by Mariah Stone
“Ian,” he choked. “Ian…”
The beard disappeared. The gray hair replaced by long, silky golden tresses. Red, weathered skin turned fair and smooth.
“Ian,” Kate’s voice croaked. “Stop. Wake up.”
He blinked.
And he was no longer in the sea. No longer on the ship. The cloth of a small tent was on both sides of him. The light of the fire outside played against it.
His hands weren’t wrapped around the captain’s throat. He was strangling Kate.
With an appalled expression, Ian loomed over her. He withdrew his hands and rolled off her.
“Katie.” He knelt before her. “Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, are ye all right?”
Her throat tight, the horror of suffocating chilling her body, she crawled back into the other corner of the tent, as far away as possible. Her neck and throat hurt, feeling raw and bruised. She rubbed her neck.
“I’m okay,” she croaked. “What was that? Did you have a nightmare?”
He looked so lost and forlorn. But it didn’t diminish the very real death she’d seen before her when he’d suddenly rolled on top of her with a wild stare and clasped his strong hands around her throat.
“I…I think so, aye. ’Tis happened to me ever since I got away.”
Kate inhaled deeply, enjoying the freedom of being able to fill her lungs with air. He watched her with such remorse that her heart broke.
“If anything had happened to ye, if I had…with my own hands… Ye, the woman I love… I wouldna be able to live with myself…”
The woman he loved… All the tension in her body released, and she sighed. “I know, Ian. I know you didn’t mean it. I think it’s PTSD.”
“What?”
“A post-traumatic stress disorder. You can’t help it. It’s like a mental illness in a way, although treatable. It’s not your fault, Ian. Many soldiers get it after a war. It’s no surprise you have it.”
Her neck and throat already felt much better, although still sore. She crawled towards him and he backed up.
“Nae, Katie, better stay away.”
She chuckled. “You aren’t going to hurt me now that you’re awake.”
She sat on the blanket with her legs crossed and opened her arms to him. “Come here.”
He hesitated a moment. “Are ye certain, lass?”
“Yes, I’m certain. Come.”
He exhaled and came to her. He lay on the blanket and put his head on her lap. The weight of his head pleasant on her legs, she gently brushed his hair and the side of his face with her palm. He closed his eyes.
“Tell me about the dream,” she said.
“’Twas on the ship. I had to kill the captain so that he wouldna take me to Baghdad. I thought if I never landed there, I’d never become a slave. I’d have a chance with ye. The chance to spend a lifetime with ye.”
Kate’s chest throbbed. He wanted a lifetime with her. And she wanted a lifetime with him, too.
“I thought, if I killed just one person, him, I wouldna need to kill so many more innocent ones. I wouldna need to become a monster.”
Kate shook her head. “You’re not a monster.”
“I almost killed ye. I killed that unarmed lad while getting ye away from the damn Sassenachs, and don’t even recall attacking him. How can I nae be a monster?”
“You’re just wounded in your soul, and healing. You’re a good man. The best man I’ve ever known.”
He rubbed her thigh gently. “Ye’re too kind for saying that, lass. I dinna deserve ye.”
She shook her head. “No, that’s definitely not true. You deserve every good thing in your life and more. You’ve suffered enough.”
Unlike her.
At least, that was what she’d grown up believing.
Kate stroked his scruff. “Would you feel better if I told you about my nightmares?”
“I dinna want ye to relive something that frightens ye.”
“It’s nothing like yours.” She chuckled. “Compared to your struggles, mine were minor.”
He looked up at her. “I want to ken everything about ye.”
“Okay. Well. In my time, people have developed vaccines. It’s medicine that helps prevent certain dangerous diseases. Parents need to take their children to a doctor to have them vaccinated. Some choose not to—it’s a big debate… Anyway, my mom was not someone who opposed vaccination. She just…didn’t have time to take my sister and me.”
“Aye. Ye said her work was heavy.”
“Yes. And so, one day—I was already seven or eight—I got whooping cough. It’s a sickness that can be prevented with vaccination. And not just me, my two-year-old sister, too. I still remember lying at night, in a fever, coughing my guts out. Wanting my mom. Realizing, she didn’t want me. She didn’t care about me. She didn’t love me.”
Like Kate knew no one would. She was unlovable, unworthy of care. Even though Ian said he loved her now, he’d come to the same conclusion. So it was good that their relationship would soon end, no matter how wonderful it was now.
“She shouldna have been yer mother. Not caring for her bairns… There’s no one more loving or caring that I ken, Katie, than ye.”
She flushed a little. “I don’t think so. I often think there’s something about me that people find cumbersome. Eventually, she realized she had to take us to a hospital. We spent a couple days there, but she took us home because she couldn’t afford to pay more medical bills. The doctors said the illness was already advanced enough that there was nothing they could do to heal it that she couldn’t do at home—steam, soup, air humidifier. She lost one job because she stayed at the hospital and at home caring for us, then had to find two more to pay the bills that she got because of us. Anyway, I know now she was doing the best she could. I took care of my sister my whole life. I know what it means to have someone depend on you for everything. Especially as a single parent with no one else to help. But still… I sometimes dream about that hospital, lying there alone. Mom isn’t there, and doctors and nurses pass me by. I cough and cough and cough, and no one can hear me or wants to see me.”
He rose from her lap and took her in his arms. “Lass…”
His arms were heavy and warm around her, like a protective shield.
Kate leaned against his chest. “See, I also have nightmares. Everyone does.”
“Aye. But nae everyone tries to kill another human being.”
She looked up at him and cupped his jaw. “It’ll pass, Ian. If only you can forgive yourself. And let yourself live. At least for now. For tonight.”
“Aye.” He kissed her briefly. “For tonight. And every night with ye.”
His face grew somber and gathered that darkness with the edge of desperation she’d seen in his most violent moments.
“But if I try to hurt ye again, I want ye to use the knife and do what I showed ye. Aye?”
Kate’s skin chilled at the thought. She’d never be able to do that.
“Promise me,” he said. “That’ll give me peace of mind.”
Kate swallowed. He looked intensely at her, waiting. If it would give him some peace of mind, she’d promise him, but she’d never go through with it.
“Okay, Ian,” she said. “I’ll do it.”
He kissed her again, deeply, hungrily, stirring desire in her blood. Oh yes, that was what they were good at—forgetting the pain of their souls through their bodies.
For tonight, they’d forget and be happy.
What tomorrow would bring, Kate didn’t want to know.
Chapter 25
Three days later…
The great hall of Dundail swarmed with people. It was dark again, the indigo of the late night outside fighting against the warm light of the candles.
But it wasn’t an easy atmosphere. The men frowned, speaking in low voices, hunched over their cups of ale and wine. The food on the tables was modest but delicious. Kate and Manning had prepared an excellent stew of vegetables and wildfowl that Ian had hunte
d earlier.
This wasn’t a celebratory feast.
It was a war gathering.
Tomorrow, they’d fight.
After three days of his campaigning with the fiery cross, every single one of Ian’s tenants had answered the call. Alan Ciar was among those who supported the cause the most, and he alone brought twenty-five people. The man had battle experience and sat by Ian’s side at the lord’s table.
Alan’s eyes shone brightly. “We will make the bastarts leave,” he said. “’Tis a good plan, lord.”
Ian nodded, looking around the hall. There were more people than he had hoped. Eighty men—including young’uns and older men who could still hold a sword. Ian realized this was what they must have missed. Uniting for a common cause. Doing something to protect their families and livelihood.
Ian rose from the table, noting out of the corner of his eye that one more man had joined the hall—Crazy Mary. He’d been distant and observing everything skeptically, but now he stood leaning against the wall near the entrance to the great hall. He scowled at Ian, his arms were crossed over his chest.
But he was there.
“My father would have been proud of ye all,” Ian said, and every single pair of eyes turned to him. “He would have sat where I sit, in his lawful place. He would have drunk with ye and ate with ye. And he would have considered it an honor to go with ye to battle.”
The men nodded, straightening their backs and raising their chins.
“And I know in his spirit, he’s with us. What is a better way to die than protecting yer loved—” A movement caught Ian’s eye, and he saw Kate join Manning. She was in the head scarf she always put on when she cooked. It framed her bonnie face making her look so sweet. His throat clenched.
Ian locked eyes with her, happiness blossoming in his chest just from seeing her. “Protecting yer loved ones from the enemy that wants to take everything from ye?” he finished.
He looked around the room again.
“I hear our rightful king, Robert the Bruce, was in a position not much better than we are right now. Verra few people. Nae resources. Nae hope against a powerful enemy, the Sassenach king. But look at him now. He’s winning. And so will we.”
He took his claymore and put it on the table, leaning with his arms against the surface.
“He uses clever Highland tactics—swift movements, apt concealments, artful stalking, and silent execution. And so will we. He takes advantage of the Highland terrain, knowing the land like the English never will.”
He looked in every single pair of eyes that he could meet. “And so will we.”
He straightened his back, his heart thumping.
“The English are still garrisoned on the MacFilib farm, and Frangean, who’s our spy there, tells me they await reinforcements in a few days. They dinna ken we have united as a force. We must act now, before more men arrive. ’Tis our only chance.”
The men stuck their fists in the air and roared.
“But lord,” said an older man, once the din had abated. “Many of us dinna have swords or bows. We canna fight steel with pitchforks.”
He was right. That was one thing Ian still hadn’t found a solution for.
“We dinna have just pitchforks,” Crazy Mary said.
Everyone turned to him. Ian frowned. Manning met Ian’s eyes and slowly separated himself from the wall and stood closer to the men.
“Yer father, he had weaponry. He was safeguarding many swords, in case a moment like this would come. Ian didna ken of it. But I kent.”
The hall filled with the murmurs of many voices, people staring at one another in astonishment. The old fox, his father. Although he had let his home and his lands fall into disrepair, he hadn’t failed to prepare for trouble.
“How many? Where are they?” Ian asked.
“Hidden. I’ll show ye. I advise that no one else follows.”
Ian went with Manning to the kitchen, where he pushed a large barrel aside. There was a round iron handle right in the floor. Manning pulled it, and it lifted up, opening to what looked like a small root cellar. Except, it wasn’t filled with parsnips and cabbages.
There was a heap of claymores.
“’Tis enough for an army,” Ian murmured.
Manning nodded, bent down, and picked up a sword.
“Aye. And ’tis time yer army grows by one more.”
Chapter 26
Later that night, when dinner was over and men lay down to sleep in the great hall, Ian and Kate met in his bedchamber. They lay in bed after making love, her body warm and soft and pliable in his arms. If they won tomorrow, the way for her to go home would be open. If he died, he hoped it would be after he’d taken most of their enemies.
In either case, this was likely the last night they’d ever spend together.
And it would never be enough.
“I want to ken everything about ye, lass,” he said. “What is yer world like in the future?”
Kate chuckled. “Well, the world, at least where I live, is generally safer than your world, I think. It’s more comfortable. There’s electricity that helps us save tons of work. It provides light and warmth and helps us cook without fire. A lot of what one has to do by hand in your day and age is done by machines.”
“Machines?” Ian said. “’Tis like listening to a fairy tale. Sounds like magic.”
“I know. It does. I’ve already forgotten how it feels to have a washing machine do your laundry. Medicine is much more advanced. Many diseases have been cured. Most developed countries don’t have plague or pox or cholera outbreaks anymore, though we do have new diseases. Surgery is very advanced. They can now do eye surgery and improve vision.”
Ian shook his head. “Sounds like a much better place to live than here.”
The world she described sounded like a magical place. He was glad that in about seven hundred years, there would be such a different life. Fighting diseases, fighting death, making hard work easier.
“Slavery exists, unfortunately,” Kate added carefully. “But it’s against the law.”
Something tightened in Ian’s stomach. “Good. Verra good. A world without slavery is a better world.”
“But things are not perfect. There are still wars. For the same reasons: power, money, territories. Resources. Honestly, I think in many ways your life here is simpler and easier. It’s hard, physically, but there’s something so satisfying about cooking from scratch, working the land, taking care of your tenants…”
“Fighting the English,” Ian added. “Fighting for freedom. ’Tisna simple or easy.”
“No,” she said. “But it’s worth fighting for.”
Ian didn’t think he could love her more in that moment. Some things were worth fighting for. His people.
Her.
“Women and men have equal rights where I live. It’s not like that everywhere in the world, though. In the western world, women earn money, go to work, and can even choose a life with no children.”
Ian frowned. “A woman’s place is with her husband,” he said. “I do appreciate a woman’s freedom, but ’tis her husband or her father that must—”
“Not in the future. This is a very conservative point of view. Women are their own bosses.”
“I dinna ken if I agree with that. If ye were mine—” He suddenly swallowed his words. Speaking of a future with Kate, one he could never have, was hard. Painful.
But she looked at him with her big, bonnie, kind eyes full of hope.
“If I were yours, then what?” she said.
“If ye were mine, I’d want to protect ye. I’d want to boss ye around so that ye wouldna work too hard. I’d have a hard time sharing ye with anyone. I’d want ye all to myself.”
She blushed. “There are so many things that are wrong with those statements for a modern woman. You can’t boss me around, and you can’t keep me to yourself.” Then she hid her face against his chest. “At the same time, it’s so unbelievably hot…”
He kisse
d her, devouring her mouth, suddenly hungry for her on a new level. She leaned into him with her whole body, turning his veins into flowing fire in an instant. He became hard for her right away, his cock hot and firm and needy.
This might be the last time that he’d have her. The last time… Pain pierced his gut, opening a dark, bottomless pit.
Nae yet. She isna gone yet.
She put her leg over his hip, her sleek sex touching his erection. His skin flushed and burning, he crushed her to himself.
“What are ye doing to me, lass,” he whispered hotly.
“What are you doing to me?” she echoed.
He covered her neck with kisses, her skin like the finest silk against his lips. He went lower, to her lush breasts, and cupped them with both his hands. He took one nipple into his mouth and sucked it gently, and was rewarded by a low moan as she arched her back. He repeated it with the second breast, and the nipple hardened right away in his mouth. He played with her breasts longer because he knew that would give her the most pleasure.
“These breasts should be cherished and loved every day,” he said. “Should be caressed and licked and stroked.”
“Oh…I agree.”
Ian went lower, to his favorite place on her body—although he loved every inch of her. The scent of her there drove him mad with desire. So feminine, so wanton. He spread her gentle folds and put his mouth on her. A shudder went through her. She put her hands on his head, brushing her fingers through his hair, the touch sending soft waves of pleasure through him.
He kissed her there, in her most sensitive spot. She felt hot and silky and soft against him. She was the sweetest dessert he could ever get. He licked against her folds, and her legs tremored around him. He continued teasing her, right where he knew she loved it, and she awarded him with a satisfied, guttural moan.
She was his fae, the goddess of summer, Bride. And he was frozen and broken and in need of warmth.
He inserted a finger inside her, and her tight entrance took him in gently, bringing a surge of desire into his veins. She sucked in air, and he inserted another finger and found the most sensitive spot inside and began massaging her. She wriggled and writhed, rubbing herself against him with the rhythm of his movements. He licked, and sucked gently, and pinched the swelling bud of her sex.