by Annis Reid
As she stood, she heard movement nearby.
An instant later, “Hello, there.”
She felt the blade against her throat before she even heard the man’s voice or registered what was happening.
His breath was hot in her ear, his arm snaking diagonally from her hip to her shoulder. She would’ve screamed if she could inhale, but it seemed her lungs had stopped working. All she could do was freeze in shock.
“What have we here?” the man rasped, pressing the blade to her skin tight enough to hurt.
11
Leith shook his head in disgust with himself. He should not have been short with the lass.
“What was I to do?” he asked Eoghan, who of course had nothing to say. The horse was busy enjoying tall grass and drinking cool water. He knew nothing of delicate matters such as how to speak to a woman who understood him to a startling degree.
Truly, what was it about her that unsettled him so? The way she seemed to see through him, to anticipate how he felt about certain matters. The hand on his thigh back at the inn. The tightening of her grip around his waist at particular moments, such as when he’d spoken of his mother’s death.
She felt things deeply, wholly, with great compassion. To know someone such as herself was a humbling experience. She left him stirred beyond reason. Questioning himself and why the lass was so comforting.
He picked up a stone as large as the palm of his hand and threw it into the stream with a splash. Then, another. Waiting for her. Asking himself what he would say when she returned.
This was not something he had ever discussed with his father, or any other man. How to speak to a woman after the wrong words had been chosen. How to express regret at misspeaking without making oneself out to be an even greater fool. Truly, Leith could not imagine feeling worse, but he was wise enough to know there was always room for things to worsen.
It was not until the fourth or perhaps fifth stone that he realized he’d not heard from the lass in too long. He looked over his shoulder, eyes darting back and forth. How far had she wandered?
Instinct warned him against calling out her name. Instead, he hobbled Eoghan while withdrawing his blade with the other hand.
Damn it all, they were close to the road. Someone might have seen her in passing and taken it into their head to approach. Or worse. Why had he let her out of his sight? Who did he think he was, believing he could keep her from harm?
And what would become of her when her captor discovered how different she was? If they took the time to find out, which he doubted.
His footfalls were silent as he crept into the trees, listening hard for any sound of a struggle.
When he heard it—a muffled grunt, the whisper of a garment’s movement over skin—he crashed through the brush and came upon a sight which struck him to the core with dismay, disgust.
Rage.
A filthy cutthroat wearing rags, one hand clamped over Melissa’s mouth as he pressed her against the tree. With his free hand, he roamed about her dress, more than likely searching for something to steal. There was a wicked dagger in that hand as well, which she might easily plunge into the lass’s tender flesh when he came up with nothing to show for his efforts.
As if he would have the chance.
Melissa’s wide, terror-filled eyes met Leith’s in the split second before he took the cutthroat by the neck and pulled him from her, throwing him to the ground without much ceremony or effort.
The man leapt to his feet, cursing and snarling, and lunged forward with his dagger at the ready. What he thought he might accomplish, Leith could not say, but that was one of his concern. It was a simple matter, kicking the dagger from the man’s hand before driving his own deep into the cutthroat’s belly.
Melissa let out a squeal that sounded a great deal like dismay while the man on the end of the dagger twitched and groaned and clutched at a belly now covered in blood, his filthy face slack in shock.
“Ye ought to have stayed away,” Leith spat, relishing the fear and agony now written plainly on the man who had only just moments before been terrorizing an innocent lass. “Ye ought to have remained on the road. Ye might now be alive and well instead of dying.”
Truly, it was wrong. Leith knew it, even as he bared his teeth in a triumphant smile while the man before him whimpered softly, his blood spattering on the ground between their feet. It was wrong for Leith to take satisfaction in the death of another, no matter how miserable a wretch and no matter the wrong the wretch had done.
But he’d done it to her—or had at least attempted to. He had attempted to harm Melissa. This was unforgivable. No amount of pain was too much for one who would so terrorize the innocent.
Leith shoved him away while keeping hold of the hilt of his dirk, now dripping with thick blood nearly black in the thin light which made it through the trees. The wretch fell back, gurgling on blood which now dripped from the corners of his mouth, before landing on his back.
He twitched, then went perfectly still as a final gurgling sigh escaped his lips.
Taking a life had never been one of Leith’s preferred methods of passing the time. Even while at war, he had never taken pleasure in ending the life of another—even the English. For even an Englishman had family, ones who loved him and perhaps depended upon him for sustenance.
It was never an opinion he’d shared with another, one of many thoughts he chose to keep to himself. He might be branded a sympathizer, or worse. He’d done his duty and had been glad in the doing of it just the same.
But this? This was pure justice, and for once he felt he’d been fully in the right to put an end to a miserable, worthless life.
He turned to Melissa and found her still leaning against the tree, her skin a sickly shade of green. He went to her, taking her by the arms and shaking gently when she did react to his nearness.
“Did he harm ye?” he demanded, looking her over. She appeared to be in one piece.
Yet she would not pry her eyes from the sight of the dead man. “You killed him,” she moaned, lips pulling back from her teeth in a grimace of horror. “You killed that man.”
“Would ye rather I have let him kill ye, instead?” Leith gathered her in his arms before she could say another word and forcibly pulled her from the spot. He told himself that were he in her place, he would be eager to get away. She seemed to feel just the opposite, her feet firmly rooted to the spot.
Shock, most likely. She had never seen anything like this. Perhaps she had never been attacked that way, either. Even if she had, he would not expect her to handle it well. It could not be easy, hardly the sort of thing a person grew accustomed to.
“I can’t believe it,” she whispered, her body shaking hard enough to make her teeth chatter. He led her to the stream, helping her to her knees.
“Splash your face with the water,” he ordered, leading the way by cupping some of it in his own hand and pressing it to her flushed, overheated cheek.
The coolness startled her, but it also shook her from the worst of her shock. She was able to act on her own after that, rinsing her face again and again before rubbing her hands raw beneath the surface of the water.
“Enough,” he finally had no choice but to admonish, holding her hands still before she broke the skin. “Tis over now. Ye need not fear. ‘Tis over, lass. Ye are safe.”
Her head swung from side to side, eyes still wide and unblinking. “No, no, no. I’m not safe. Nobody’s safe. Nobody’s safe in this world. I don’t belong here!”
Before he knew it, she was in his arms and he was pressing her head to his chest and stroking her hair, a thick braid hanging halfway down her back. She still shook so, the feeling traveling through his body like tremors in the ground when a pack of colts was on the run. Her heart beat wildly, like that of a frightened rabbit.
“I have no place here. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be home. I should’ve stayed home! What was I thinking? Why did I ever come?”
“Shh,”
he whispered in an attempt to comfort her. “Ye could not have known, lass. Ye knew not what would come of it. Tis no one’s fault.”
“I should’ve stayed in Chicago. I was so stupid, thinking I could start a new life. Like one stupid vacation would be enough to change anything. Stupid girl.”
“I canna have ye speaking so of yourself,” he admonished, rocking her. “Tis not your fault. I canna say what brought ye here. I am not a learned man, nor do I put faith in acts of magic. Tis true, ye dinna belong in this time any more than I would belong in yours.”
He held her tightly, wishing there were more he could do. “But ye are here, and I will always come for ye when ye need me. I made a vow, did I not?”
“I was so scared. He was going to—”
“I know. Ye need not say it.” In truth, the mere thought of what the now-dead man had in mind turned his stomach and turned his blood to ice. He knew all too well. “He believed ye alone. I will not make the mistake of leaving ye on your own again.”
She was little more than a child in many ways. He saw that now. While in her own time she might have been capable of caring for herself, here she was a bairn. Unaware of the dangers, unable to protect herself or even behave in a manner which befitted a lass of his time and place.
As if she heard his thoughts, she choked out, “And I thought a history major meant I would know how to act and what to expect. Could I be more pathetic?”
He knew not what that meant, not precisely, but had a fair enough idea. “Dinna be so hard on yourself. Ye had a fright, ‘tis true, but t’was no fault of your own. Indeed, I ought not to have allowed ye to walk away. A leader does not allow those he leads to leave him, even if…”
He did not have the words to finish what was in his heart. It was all too much. Too many conflicting emotions, too many questions. Too many objections.
It ought not to feel so fine, holding her in his arms. She was wrong in every possible way; it did not take a scholar to know it. Yet he could not release her, telling himself she deserved comfort but knowing all the while there was more to it than that. Much more. A pull he could not resist, something he knew in his heart she had no control over and indeed was unaware of.
Just the same, she tugged at him, making it impossible to let her go.
Even when the welcome weight of her head left his chest and she looked up at him in something like wonder. Even when her lips parted and a soft sigh escaped, her breath sweet and warm and welcoming.
Drawing him in again, further this time, leading him to salvation.
“Leith,” she breathed.
That was his undoing. He could not hope to resist when his name sounded so inviting on her tongue. He caught her lips in the briefest of kisses, little more than a tantalizing brush of flesh on flesh, yet more than enough to send a wave of heat racing through his core.
She leaned in, giving herself over to him, and this time he hooked a finger beneath her chin to hold her still while he kissed her properly. Slowly, taking in the taste of her skin and its softness, the plumpness of her lips. Committing to memory every moment, every thrilling touch of his mouth on hers.
Only when Eoghan snorted from his place upstream did Leith return to the reality of his situation. While thrilling and enticing and dangerous, it was also the height of foolishness to take this woman in his arms and kiss her this way. What was he thinking?
He was not thinking. That was the entire problem.
Her eyes were half-closed, her mouth partly open. She still leaned against him, all but throwing herself into his embrace again. He would be no better than a beast if he were to take advantage of her now, with the state she was in and the man who’d nearly had his way with her lying dead among the trees.
She did not want Leith. She wanted comfort. She wanted to grasp something real, strong, something she felt she could lean upon and depend upon. He happened to be that person at that time. Nothing more.
He would do well to remember it.
“Come,” he grunted, standing before hauling her to her feet. “We ought to be on our way. My uncle might come looking for us with his men and trust me when I tell ye t’would not be a pleasant sight.”
She nodded, silent, staring. He could only imagine what went through her mind and cursed himself if he had just given her the wrong notions. It would be nothing less than the height of unfairness if he had.
Yet she remained quiet, splashing her face again before drinking of the stream. He watched from the corner of his eye while he cleaned his dirk of the blood which had begun to dry. Melissa seemed keen to watch him place the blade in its sheath.
“He is not the first man I ever killed,” he informed her in case she wondered. “And I highly doubt he will be the last.”
Though truth be told, the cutthroat was his most satisfying kill by far.
12
Now what was she supposed to do?
They rode in silence, and Melissa had no idea whether the silence was comfortable or not.
She sure didn’t feel comfortable.
She felt hot, sweaty, and anxious. Unsure of herself and the rollercoaster in her head and her stomach.
Wanting to hold on tighter and wanting to let go and never put her arms around him again.
It didn’t make sense. None of it did. Now that she’d kissed him—or been kissed by him—she wanted nothing more. She held onto him with deeper awareness, a sense of intimacy that hadn’t been there before. Her skin flushed at the memory of his touch, his lips, the way his breathing changed when she was in his arms.
He’d killed for her.
She closed her eyes, touching her forehead to his back for just a second.
“Are ye unwell?” he asked, and she straightened up instantly.
“I’m fine,” she snapped, then wished she hadn’t snapped. She didn’t know how to act now. Like she had never been kissed before. Like this wasn’t something she’d been through a dozen times.
Only she had never been through this. Not this exact situation. Nobody had. And she had nobody to ask advice from, either. It was all up to her.
And her judgment had been stellar so far, hadn’t it? Case in point, her unfaithful ex-fiancé. No, she hadn’t exactly been the smartest.
Why not throw a little time travel in to really spice things up? Not to mention a rotten girl she hadn’t heard a single nice thing about, who would probably want to kill her the second she learned who Melissa was?
She snickered, and naturally Leith heard it.
“What strikes ye as amusing?” There was nothing about his tone of voice to give her a clue as to how he felt about the kiss or about her or about anything.
As great as it was—and it had been, probably the best kiss she’d ever had—she wished he hadn’t done it. As if she didn’t have enough going on.
“Take your pick,” she snickered. “I wasn’t laughing out of amusement or happiness. Laughing at myself is more like it. I have a talent for getting myself into tough spots, even when I don’t mean to. Like sliding a few hundred years back in time. No big deal.”
His shoulders shook when he chuckled, and the impulse to grab those shoulders blindsided her. They were so big and thick, and her fingers practically itched to sink into all that muscle just to see if it was as firm in reality as it was in her mind.
Great. Now she was fantasizing about his muscles. This was getting worse by the second.
“Ye have a fine sense of humor,” he observed. “It will serve ye well when we meet the Frasers and MacNeills. For they will not make it easy for us—rather, for myself. I would keep ye from all of it if I could.”
“That’s a nice thing to say, but I don’t see how you can keep me from anything. Unless you plan to shackle us together.” Great. Now she was thinking about being shackled to him and having nothing better to do than…
Reality slapped her upside the head. “I don’t sound anything like you. Or like anybody else around here. How am I supposed to fool anybody?”
“Och
, I had not considered.” Big surprise. He hadn’t considered much of anything about this scheme. Everything was done on the fly.
“I guess I could try,” she shrugged, then cleared her throat. “Um. Let’s see. Och, laddie.”
He burst out laughing, throwing his head back. “Nay, lass.”
“What?”
“Ye sounded as though ye were coughing something up from your chest.” He laughed again, even going so far as to lift a hand to his face like he was knuckling away tears.
“I didn’t think it was all that bad,” she grumbled. “I canna ken why ye laugh so.”
He snorted. “Och, ye are trying. I will give ye that much.”
She groaned. “It’s hopeless.”
“Nay, ‘tis not hopeless. Ye are from elsewhere. Not England,” he was quick to add.
“Yeah, no kidding. I know that much.”
“So long as ye dinna speak of your cars and driver’s license and such, ye ought to do well.” He looked over his shoulder, his eyebrow cocked. “Perhaps hold your tongue whenever possible.”
“I’ll be too afraid to say anything,” she admitted, “but I have to answer questions when they’re asked.”
“Many of the questions will be for me to answer,” he assured her. “And we will not linger long. I suspect they will want little to do with me once they learn the truth.”
“But it isn’t the truth.”
“Ye ken well what I mean,” he sighed. “The truth being that I will not wed Flora MacNeill.”
“Can I ask you something?” she whispered, her stomach knotting. He wouldn’t want to hear it and she felt bad for asking before it was even out of her mouth, but it wouldn’t be fair if she didn’t ask.
He’d saved her life. He’d killed for her. She owed him something, and if that something was nothing more than making sure he was thinking things through before making a decision, so be it.
“What is it?” he prompted.
“What’s your father going to say about this? You’re making a big decision without running it past him first. He made this deal a long time ago, and now you’re breaking that deal. How does this make him look?”