime.

“Jesus, you’re old,” Philip said, not filtering his words.

Mal stormed forward and grabbed Philip by his shirt. He moved him left, then right. Philip couldn’t steady himself with his hands tied behind his back. “And you’re not.”

“How?”

“Damn rock sucked me from prison and into this hellhole. Thirty three years in this God forsaken land.”

“Why not just go back?”

“Don’t you think I thought of that, dumb-fuck? The stone disappeared. We need one of their women to take us back.”

Philip swallowed and glanced behind him at Simon. “They have one with them now.”

For the first time in years, Philip opened his mind to his brother and allowed the other man’s thoughts to enter into his mind willingly.

Malcolm’s gaze lifted and followed Philip’s to Helen.

* * * *

Helen’s blood grew cold in her veins. All eyes were on her even as Simon shoved her behind him.

Fin moved in tighter, Duncan did the same.

“I don’t want to harm her. Just use her to go home. Once I’m gone, the bloodshed will end.”

“If you mean no harm, instruct your men to stand down,” Ian said.

Malcolm lifted a hand, the men at his side eased their stance, but they didn’t put down their arms.

Ian shifted on top of his horse, restless. “Not good enough.”

“This is my camp. My rules.”

“Has living on our soil taught you nothing? You are on my land, have murdered my men. You will do as I say.” Ian’s tone straightened Helen’s spine.

Malcolm’s gaze shifted to Todd briefly before he placed Philip between the gun and himself. Philip attempted to move out of the deadly path, but Malcolm gripped his arm and held him in place. Philip’s face took on a grey tone.

A small lift of Malcolm’s lip expressed his disgust. He closed his eyes.

Noise from behind her had Helen spinning on her heel. A dozen men sat at her back and from nowhere many more emerged from the shadows of the trees, some on horseback, others on foot.

Duncan and Ian twisted their mounts so their backs were to each other. Fin and Todd did the same.

Ambushed.

Simon took Helen’s hand and pulled her tight to his frame.

By the time she glanced back to Philip and his brother, one of Malcolm’s men tore at Philip’s bindings.

“My camp. My rules. Give me the woman and the rest of you can go.”

Helen’s hand grasped onto her necklace. She might be able to escape, but the others would be lost.

There had to be another way.

“Helen?” Philip called her.

“You cannot have her.”

“We’re outnumbered,” Helen whispered to Simon. “Even if we did manage to kill them, we could be hurt or worse.”

Simon’s grip grew fierce. “Nay.”

There had to be a way out, a way to escape using the rules placed by her enemy. In her head, she thought of Lizzy and of the conversations they’d had about shifting time. The nerves on Helen’s hand started to jump. “Never attempt to return to a time where you’ve already been. Elise, the Ancient who appeared to us warned us against it.”