by Jenn Lees
Rory’s body-wracking heaves of emotion washed over Siobhan as his shaking arms held her, his tears soaking her neck. It overpowered her and she held her breath to stop herself from doing the same.
“Rory, come sit down. You’ve been injured.” She led him to the couch, and they sat down against the soft cushions. Her eyes raked every inch of him as her pulse spiked, while she fought to stay calm, determined to make the most of this time with Rory, her man whom she’d waited so long to be with.
Rory pulled her close, then flinched.
“What happened?” She pointed to his bandaged shoulder.
“Through and through. Just muscle. I’ll be fine.” He looked her in the eye then. “You are as beautiful as the last moment I saw you.”
“For me, the last time we were together we were being hastily married, and I left the compound.” She caressed his damp face and he blinked. Rough beard stubble flicked under her fingers. “The Time Machine brought me forward, Rory. It doesn’t usually go that way, does it?’
Rory shook his head. “The last time...I saw you was the day you died, and I held you in my arms.” His voice broke.
Rory’s raw grief and pain stirred a hurt of its own within her. He had a heaviness about him, and he seemed broken. She turned away and stood, unable to bear seeing it.
He clasped her hand from behind. “I’ll go wash.” He pecked her on the cheek as he walked past to the bathroom.
“You must be hungry after fighting,” she spoke down the hall. Water ran in the bathroom but there was no answer from Rory. Siobhan went to the kitchen and opened the cupboard where there was a rustic loaf of multi-grain sourdough bread, a chunk of cheese and a tub of freshly churned butter. A dirty whisky glass sat on the bench next to a half-empty bottle of scotch. Her bare feet knocked into the empty bottles on the floor, their clank ringing in her ears while she sliced the loaf with shaking hands.
The noises in the bathroom ceased as she cut the cheese sandwiches she’d made and placed them on a plate. She walked to the living area and put the plate onto the coffee table. Rory stepped behind her.
“I thought you’d be hungry.” Siobhan turned.
Rory wore a towel wrapped around his waist. His long hair was loose, dripping wet across his shoulders. A thick streak of grey grew from one side—the place where a Katana scraped his scalp on their way to Loch Ewe. His chest was bare, his shoulder bandage now damp, and his sleeve of tattoos was as deep blue as ever. His defined abdominal muscles had fine tufts of russet body hair, which grew in the mid-line from his navel to the top of the towel. She returned her gaze to his face. His eyes were soft, and he wore a smile that reached them.
“The only thing I’m hungry for is you.” He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom.
Chapter 9
Invercharing Community, 2067
Making love with Rory was everything Siobhan had imagined it to be.
No—it was better. He was... so much a man—raw and real and loving.
Rory had touched her with gentleness, tracing his fingers over her body like she was someone to be worshipped. He knew every inch of her and now she’d memorised every inch of him.
She lay in the crook of his arm, her head resting on his chest, moving with the rise and fall, and hearing his heart slow to a resting rate. Her own waves of pure physical delight were now fading to a contented glow as a sleepy state of relaxation washed over her.
Siobhan knew him—he’d known her for longer, but now she’d seen Rory with his guard down and had looked into his soul.
She played with the hair on his chest. Rory picked up her hand and entwined her fingers in his own, splaying hers, stretching them wide in his hand’s span.
“Why were you wearing ma shirt?” he asked.
“I missed you. It smells like horse and heather.”
He frowned.
“That’s you, Rory Campbell.” Her voice was soft. “My man of the wilds.”
“Where were you that you ended up here?”
“In the Bunker waiting for you, three months after we married.”
Rory chuckled. “I remember the first time I went there.” He tried to squash his grin, his dimples deepening. “I dinnae think I made a good first-impression on your boss.” He raised his eyebrows.
“What did you do?”
“Oh, not much.” He gave a flick of his head. “Let’s just say the PM would nae dare say no to me takin’ ma wife back home with me.”
Siobhan let her mouth curl at the corners and rested her head back on him, wrapping her arm tightly around him.
“What are you up to now, Rory Campbell?”
“You really want to know? This is nae your time. You’ve gone.” His voice was husky. “Ye’ll go back to the past. You’re nae here anymore.”
She leaned up on him to look him in the eye. “What do you intend to do? Why have you been fighting the Government? Why a civil war, for heaven’s sake?”
He looked away at the small window; hazy daylight spilled onto the bare floorboards. She poked him in the ribs and he flinched.
“We tried it your way, Siobhan, but it did nae work,” he said, facing her. “Negotiations with the New Scottish Government broke down about six months after ye died. We had parleys and debates that seemed to go nowhere. McLellan had nae changed. I warned them, but they would nae listen.”
“Antony? What’s he got to do with anything? He’s behind bars.”
Rory grunted. “If only that were so. They released him on good behaviour. They reinterpreted his crimes as patriotism. Faithfulness to the New Scottish Government in trying to expose us usurpers for what we are. That’s what the Prime Minister of Scotland says of us.” His expression was one of disgust.
“He’s Prime Minister?” Siobhan covered her mouth with her hand.
“Aye.”
Sick roils of nausea replaced the last echoes of the pleasure Rory had given her.
She had known that man intimately too—Antony McLellan. He hated Rory completely. She shuddered at the recollection. Antony’s distrust for Community people, and anyone other than Government, could only grow.
And so, it had.
“Murray implied you command an alliance,” Siobhan asked, her post-sex tranquillity dissipating fast. “Who are our allies?”
“The other nearby Communities in Scotland, Micah McNair and his group, whom we no longer call bandits. Webster and his people, of a sorts. More recently”—Rory took a deep breath, as if to brace himself for the announcement—“Derrick Lloyd.”
“Out of those, I only recall Webster. How did you get them all to co-operate? You’ve done a wonderful job of unifying the masses, Rory. What an achievement.” Her mouth stretched wide. “You should be proud.”
“Aye, well, dinnae look so happy. It’s led to civil war, as ye put it, but I dinnae see any way out.”
“Why not?”
“Lloyd is why not. How that old bastard is still alive I dinnae ken, but he’s way better than his son. We’ve committed our militia to his side in exchange for our freedoms.”
Siobhan bore her stare into his. “Freedoms?”
Rory slipped from beside her and got out of bed. She stared at his back, at the way the rippling muscles played and danced across his shoulder blades while he dressed. For a moment she forgot her question.
“You mind, after the volcano erupted and covered the northern hemisphere in ash, we had a time of poor harvests?” He halted. “Och, no, you would nae. That has nae happened for you yet.”
“Volcano?” Siobhan blinked her eyes wide.
“Aye. Vesuvius.” Rory put on his buckskins.
Siobhan recalled that for years the experts had predicted another eruption of Vesuvius in Italy, on the scale of Pompeii. So, it had occurred. What poor timing for Europe, and for the rest of the world, it seemed.
“Och, well, Lloyd has storehouses full o’ stuff.” Rory pulled on a home-spun top and grimaced as he put the arm of the injured shoulder down the sl
eeve. “Hoarded it for years, since the start of the Crash. Because we had been friendlier with Micah and his mob, on account of him marrying Cèilidh—”
“What! Wait, your sister Cèilidh married a bandit leader?” Siobhan sat up.
This was information overload.
“Aye, they joined us when pickings became lean, ken? At your suggestion, I might add. They were family now, you said. Well, anyways, our store of food was nae enough, and I was aware of Lloyd’s stockpile. I’d run into him, shall we say, on ma way to get you.” His stern expression, which had persisted throughout his explanation, mellowed for a moment at the mention of her. But the severity soon returned. “He sold us supplies. More and more, as the sky was still dark, the winters longer and more severe. And the summers shorter, so less time to grow crops and the harvest yields were poorer. It was a famine, Siobhan. My people were hungry. We bought Lloyd’s provisions until we got to the point where we could nae pay him.”
Rory shoved his shirt into his trousers with the hand of his uninjured arm. “We got into debt. We were nae the only Community that did. The man said he would withhold his demands for repayments, which are considerable, if our militias joined with his private army to give the New Scottish Government a lesson.”
“That’s appalling.” Siobhan scrunched a pillow in her hand.
“Och, it does nae stop there, lass. Lloyd says our youngsters will be in his employ if we dinnae. By employ, he means his sex-workers, who are virtually slaves, who he trades far and wide.”
“The beast!”
“Aye. That he is. I’d like to see him try and get them.” His teeth gritted. “We’d fight him tooth and nail. For if he took them, we’d never see our own again. He’d surely send them far away. The man’s reach is astonishing. He’s spent the last forty years building his network.” Rory’s shoulders slumped like he carried a heavy sack and the lines on his face deepened. “I’ve made mistakes, Siobhan. Stuffed up big-time and ma people will pay for it.”
“Rory, you haven’t. You’re not responsible for volcanic eruptions and poor harvests!”
“Och, no.” He flicked a shake of his head. “Getting involved with Lloyd was my greatest mistake. I wish I’d never met the man.”
“You don’t have to send your people to fight in his army for his ambitious cause. You can demand he wait for payment until the harvests improve. Band together with the others and fight him.”
“The man’s bigger than us, Siobhan.” He shook his head. “You have nae lived through it. You don’t know. We have nae choice.”
“Everyone has a choice, except the powerless. You, Rory Campbell, were never powerless!” She stepped out of bed, the sheet slipping to the floor. During their lovemaking he had loosened her hair from the French roll and its soft caress now extended down her neck and onto her breasts.
“Och, is that true now?” Rory stepped forward and placed warm hands on her upper arms. Then he pushed strands of hair away from her face, his fingers moving down, tracing the line of her jaw. “I became powerless when I lost my anchor, my rock, my best friend, my love—my you, Siobhan.” He crushed her to himself and his whole body heaved with a sob.
Siobhan wrapped her arms around him and smoothed her hands along his firm, warm back. She sought to soothe the churn of fear swirling like a cyclone among her own emotions.
“Any barrier that kept me from you,” Rory whispered holding her close, “you ken I’d climb it. Kick it down if I had to. Find a way around it...till I reached you. But you went to a place where I could nae get to you...nor could I bring ye back.”
Siobhan’s breath hitched and she held him tighter, pressing her head against his chest, which was vibrating with his words swollen with emotion.
“All I kenned was how to fight. But even then, I was powerless over it...over death. Your death, Siobhan. I held you in my arms and felt the last beat of your heart; your final breath brush ma’ face.” His ribs heaved as she hugged him, trying to hold her own emotions tight.
But death will be Rory’s end if this civil war continues.
Rory couldn’t do it. Mustn’t go head-to-head with the Government. They had access to more firepower than Rory could imagine, and if Antony had anything to do with it, they’d use it. Antony would love to wipe out Rory, she was certain of that. She prayed Antony wouldn’t even think of the nuclear warheads the Government had hidden away.
What sort of world was this now?
It’d had the potential to be a new start once people recovered from the disaster after the Stock Market Crash of 2018. Everyone could’ve been on a level plane. Shared resources. Rebuilt Scotland together.
But, no. Selfish, stupid people!
The afternoon sun angled through the window, illuminating the bed. She’d have to get back to Murray and the Time Machine before sunset. She had to stop Rory—had to convince him. Her man’s warm body held her close, shooing away all the horribleness of this time.
Siobhan eased her embrace and kissed him. Rory responded, mouth and moist cheeks brushing against her face. She undid his buckskins and loosened his shirt from them. Rory groaned.
He moved her back to the bed then dragged his still buttoned shirt off one-handed and kissed her. He held her close, the beating of his heart coming through his ribcage pressed against her. She slid his buckskins down and he stepped out of them then eased her onto the bed. Sheets crinkled against her back while his warm skin covered her belly and his chest hair tickled her breasts.
For now, the future didn’t matter. Neither did her death.
It was all Rory, and she with him here, where their love and passion met.
Her longing rose to almost excruciating as Rory held her close, his yearning for her reflected in his face. Her body reached for his, their breath mingling as their lives entwined once more and pleasures joined, consuming them both.
And for that moment, time slipped into eternity.
Chapter 10
Invercharing Community 2067, Autumn Equinox
Thuds echoed through the room, the farmhouse, and Siobhan’s body, shaking her serenity as she lay in Rory’s arms. Rory sprung from the bed at the same moment someone banged on the door.
“Get dressed quickly.” Rory threw his buckskins on and rushed to answer the door. Siobhan slid out of bed and dressed.
“Rory.” It was Murray at the door and his voice trembled. “George died.”
“Och, no.” Rory’s husky tone travelled back to Siobhan.
“That’s not all. Government tanks are coming up the glen.” Behind Murray’s voice were the alarmed shouts of men and women. “A missile hit the wind farm. We’ve got to get Siobhan out of here before we can’t.”
“Where are the boys?” Rory yelled at Murray while he rushed back to the bedroom.
“They’re with Cèilidh,” Murray said from the door.
“Come, Siobhan.” Rory waved her to him and grabbed her hand. “Follow us. Keep your head down so no one recognises you, aye?”
She hurried into the hallway with Rory and Murray.
A roar followed by a thud came from the front of the compound. Walls rattled, and the ceiling showered Siobhan with dust.
“Shit,” Murray yelled.
Rory’s hand tightened around hers. “That was close. Come on.” Rory pulled her away from the panic. An alarm bell clanged, followed by pounding boots and people shouting.
Rory moved faster as they exited the main building and faced the large outbuildings. Siobhan stumbled to keep up with Rory’s long strides; her bare feet scraping over the rough ground. In the barns, animals stomped and snorted, and men and women carrying guns mounted whinnying horses. Another thud hit the mountain behind the compound. The ground vibrated beneath her and dirt sprayed on the green hill now left with a gouge of dark brown.
“At least their aim’s bad,” Murray said.
“Och, no. They’re warning shots.” Rory urged Siobhan to the old barn where they kept the Time Machine.
Behind them the repo
rt of rapid gunfire was a popping clamour at the compound’s front gates. Rory dragged Siobhan through armed men and women, dodging those mounted on horses, all hurrying to the combat. People shouted orders and loaded weapons.
“I’ll be there soon,” Rory shouted to one of the militia.
“Okay.” The voice belonged to Xian.
They reached the barn and Murray fumbled with the lock on the old door. Bullets pinged off the path beside them while a missile whooshed overhead. The door opened, and Rory pulled Siobhan in after Murray, his large hand clamping tight around hers. They ran to the far end of the barn where the Time Machine sat.
“I’ll get Siobhan in the cubicle, Murray,” Rory yelled over the whoosh of another missile.
“Yeah, it’s almost sunset,” Murray said.
The side of the barn rocked with a thunderous crash. Rory pushed Siobhan down onto the hard-packed earthen floor. Cold and pain struck her cheek and her side. Rory’s warm body flinched above hers. Splinters of wood and shards of metal flew around. Dust billowed toward them. Rory shielded her further while broken fragments of timber whooshed over them.
“The machine’s all right,” Murray spoke through a choking cough.
Rory lifted himself off Siobhan and pulled her to a standing position. They were both covered with fine dust; Rory’s hair, now a grimy russet, poured dirt like a river.
“Will you be okay?” Siobhan searched Rory’s face; the creases of his brow were deeper and a look of knowing emerged.
“This is just the start, Siobhan.”
“Are you going to be all right?” she asked more firmly.
“I don’t know.” More powdered debris poured from his hair as he shook his head.
“Rory, you can’t...You know the Government has nuclear warheads?”
“What!” Murray shouted from the console.
Rory’s nostrils flared but there was no expression of surprise on his face, only concern. His grip on her upper arms grew tighter.
“Will our boys be safe?” Siobhan’s throat tightened at the knowledge of their children caught in this...this...battlefield.