The Highlander's Time

sound of Lila snoring and Charlzie mumbling only intensified the uselessness she felt.
    Turning over again, she watched the door for a long time. In her mind's eye, she tried to picture any of the classic movies. She couldn't firmly catch any of the multitudes of snapshots from the hundreds she'd watched.
    Promising herself for the fiftieth time she was going to try the door again, she heaved a sigh. What good is that when it’s locked from the outside?
    No good .
    She rose on her elbow, ready to abandon the uncomfortable, thin mattress. Heartsick and feeling ill, she hung her head in defeat before lying down once more. The tears she'd denied all day fell. Crumpling beneath the truth she was in the past, in a land she didn't think she'd ever understand, she lost her battle to be tough. She sobbed for her mother and her father and all the dreams she'd put on the back burner.
    The sound of the door opening didn't deter her from venting. She knew what she needed—to purge her system.
    “Jenny?”
    Insulted Iaen would interrupt her funk she couldn't even smile over his mangling of her name. Hiding her face in her pillow, she clenched the grass-stuffed rectangle to her face. “Just leave me alone, milord.” She was beyond caring who saw her or heard her break down. “I just need some...time.” What don't you understand? I want to be left alone with my pain.
    “Come along, lass.” He pulled the covers back and lifted her in his arms.
    He said something else to her in Gaelic. The thick brogue, which she'd considered sexy whenever she watched Braveheart or a Sean Connery movie, slapped her low self-esteem into the dust. “I haven't learned enough yet.” She sobbed all the harder because she couldn't understand him, but she wanted to.
    Wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders, she let loose on all the emotional pain building within her in body. It poured from her in shivering, heartbreaking sobs. “I'm so sorry.” Absently, her fingers tangled in his long, dark hair. “I don't know how to fix this.”
    It was her problem in a nutshell. She'd fixed every small or major problem since she'd joined Lila's staff. The go-to girl who could calm any reporter, discourage any member of the paparazzi and cut off enemies at the pass.
    But before becoming a part of Lila's hard nosed, yet diplomatic, well-versed kiss-ass staff, it was a matter of whenever she'd stepped in with good intentions, her life fell to pieces. An internal war took control of her body. There wasn't any way out, nor was there an easy way to go forward. “I can't do this.”
    It was a revelation ripped from her soul. She felt broken down to tiny pieces. Part of her, a big part of her, wanted to run away from her problems. The man holding her gently, reverently, anchored her in a truth that terrified her.
    She was trapped in the past without a way home. In the midst of reality was also the fact that Charlzie, and—eventually—Lila, would look to her for guidance. They'd need her to be strong for them. “I don't know how to do this.”
    Her fingers curled in the soft wool of his plaid. “Help me.”
    “Easy, Jenny,” Iaen said in his thickly accented French. “All will work out.”
    She peeked up as he pushed the door to his room open. A cold breeze brushed across her when it swept shut. “Iaen...I mean...milord.” For Pete's sake, she didn't know what she meant or what to call him.
    “In this chamber, call me Iaen.”
    A foreign emotion kicked hard in her chest. If she had to put a name on the emotions tugging at her heart, she'd call them lust and indebtedness. “Iaen?”
    “Aye, lass.” His voice was a balm to her flagging spirits and a reminder she wasn't alone in this new, scary world. “Do you really think everything will work out?”
    The confused expression shadowing his face rejuvenated the aches tying her muscles in knots. “It's okay if you don't understand me. Damn, half the time, I don't understand me.” She ended with a shaky giggle.
    He settled her in the middle of his bed. Her gaze trailed after him when he went to the hearth and stirred the fire to life. Iaen was the epitome of strength and carried an indelible aura of personal fortitude. She wished she could be so self-assured.
    He rose to his impressive height. Haloed by the blaze burning on the iron grate, she sensed the raw power flowing off his shoulders. Audibly gulping against the lump of emotions growing in her throat, Jenny traced her fingers over the quilting