by Mariah Stone
And yet it reflected her own thoughts about her future. She’d never thought she’d be one of those women who found their soul mate. Somehow, in the back of her mind, she’d always known she wasn’t worthy of true love. She wasn’t lovable.
Maybe that’s why her mom never took care of her. Something about her made her simply unworthy.
“So is mine,” she said.
“Yers?” He chuckled. “Ye should be praised and worshipped and loved every single day, by a man who’s worthy of ye. ’Tis nae me…”
But it was him. Kate knew it like she knew her own name, if anyone could make her happy, it was Ian.
“I promised ye, I will take ye to Inverlochy,” he said. “And I will make sure ye get back to yer time.”
Kate’s heart shook and trembled, threatened to break into a million pieces. She loved him for promising to take her back, but the idea of leaving him tore her chest apart.
“Well, I’m not leaving yet.” She crawled to him and straddled him.
The blanket fell off, and Ian looked her up and down with the eyes of a ravenous predator.
“Nae, ye’re certainly not. Not if I have any say in the matter.”
He drew her onto his chest and kissed her hungrily, and Kate forgot everything but his body and her shivering need for it.
But she knew it would never be enough. Leaving Ian would be like leaving a part of her soul behind.
Chapter 22
The next day…
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Ian hammered at his father’s sword in the workshop that stood by the house. The edge glowed orange red, the heat emanating from it bringing droplets of sweat to Ian’s forehead, bare back, and chest. The scent of hot iron hung in the air.
He’d need the sword verra soon, and the blade had some indents and scratches, so Ian set about repairing it.
Earlier this morning, he’d taken his father’s claymore from where it hung proudly on the wall of the great hall, and carefully brushed his hand along the length of its blade. It was a simple sword. Leather bound the handle, the pommel was a circle, and the ends of the cross guard had rings welded together forming two four-leave clovers on each side.
And it was blessed by his father. Ian would honor his father and the whole clan by using it for good.
He hadn’t had any uisge since the day before he’d gone riding on Thor. He didn’t need any. The night with Kate had made him drunk from happiness, despite the threat coming ever closer.
“Lord! Lord!” cried a male voice outside of the smithy.
Ian raised his head. “In here.”
Steps pounded against dry dirt-packed ground. A thin figure appeared in the doorway. It was Frangean MacFilib who Ian had seen a few days ago. The lad’s clothes were torn, and dried blood sprayed his face.
Ian straightened, the hammer hanging heavy in his hand. “What is it?”
The lad dropped his hands to his knees and panted. “The Sassenachs. They raided the farm.” He lowered his head. “Killed Da.”
Ian’s fists clenched. He’d been so wrong to underestimate how fast the army could move. “Manning didna reach ye?”
“This morning. We tried to defend ourselves, but there were too many of them. Went like a knife through butter.”
Ian’s pulse pounded against his temples, darkness welling up inside his gut. “How many?”
“A hundred, I think.”
“A hundred…”
That must have been the garrison he’d encountered with Kate. They made it so fast. Too fast. A hundred wasn’t a large number for a war, but for a small landowner like Ian, with only about seventy tenants, this was an overwhelming force.
And now they’d started killing his people…
A mixture of guilt and dread weighed on his chest. He’d already broken his vow to never kill another man again. And God would punish him for it. But whatever was in the future, Ian couldn’t live with himself if he let any more of his people suffer.
Mayhap, all that he’d been through was for this moment. Mayhap, he’d become a ruthless killer because his people would need him to lead them. Mayhap, he needed to take responsibility for his clan so that they wouldn’t lose their freedom even if it meant giving up his own.
Ian laid the hammer down and wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. “What is happening at yer farm now, lad?”
“I got away without anyone seeing me. I heard talk that they'd occupy the farm first before moving south.”
Ian came to stand by the lad’s side. “I am sorry about yer father, Frangean.”
“I am sorry about yers, lord.”
“Thank ye. Do ye have a sword?”
“Nae.”
Ian nodded. “I have one for ye. ’Tis time to raise the fiery cross. Will ye come with me?”
The lad’s Adam’s apple bobbed under his sparse scruff as he swallowed. His eyes watered and reddened, but he lifted his chin. “Aye, lord.”
Ian clapped him on the shoulder. “Good. I wilna let another Sassenach pig touch more of my people as long as I still breathe. Come. Let’s show them whose land ’tis here.”
Frangean followed Ian into the house, and Ian gave him the sword he’d taken from the English warrior.
“I’m coming with you,” Kate said from behind him.
Ian turned, and his heart leaped like it did every time he saw her. She’d braided her hair today, exposing her bonnie face and big eyes, highlighting the most kissable lips he’d ever seen.
“You’re going somewhere, right?” she said, looking at the sword.
“Aye, lass. The English raided and occupied the MacFilib farm.”
She nodded. “I know you can’t stand by and watch people lose their lives and homes. It’s not who you are.”
“I’m going to raise the fiery cross and ride to all the farms and villages and call my people for battle. We can only defeat the English if we are together.”
“I’m coming,” she repeated.
“Nae.”
“Yes. I’ll cook. I’ll clean. I’ll do stuff to help. But I can’t stay here and wait. I don’t want to be without you.”
Her words warmed his heart.
“I’m coming,” she said firmly.
Who was he to contradict her? He’d be on the road for a couple of days to reach all the farms and villages. Besides, she’d be safer with him than alone, here, without anyone to protect her.
But the main reason was, he couldn’t stand the thought of separating from her, either.
“Aye,” Ian said. “Ye're coming with me."
With the help of Frangean, Ian made the fiery cross. He took two straight sticks and bound them together, then lit them up to have them scorched and burned.
As he saw the cross burning, he remembered the last time he’d seen one. It was when his grandfather Colin was still alive and chief of the clan. They’d stood before Dunollie Castle, ready to fight for Marjorie, Ian’s cousin, who’d been kidnapped and held by Alasdair MacDougall.
The cross had brought them victory then, and they’d retrieved Marjorie, who’d been raped and beaten. The cross was the call for war, for bloodshed, the call to stand and protect their land and their families.
Seventy farmers and one warrior against a hundred trained knights and soldiers. Their odds were bad. Only if Craig with his men came would they stand a chance.
If not, Ian would have even more deaths of innocent people on his hands.
Chapter 23
Kate stirred the soup in the cauldron hanging over the campfire. The night brought a chill to her body. In the darkness, campfires around the farm were burning. The air was loud with clanging swords and men grunting and cursing as they trained at sword-fighting.
Kate glanced up to find the tallest figure of all. There he was, the man she loved, fighting like a lion, his hair gold-red in the light of so many fires. He was the dance. The dance of battle, the dance of war.
The dance of death.
The flashes of his arms, the line
s and angles of his legs as he stepped, whirled, and cut with the sword were beautiful. Mesmerizing.
He was the Highlands itself. A gorgeous warrior of might and power. And heart.
Of course she’d fallen in love with him. And he believed her, for God’s sake. Who would believe the crazy story of time travel? Had they switched places, she certainly wouldn’t have.
And he was damaged, like she.
He’d never be whole, he’d told her. That’s how she felt, too.
And now the pain was even worse because Ian was doing his duty, taking care of his people. And she? She’d selfishly abandoned hers in order to stay with the man she loved in a place where she could be killed.
What would happen to Mandy and Jax then?
She should have never come back with Ian to Dundail. She should have insisted she’d leave.
But the day had been busy. After they’d left Dundail, they’d visited three farms today. Ian had been magnificent, sitting on his black horse, the charcoal cross in his hand, his hair like a flame itself. He’d called for his people. He’d called for them to rise together with him and to die protecting their lives and families or be victorious.
He’d said a Gaelic prayer, and they had all answered. Fire kindled in their eyes, their chests puffed, their chins rose, their shoulders straightened.
“Cruachan!” Ian cried. “To our land! To Scotland!”
Cruachan was the Cambel clan war cry, as Kate learned.
“Cruachan!” they echoed.
And so now there were twenty people here. Ian had been training them in sword-fighting and archery ever since they arrived. Ian said they all lacked battle training. Half of them didn’t even have swords, so they were assigned to bows and arrows.
Finally, Kate saw, they were all getting tired. One by one, they came to her and she served them the soup.
She liked to feel useful and there was gratitude in their eyes.
Ian came and sat next to her by the fire. He accepted the bowl of soup and kissed her hand.
“Thank ye,” he said.
His forehead glistened with sweat and his tunic was wet under his armpits and on his chest. He still breathed heavily, but satisfaction played in his eyes.
“No problem,” Kate said. “Eat up.”
“Mmm.” Ian closed his eyes and shook his head appreciatively. “Verra good soup, lass. Better than anything I’ve eaten in a camp kitchen.”
Kate smiled, joy blooming in her chest from the compliment. “How is it going?”
Ian’s face darkened. “They’re nae warriors. Just honest farmers. They’d need months of training to stand a chance against a trained enemy like the English. We only have days at best.”
The reality of the war became apparent to Kate for the first time. They did face death, faced the real horrors of violence. Things she’d only heard of and seen on TV and in movies back in her life in the twenty-first century. Kate’s skin chilled and prickled.
But she wouldn’t be a coward. She wouldn’t make Ian’s life more difficult than it already was.
“Listen,” she said. “I was thinking, wouldn’t it be better that I leave, now that you need all your strength for your people? You have enough people to think about. I don’t want to add to your troubles. And I really need to get back to help my family.”
His face fell. “Leave now? My reluctance to let ye go aside, lass, ’tis verra dangerous.”
Kate looked into the fire. “But I don’t want to—”
He set the bowl of soup aside and took both of her hands in his, making her look into his eyes. They were dark brown in the dim light, framed by his long, light eyelashes, and both concern and heat shone through them.
“Ye dinna add to my troubles,” he said slowly and firmly. “Never.”
Her eyes prickled.
“But I…I can’t function in this century. I don’t know how things work. I didn’t even know how to light that bread oven, for God’s sake. If you hadn’t started a fire, I couldn’t have cooked… And now I’m worried you will always need to look over your shoulder to see if I’m protected instead of having your full attention on saving your own life.”
Ian chuckled. “Women born in my century canna start a fire, either. Noble ladies canna cook. And they certainly wouldna have accompanied their man to a war, too afraid of the field inconveniences. And if ye’re worried about protection.”
He stood up and held his hand out to her. “I’ll teach ye how to protect yerself.”
Kate put her hand in his and stood up. Ian reached behind his back and removed a long, sharp knife.
“There are six vulnerable areas in a man’s body,” Ian said. “Eyes, throat, nose, solar plexus, groin, and knee. Now, most likely, those men will be in armor, so it wilna be as easy to reach those areas.”
He held out the dagger, handle towards Kate.
“So this will be yer best shot to protect yerself. Take the dirk.”
“Ian, I can’t. It’s your weapon.”
“Aye, lass, ye can. Take it. I have my sword. I’ll be calmer knowing ye have this.”
Kate swallowed and took the dirk. It had an antler handle and felt warm against her skin from Ian’s body.
“So ye must aim for the slits of the armor. Like I said, for the eyes, throat, nose, groin, and knee. The solar plexus will be unreachable if they are in armor. Aye?”
The blood drained from Kate’s face. Was she seriously going to stab a human? On the other hand, some of those humans had no problem slapping her and almost raping her.
“The trick I’m goin’ to show ye will be useful if yer enemy doesna have the armor, aye?”
Kate nodded, her hands shaking.
“If they grab yer wrist, remember the ‘rule of thumb.’ Rotate yer arm in the direction of the enemy’s thumb. Then pull yer arm back and ye’ll be free. Let’s try.”
Ian grasped Kate’s wrist, but, panicked, she forgot what direction to turn it.
“Here.” Ian gestured to Kate’s left.
“Oh.” She rotated her arm, feeling awkward and useless.
“Good. Now pull it.”
She pulled and freed her hand.
“Good,” Ian said. “Dinna fash yerself. Ye wilna become a warrior in one evening. But ye will learn some movements to help ye.”
“Okay.”
They continued training, and Ian showed her how she could hit the attacker with her elbow if they were on her side and how to hit them with her forehead and then into their solar plexus if they were in front of her.
“Ye need to bend yer knees like that, then put yer free arm vertically, like that, in front of yer body to protect the vital organs. Also, ye’ll be able to move more.” He jumped back and to the side to demonstrate.
“Ye remember the weak points: throat, eyes, groin?”
He bent his knees and stabbed upwards from a crouched position. He made her try it. Her whole being protested against hurting another person.
They would come after you. Or worse, after Ian. Be strong.
Kate repeated the moves diligently, praying that she wouldn’t need to use them. Ian showed her what to do if someone kicked her, if someone launched at her, if someone stabbed at her from above.
By the time they finished Kate was exhausted, not just from the physical exercise but from the mental images of what those stabs, kicks, and cuts would mean.
Potentially, taking someone’s life.
But no matter how gruesome the prospect of that was, Kate would breathe easier knowing there was something she could do to defend herself, so that Ian wouldn’t put himself at risk worrying about her. And maybe to defend Ian if she had to.
Chapter 24
An icy splash of water hit Ian in the face, together with the pungent scent of the sea. The cold drops cut across his burning skin, and he opened his eyes to the gray sky. He lay wrapped in furs and blankets. The floor beneath him sank and rose, over and over. Around him, men sat among barrels watching the coast.
His chest
hurt, torn apart.
He was going to be sold into slavery, Ian realized.
He was going to kill many, many men to survive. They were going to make a monster out of him.
No.
He had to stop them before they got to the shore.
He stretched his arms with an effort, pain piercing him, but the tangle of blankets and furs kept him in place like a cocoon. He wriggled, suppressing groans of agony. The dressing on his chest slipped away, and the rough wool of the blanket rubbed against the wound. It felt as if swarms of furious hornets stung him in the chest.
But it was the pain that gave him strength and set him free.
He roared and tore the cocoon off. The men looked at him, surprised.
But he didn’t need to concern himself with them.
Just the captain.
Ian stood in the bottom of the ship. The angry sea pushed and played with the vessel. Ian held on to the main mast and saw the captain.
He was at the bow, staring, waiting. On weak legs, Ian made his way through the sacks, the caskets, and the barrels. Through other slaves who lay helpless.
If he could only kill that captain, just that one person, he’d never go to Baghdad, he’d never be a cold-blooded killer. And once he met Kate, he could just be happy with her.
If he only killed this one person, his life would be completely different.
The ship careened left, then right, splashes of seawater shocking him.
“Ye bastart,” Ian spat, balancing on the escaping floor. “Ye wilna take me to slavery.”
The captain removed his dagger, the same dagger Ian had given Kate.
“I will kill ye, even though I’m unarmed.”
He roared and launched himself. The dagger swooshed past his side. Ian blocked the captain’s hand and kicked the man to the floor. The dagger fell and slid across the ship towards the center. Ian straddled the captain and wrapped his fingers around the man’s throat.
The captain’s neck was surprisingly thin, the skin soft. His fingers tightened around it and he pressed. The captain’s eyes bulged.