With: Angela Quarles

Here’s an excerpt from
just after he magics her to his time
period:
“Head out? Where are we?” That
trickle of unease bloomed in her heart, her breath catching. Because his words
were different. Somehow, he was speaking in a lilting but foreign language, and
she’d not only understood every single word, but had answered in the same
language.
To distract herself and, well,
because her stomach chose that moment to growl, as if it knew she’d just been
handed food and was all, Gimme, woman,
she took a bite of bread.
The yeasty flavor burst on her
tongue, along with the taste and crunch of oodles of grains. No dream she’d
ever had was this vivid. The details were sharp, down to her being cold. And to
the odd taste and texture of the bread. And her hunger.
The taste, though—a fuzzy memory
poked. She took another bite, trying to chase it. Whatever it was, it had been
buried so far in her past she couldn’t form it. Except for a fleeting,
wonderful feeling of being cherished.
“Aye, we need to break camp and
head to my tribe’s stronghold. And we’re in a land called Scotland.”
That last word was not in the same language—instead it was
in her own—and he said it as if it were a strange word to him.
“What happened? How did we get
here?” She’d asked this last night, but maybe he’d change his answer.
He strode toward her and knelt.
She appreciated he would no doubt repeat himself but took the time to listen to
her and patiently explain. “Mungan, our spellcaster, weaved strong magic.
Brought me to your land, and then brought us both back here.” He held up a
round stone incised with two parallel deep grooves around its center. As if
that explained everything.
The hell it does. Some dude, even in a dream, was just whisking her
about?
He waved to the two horses. “They
left us mounts to ease our journey.”
She swallowed, trying to work
moisture into her parched throat. “How long will it take to get to
your…stronghold?”
“Only part of the morning.”
“How many hours?”
“Hours?”
“Yeah, how long? How many hours?”
Was her Star Trek Universal
Translator on the fritz already? The word “hours” had come out in English.
He shook his head and frowned.
Then he pointed to the sun just barely visible as a pale glow behind morning
clouds. “As long as it takes the sun to travel from there”—he slid his finger
just a few inches away—“to there.”
She pulled in a deep breath.
Oookay.
He marched over to a shaggy brown
horse, grabbed the saddle, and swung himself up into it with one swift motion,
like she’d seen in old cowboy movies.
Wow, that was hot.
She’d ridden her share of horses
growing up in Nebraska but had never perfected that technique. She stepped up
to her horse and stroked its mane, pulling in the musky scent of the beast,
letting him smell her, adjust to her. The animal’s fur was thick and curly, its
coarse hairs springing through her stroking fingers.
Is this real?
She stared at the imposing but
gentle Highlander, and then at the horse she was supposed to ride. If she did
as he asked, she’d no longer be “playing along” with her dream. She’d have to
face what she hadn’t wanted to admit yet— hopping onto this horse would be
accepting this wasn’t a dream. This step, this moment, felt real. Tangible.
An avid reader herself,
Angela Quarles writes books she'd like to read--laugh-out-loud, smart romances
that suck you into her worlds and won't let you go until you reach The End. She
is a RWA RITA® award-winning and USA
Today bestselling author of contemporary, time travel, and steampunk
romance. Library Journal named her
steampunk, Steam Me Up, Rawley, Best
Self-Published Romance of 2015 and Must
Love Chainmail won the 2016 RITA® Award in the paranormal category, the
first indie to win in that category. Angela loves history, folklore, and family
history and combined it with her active imagination to write stories of romance
and adventure. She also owns and operates her own independent new & used
bookstore, connecting readers to books every day!
Website: http://bit.ly/VMFK00
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