by Mariah Stone
“I want to.”
“But—”
“I dinna ken if ye understand what yer clan did to me.”
She bit her lower lip. “Tell me then,” she said softly, so softly it could have been a spell.
Craig lay back, his head filling with memories of blood, burning wood, and screams of pain.
“I suppose I didna quite believe the betrayal was true till I saw her. Marjorie.”
He swallowed in an attempt to loosen his tight throat, letting the tension in his stomach, the burning anger, in. Not chasing them away like he always did.
“I sneaked into the castle, made my way upstairs, and there she was, in that room with yer brother. Her face pale, cut and beaten, scratches and bruises on her bare legs. I couldna think. I had to kill him, even though it wouldna undo his terrible deed.”
His throat convulsed with the sadness and guilt that rose up from deep within in a heavy, dark wave. His eyes burned from the tears.
“I kent the betrayal, but seeing what he did to her… It broke something in me, too. She’s my only sister, the only one from our common mother. Owen and Dumhnall are my half brothers, and Lena is my half sister. I love them, but Marjorie is special. ’Tis like she’s a part of me. Do ye ken?”
Amy exhaled softly. “More than you know.”
Craig nodded. “All I could think of was, how did I not ken? How did I miss the signs that these people were untrustworthy like that?” He exhaled sharply. “We Cambels were their vassals. Under their protection. We swore loyalty to them. Alasdair had been a friend. I played with him at gatherings as a child. We trained with swords together. I liked him. How could I have befriended a monster like him? And how could I have let my sister wander out like that, unprotected? It was when I carried her out of that castle and saw my grandfather’s body, still warm but lifeless, that I decided I wilna trust another soul ever again, unless I ken them well. Like my clan. And even then…”
Amy’s eyes were full of sorrow.
“And even then, I dinna say everything to them.”
He had not told anyone of the secret tunnel here in the castle. He hadn’t said anything to Owen about the note he’d intercepted. And he was right. Owen had betrayed him today, bringing the villagers in.
“But you want to trust someone, don’t you?” she whispered.
“More than I want to take my next breath. I want to trust ye.”
She closed her eyes then, as though something invisible had hit her.
“I…I need to tell you something, Craig—”
It was as though she’d stabbed him in the abdomen. He’d been right. She was hiding something—
Approaching steps pounded outside. Then someone opened the door and entered the stables. Craig and Amy sat upright.
One of the guards strode forward.
“Lord, thank God ye’re here.”
“What is it?”
“Come quick. ’Tis Lachlan. He’s been murdered in yer bed.”
Chapter 25
Craig followed Lachlan’s sheet-covered body with his eyes as two men carried it out of the room. The air in the bedchamber was thick with the copper scent of blood. Amy laid her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it, and he briefly closed his eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Craig,” she said.
“Ye shouldna have seen him like that,” he said. “’Tis nae for a woman to see a man slaughtered like that.”
“I’ve seen dead people before. Not everyone I tried to find made it.”
“Aye, I suppose. Ye’re a different kind of woman than I’m used to.”
Craig walked towards the bed. The sheets and blankets were dark with blood, already starting to cake. Who had done this? One of the people from the village? The woman Lachlan had been with? Or the spy looking for the secret entrance?
It couldn’t have been Amy. She’d been with him, sharing the best night of his life.
Talking.
He glanced at her, standing a few feet away, watching him with concern.
As though she cared.
What they had shared with each other—things she’d told him, things he’d told her… Those were secret things. Sacred things. Their deepest, darkest thoughts. Things eating away at both of their souls.
Could she still betray him, even after that?
Could she have been pretending?
He shook his head a little. He should stop this bad habit of questioning everything and everyone. Had he not resolved to trust her?
At least to try.
She had been about to tell him something—he would ask her about that later.
“What can I do to help?” Amy said.
“Nothing.”
Craig took the torch from the wall and looked around the bed for clues. Lachlan’s throat had been slit, likely from behind. And based on his complete nakedness, he had been busy with what Craig and Amy had interrupted earlier in the stables. So the red-haired woman had likely been underneath Lachlan. Therefore, if she were the murderer, she’d likely have stabbed him in the heart rather than slit his throat.
Aye. There was her long, wavy red hair on the pillow. He picked up three strands. Two of them were half caked in blood.
Craig shook his head. “I hope Owen is full of regret for this. This wouldna have happened had he not invited the villagers.”
“Talk to him before judging him,” Amy said. “He may be able to help.”
“Aye. What I’d like to ken is where is the red-haired woman Lachlan was with.”
Craig walked towards Amy.
“I hope she isn’t dead somewhere in a ditch,” she said.
Craig stopped before her. He put his fingers under her chin and lifted it. He locked his eyes with hers, trying to see what was behind them—her thoughts, her feelings. Trying to read if she was telling the truth. “Answer me this. To honor our night together and what we’ve shared, I will only ask ye once and whatever yer answer is, I will believe ye.”
Her eyes widened a bit, a barely noticeable trace of fear on her face. She swallowed. “Yes, Craig.”
“Did ye have anything to do with this?”
Her eyes widened even more, her eyebrows snapping together, anger on her face. “What? Of course not!”
Craig nodded. “And do ye ken if yer family might be behind this?”
“I have no idea who’s behind this, Craig.”
She was angry, aye. And she seemed genuine. He’d promised her he’d believe her, and that was what he’d do—even though a voice in his head screamed at him not to trust her.
He nodded again, curtly. “Then that’s that. We will speak nae more of it. Come. I need to speak to Owen and the watchmen. And ye need to eat something.”
Owen sat hunched over a cup in the great hall, which was full of Craig’s men and the villagers. They sat quietly, most of them still drunk. Several men lay unconscious or snoring on the tables. One of them was Hamish—his clothes were covered with vomit, and some of it dripped down his beard.
Craig came to Owen and sat across the table from him. Owen glanced up, his mouth twisting in a mournful grimace.
“What were ye thinking?” Craig said.
Owen shook his head once, looking into the cup. “Ye ken what I was thinking. What I always think. Everything will be fine. Everyone’s too serious, especially ye. Life is boring.”
“I should send ye to Father if ye’re too bored here. War will quickly wipe those thoughts away.”
“Do as ye see fit.”
Craig sighed. He should punish Owen, show him that the consequences of such actions are grave. But Owen seemed to have already grasped that. He’d liked Lachlan. Everyone had. His death was related to Owen’s misconduct, no doubt. And since Owen clearly felt guilty, he was already punishing himself.
“Just tell me what happened,” Craig said. “Somehow, I must find out who killed him. And why.”
Owen nodded. “Aye. I just thought since ye were going to be gone with Amy for the whole day, I’d invite a few local la
sses to a feast. Lachlan and some others came, and the word got out. Some mothers wouldn’t let their daughters go alone, so then fathers, mothers, and brothers joined. Before I knew it, half the village came. It got out of hand, Craig.”
Craig sighed. Aye, he wasn’t surprised it had.
“Ye think, brother? Lachlan was a good man.”
“Do ye think I dinna ken that?” Owen thumped his fist against the table.
“Aye. Well. Now tell me, did he argue with someone? From the village or from our men? Was someone angry at him?”
“I didna see.”
“What about the woman he was with, do ye ken who she is?”
“The red-haired one? I think she was with that family over there.”
An older man and a middle-aged woman sat by the fire, wide-eyed.
“I will speak to them. She hasna appeared since?”
“Nae.”
Craig fingered an empty cup standing in front of him.
“What I dinna understand,” Owen said, “is what Lachlan was doing in yer bedchamber.”
“He was there because I sent him there.”
“You sent him there? Why?”
Craig shifted on the bench. “Because I wanted some damned time alone with my wife.”
He glanced across the room to where Amy was serving stew and bread to the villagers and the warriors. Her hair glowed in the light of the fireplace, her face soft and friendly.
His wife…
His bed…
He imagined for a moment Lachlan with the red-haired woman in Craig and Amy’s bed. Tall, dark-haired Lachlan, the woman with her long red hair spread over the pillows. Exactly as he had imagined himself and Amy in that bed so many times.
He was missing something…an important detail.
Realization stabbed him in the gut. His blood chilled.
Of course. Lachlan looked like Craig.
And the woman had hair like Amy’s.
How could he not have seen it before? The killer had come to murder Craig. The same person who sent the note.
Craig looked around the room. One of his men was a traitor, able to slit the throat of a clansman or at least an ally.
The MacDougalls were behind that, no doubt. Clearly, they’d hired someone who had infiltrated the castle, and Craig needed to find that person. He needed to rethink every single man’s behavior, question his own judgment, which was much too clouded by his new wife.
Aye, backstabbing and betrayal were the MacDougall signature.
But were they Amy’s?
Chapter 26
Three days later…
During the days that had passed since Lachlan’s murder, Amy could sense Craig watching her more intently than ever before. He was also attentive and gentle with her. But the lightness of their mountain date had disappeared. His eyes were dark and intense whenever he looked at her.
And wherever she went, someone went with her.
If it wasn’t Craig, it was one of his men.
Her uneasiness spiked, small tremors going through her legs, her airways tightening, her pulse skyrocketing.
She wasn’t imprisoned, she reminded herself. She wasn’t locked up. Craig still didn’t know about the time travel. He obviously cared about her. There was something between them. The way he’d made love to her in the stables—and every night since then—that wasn’t just lust.
Every glide of skin against skin was connecting them deeply, beyond the physical.
Every whisper filled her soul with longing.
Every time she looked at him, naked and glorious and sweating, her heart sang.
She shouldn’t let him get so close. Clearly, he still suspected her. Despite what he’d said about wanting to trust her, he couldn’t forget she was a MacDougall.
And Amy doubted he ever would.
But the worst thing was, she did have a secret to hide.
A big secret he’d never forgive her for. And the trust between them was so fragile now, they wouldn’t stand a chance if he found out that she wasn’t who he thought she was.
And that she had planned to leave him all along. So why was she thinking about the survival of their relationship at all?
But she added a bit of salt to his bowl of stew and an extra pinch of dried parsley to make it tastier for him. She washed his clothes because he was busy questioning every person who’d been in the castle that night—and there were about hundred and fifty. She brought him ale and water when his eyelids were heavy and dark circles shadowed his eyes.
She couldn’t help it.
She’d fallen in love with him.
That realization scared her more than anything. They had been doomed from the beginning. Jenny waited for her on the other side of that tunnel through time, abandoned, alone, and worried.
And no way would she leave her sister alone like her father had left Amy.
How long could she keep this farce up anyway? Sooner or later, Craig would find out that she wasn’t the Amy MacDougall he’d thought she was. And then she’d surely end up like that woman from Elspeth’s story.
Condemned as crazy.
Or worse, killed as a witch.
No. She needed to go.
Now.
The longer she waited, the harder it would be to leave Craig.
But how? Now everyone in the castle was careful and wary. How would she ever get close to the rock again?
Help came unexpectedly.
She had gone to use the latrine, a tiny closet attached to the Comyn bedchamber and protruding into the air from the wall. There was no toilet paper, and she had to use hay. But she didn’t mind. She’d had to go to the bathroom in the woods many times and was used to the simplicity. What she missed, was washing her hands. So she’d brought a jar with water and a bar of soap, and washed her hands right above the toilet hole.
Her business done, she left the latrine to go to the kitchen and start on the dinner, but there was someone else in the room.
Hamish.
He was frowning at the bed, which was now clean of blood—Amy had made sure of it. Still, Craig and she didn’t want to sleep there, and instead, settled on the floor by the fireplace at night. It wasn’t as comfortable, but better that than sleep in a bed where someone had just been murdered.
“Hamish, what is it?” Amy asked.
He glanced back at the door.
“Is everything okay? Does Craig need me?”
“I need to speak to ye, lass,” he said.
“Sure, why don’t you tell me on the way to the kitchen. I need to start the dinner.”
“Nae. I canna risk anyone overhearing.”
She inhaled, uneasiness settling in her chest in an iron clasp. “All right.”
He cleared his throat. “’Tis about what ye were looking for in the underground storeroom.”
Amy’s pulse jumped. Hamish calmly watched her from under his thick eyebrows.
“I was looking for bacon.”
“Bacon?”
“Salt pork.”
“Aye, ’twas a good excuse to go there. But ye, Craig, and I all ken ’twas nae what ye were really after.”
Amy clutched her hands, glancing at the door. Hamish was blocking it. Her insides quivered.
“What do you think I was after?” she said.
“I think, the same thing I am.”
She blinked. Was he a time traveler, too? No. He was too medieval. The way he spoke, the way he handled himself—everyone said he was a great warrior. Modern men wouldn’t know how to fight with a sword.
She swallowed. Still. Whatever he meant, she wasn’t going to reveal her secret to him.
“And what is that thing, Hamish?”
He frowned at her a little, one eye narrowing. “The thing that will take ye home.”
So he was talking about the portal, wasn’t he? Amy rubbed her damp palms on her skirt. If he was on her side, he could help her.
“Can you help me get back in there? Craig’s watching my every move.”
“What is in it for you? Did you also—”
She stopped talking, unable to say the words “travel in time” out loud.
“I canna talk now, but I am on yer side, lass.”
His words were soft and caring.
Amy watched as he turned and left, surprised at the change of voice in this tall, brutal warrior. So Hamish had secrets. And if had secrets…
She broke into a cold sweat.
Could he have had anything to do with Lachlan’s murder? No, she’d seen him in the great hall with her own eyes, practically unconscious and with vomit all over him. Multiple people had confirmed they’d seen him in the great hall all night long.
Should she tell Craig? But if she told Craig, she could kiss the chance to get to the rock goodbye.
Later that night, lying sated, warm, and thoroughly loved in Craig’s arms, Amy wished she could just stay like that for the rest of eternity.
She’d thought he was asleep, his warm chest rising and falling peacefully under her cheek, his heart beating evenly.
But then he said, “Ye’ve made me happy, Amy.”
His rib cage moved against her ear as he said it, sending a vibration through her. Amy’s eyes prickled. She hated herself. Because she was still holding his trust in her hands, only she was about to let it shatter into a million pieces.
“You, too,” she whispered. “You’ve made me happy, too, Craig.”
He pressed her tighter against himself, let out a long breath, and soon he was sleeping.
Amy wiped a tear off her cheek and slowly, carefully crawled from under his grasp. She quickly dressed, trying to make no sound. Her heart thundered against her ribs. What was she doing? Was she really sure about this? Yes, Jenny needed her. She couldn’t abandon her sister.
I’m coming, Jenny.
She wasn’t sure which she was more afraid of—that the portal wouldn’t work and Craig would finally catch her, or that it would work and this would be the last time she’d see him.
She sneaked out. The castle slept. The only ones who were supposed to be awake were the watchmen on the walls, but Amy decided to walk as calmly and as confidently as she could. She was the lord’s wife, after all. She could walk in the middle of the night whenever she wanted.