Honor of a Scottish Warrior

by Sky Purington

  The woman had vanished. Instead, Vika walked toward them.

  The horse was alive.

  Nicole patted herself and looked around. So was she it seemed. Then her eyes locked on Rònan. Like her, he was slowly sitting up, out of it as he eyed the rocky shoreline. Desperate, Nicole looked around. Where was Niall? Please let him be here.

  Then she saw him.

  Further down the beach, he remained unmoving.

  “Niall!”

  No response. Scrambling to her feet, she ran in his direction then stumbled and fell. Damn was her balance off. Even so, she kept moving, staggering until she fell to her knees beside him. “Niall, can you hear me?”

  Shoot, he was turning blue. Nicole knew panicking was the worst thing she could do right now. Putting her ear close to his mouth and nose, she felt for any sign of breathing. Nothing. She watched his chest closely. No movement. So she felt his wrist for a pulse. Again, nothing.

  “Shit,” she muttered, refusing to give in to fear.

  Rònan dropped to his knees on the other side of Niall, alarmed. “Cousin?”

  Her eyes met his. “Can you save him somehow with magic?”

  “Nay.” Rònan shook his head. “I dinnae have the power to heal another.”

  “Damn.” She gestured at him. “Stay back then.”

  Nicole placed her hands, one on top of the other, on Niall’s chest. Careful to stay between his ribs, she pressed down and started to do compressions. About thirty or so every minute.

  “What the bloody hell are ye doing, lass?” Rònan said.

  “This is our best shot at getting him back,” she gasped. “Now let me focus.”

  When Rònan started to argue, her eyes met his. “Just trust me, okay? I don’t wanna lose him any more than you do.”

  She didn’t wait for a response but continued to work on Niall. Tilting his head back, she lifted his chin. God, he was so cold. Too cold. Don’t think, just do, Nicole. So she pinched his nose shut, took a breath, put her mouth over his and released two second-long breaths, watching to see if his chest rose.

  Nicole ignored Rònan as he muttered something about it being a bloody ill time to kiss.

  She resumed chest compressions. Thirty of them, followed by two more breaths. Then she started the whole process over again. Despite how hard she tried to keep emotions at bay, it was becoming difficult.

  “Don’t you dare leave me, Niall MacLomain,” she said again and again as she pressed on his chest. “Damn Wizard of Water, my ass. Not if you let it take your life.”

  On and on she went.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that it was too late but refused to give up. He wouldn’t give up on her. In fact, he hadn't time and time again. So she kept fighting.

  The minutes seemed to crawl by as her desperation grew. As she struggled for his life. Fought to bring him back.

  “Nicole,” Rònan said softly.

  “Shut it, Rònan.” She shook her head. “He’s not gone.”

  “Och, lass,” he whispered.

  When he touched her arm to stop her, she whacked him away and kept at it, ignoring the stinging burn of her muscles.

  “Nay,” Rònan finally said. “Enough.”

  Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. No.

  But this time Rònan wasn’t giving her a choice. Before he could pull her away, Nicole pumped a few more times and swore she saw the stone in her ring flicker again. Rònan yanked her off Niall and into his arms. Though she struggled against him, it didn’t do much good.

  Nicole barely recognized the sound of her own sobs. They almost seemed subhuman. Rònan pressed her cheek against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. The pain raking her was terrible. Different. Nothing she could fight back against. It swamped every part of her, inside and out.

  “I can’t,” she whimpered. “This can’t be happening. We’ve come too damn far.”

  “I know,” Rònan whispered, never letting her go. “I know, lass.”

  “No you don’t,” she cried and tried to push away, determined to save Niall.

  Then she heard it.

  A gurgling sound. Her eyes widened. She knew that sound. Yanking away from Rònan, she looked at Niall. Water dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

  “Help me roll him onto his side, Rònan!”

  This time, he didn’t question her but helped. Within moments, Niall began coughing out more water and started taking deep breaths. Heart slamming, she released a burst of nervous laughter as color seeped back into his face. “Christ, he’s gonna be okay.”

  “Bloody hell,” Niall gasped and tried to sit up, but Rònan pushed him back down.

  “Nay, Cousin. Take a moment.”

  Niall rolled onto his back, held his forehead and frowned at them as he gasped, “What happened?”

  “You died is what happened.” Nicole’s wobbly smile turned into a frown to match his. “And scared the living shit out of me.”

  Niall said nothing at first as he took in his surroundings. Yet all the while he eyed her and something fluctuated between them. Whatever it was made her chest tighten and throat thicken.

  “Ye dinnae look so well, lass,” he murmured and touched her cheek. “Yer eyes are all red.”

  “That’s because she was crying like a—”

  “Rònan,” she warned, stopping him mid-sentence. “Zip it.”

  “Zip it?”

  “Stop talking.”

  “Were you crying over me then?” Niall said softly.

  “Heck no,” she shot and helped him sit up. “My eyes are just stinging from the salt water.”

  Rònan shook his head at her then clapped Niall on his back, smiling. “’Tis bloody good to have you back with us, Cousin.”

  Vika neighed her agreement.

  Nicole smiled at the horse and spoke within the mind. “Good to see you’re okay, friend.”

  “Aye, ‘tis good indeed to see all are well.”

  “So where are we?” Niall said, rubbing his hand over his face as he adjusted to breathing.

  “My guess is the northern tip of Scotland.” Rònan nodded down the shoreline. “And I’d say on Sinclair land based on their plaids.”

  All three stood as a band of warriors approached on horseback.

  “I’d do just about anything to be wearing more than a shirt right about now,” she murmured.

  “’Tis really more of a short dress on you, lass,” Niall said as he wrapped a protective arm around her lower back.

  “Aye, ‘tis a look more lasses should embrace,” Rònan added as he eyed her legs.

  “Really, Rònan?” She frowned at him. “You’re checking me out right now?”

  “You cannae blame him,” Niall defended, giving her legs a once over as well.

  The guys might be making light of the situation, but she felt their tension as the men stopped in front of them. A handsome, older man was the first to speak. “From where do ye hail, strangers?” His eyes went to Niall. “I see ye wear MacLomain colors. That makes ye a friend.” Then his eyes went to Rònan. “And ye wear MacLeod colors. That makes ye foe.”

  Then he looked at Nicole with interest as did every other man. She really wished she had on more clothing. But it seemed the head guy wasn’t without compassion. He nodded at one of his clansmen. “Toss the lass a blanket.”

  When the warrior nudged his horse closer, Niall shifted in front of her and shook his head. “Give me the blanket.”

  When the warrior glanced to his leader, he nodded. So the man tossed it to Niall and backed away. Nicole nodded thanks to the Sinclair and welcomed the coverage when Niall wrapped the blanket around her.

  Niall wasted no time introducing them, offering his title first then Rònan’s. “He is my cousin by blood. Half MacLeod, half MacLomain. As it has been for over thirty winters, the clans are allies and last I knew, allied with the Sinclairs as well long before that.”

  “We work toward such an outcome but have not yet achieved it,” the man said, still
not offering his name. He nodded at Nicole. “And who is she?”

  “I’m—” she started, but Niall cut her off.

  “She is my wif, Nicole MacLomain.”

  “Wif?” she said out of the corner of her mouth.

  “Wife,” he said out of the corner of his.

  Hell. No. “Absolutely not—” she said but Niall squeezed her close by his side. She didn’t miss the warning.

  “Married a fortnight now.” He shrugged, explaining her potential denial away. “’Twas an arranged marriage ye see and she’s still getting used to the idea.”

  Oh, she was getting used to the idea all right. The idea of telling him to go blow. But she could admit to feeling relieved when the men began looking at her a little less intensely.

  The leader considered them for several long moments before he apparently came to some sort of conclusion. “I am Bryson Sinclair, son of King Alexander Sinclair and Iosbail MacLomain. And ye have just become my prisoners.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Northern Scotland

  1154

  NIALL FROWNED WHEN the Sinclair warrior told him what year it was. How the hell had they ended up here? Better yet, how had Vika managed to remain dry with not only a saddle but a satchel attached. She had fallen into the ocean so it made no sense.

  He would be sure to explore the contents of the satchel later. For now all he could focus on was having Nicole in his arms again. He'd missed her so bloody much and had nearly given up hope of ever seeing her again.

  “Did I hear that right?” Nicole murmured incredulously. “Did we seriously travel back in time another hundred and twenty-seven years? And I'm obviously not referring to our layover with the Vikings.”

  “So it seems,” he said softly, keeping his arm locked tight around her waist as they rode Vika. He was surprised the Sinclair had allowed as much. Rònan, still in rough shape, lumbered alongside. At least they were all given blankets to help against the frigid winds. Niall had wanted his cousin to ride with Nicole, but Bryson would have none of it. While he might not like it, he understood the Sinclair’s need to be overly cautious. Because, if he wasn’t mistaken, they were being taken back to Sinclair Castle.

  Back to King Alexander.

  Because the MacLomain clan kept its history alive by sharing it with each generation, he knew the tale of Adlin's sister, Iosbail Broun...or MacLomain. How she fell in love with a Sinclair king from another time. Then they saw one another on and off over the years so that the once immortal Iosbail could age at the same rate as Alexander. What he did not know was that they bore children. Why would that have been kept a secret?

  “How did you find me and Rònan, Niall? Are Robert and Tait okay? Everybody else?” Nicole whispered.

  “Aye, all is well,” he whispered back. “I’ll fill you in later.”

  They didn’t travel far through the woodland and jagged, sweeping mountains before a large castle came into view. Like MacLomain Castle, it had two moats and two drawbridges. A stately beauty well suited to the Highland King.

  As they passed over the first drawbridge, his eyes were drawn to the battlements above. An old woman looked down at them. She might wear the red Sinclair plaid, but he knew she was a Broun and MacLomain.

  Iosbail.

  When her eyes met Niall’s, she nodded. He nodded back. Rònan must have sensed her as well because his gaze turned her way.

  “Who is that?” Nicole murmured and Niall realized that she was just as drawn to Iosbail as they were. It made sense considering his lass had Broun blood flowing through her veins. So he explained who Iosbail was. Not only Adlin’s sister and former matriarch of the Broun clan but an immortal wizard who started a slow aging process when she met her true love, Alexander.

  “Damn,” Nicole whispered. “That’s amazing.”

  They had just entered the courtyard when a remarkably fit older man strode out of the castle. Niall would put him past his seventieth winter yet he had a stronger stance then most. He might not be wearing a crown, but there was no doubt who he was.

  King Alexander.

  “Och, Da,” Bryson said as he swung down. “I would have brought them to ye.”

  “I’m not on my deathbed yet, lad,” Alexander said and turned his attention to them as Niall helped Nicole down. “Welcome, I am King Alexander.” A twinkle lit his eyes. “So we’ve more MacLomains and Brouns from another time, have we?” He grinned at the men. “Born of the Next Generation ye are.”

  Well, at least Niall didn’t need to catch him up on anything. No, he suspected Alexander and Iosbail already knew a great deal. As it was, rumor had it they were part of his parent’s, aunt’s and uncle’s adventures.

  Niall and Rònan sunk to a knee and lowered their heads as they greeted the King.

  “Speaking of the Next Generation,” Iosbail said firmly from the top of the castle stairs. “One of them comes.”

  Who? Niall supposed he would find out soon enough.

  Iosbail’s eyes shot to Bryson. “Go retrieve he who comes, lad.” She nodded back the way they came. “Down by the shore.”

  “Aye, Ma.”

  “Please rise, lads,” Alexander said to Niall and Rònan. “We are all equal here.”

  There was nothing equal about them in the least, but Niall respected the man’s humble nature so rose. “Ye could be putting yer clan in danger by bringing us here,” he began, but Alexander shook his head sharply.

  “I know the risk.”

  Did he really?

  The King kissed the back of Nicole's hand. “Greetings, lass.” Then he held out the crook of his elbow. “Allow me?”

  “Absolutely.” Nicole smiled and slid her arm into his. “I’m Nicole by the way. Never Nicki, Nics or any other variation. Just Nicole.”

  The king didn’t bat a lash at her odd greeting. “Nice to meet ye, Nicole.”

  She glanced at Vika. “What about my horse?”

  “She will be well cared for,” he assured and led her up the stairs.

  Niall was sure to grab the satchel before they took the horse away.

  Iosbail nodded at Nicole as Alexander stopped and kissed the back of her hand as well. Deep love passed between the elders before the King led Nicole inside. Meantime, Iosbail’s attention turned to Niall and Rònan as they arrived at the top of the stairs. She eyed them up and down with blatant approval. “More strong MacLomain lads.”

  “’Tis good I suppose that Adlin sent ye my way.” She urged them to follow. “It seems ye’ve a nasty beastie after ye indeed, aye?”

  “Aye,” Rònan said. “One that we cannae assure willnae follow us here.”

  “Nay, I dinnae suppose ye can.” She nodded at a servant and he brought over three mugs of whisky. One, of course, was for Iosbail. “Come, warm yerselves by the fire. Yer chambers are almost ready.”

  “So we arenae prisoners after all?” Rònan said, a grin on his face. “Yer lad made it sound otherwise.”

  “Aye, ‘twas best he treated ye such until I landed eyes on ye meself.”

  Niall felt edgy when he looked around the hall and couldn't locate Nicole. “Where did the King bring my lass?”

  “Above stairs,” she said. “My King tends to like to get to know the lasses who wear the rings. Especially yer lass’s. ‘Twas once the ring of someone he was quite fond of.”

  “Who?” Rònan asked.

  “That doesnae matter right now.” Iosbail took a few hearty gulps of whisky and again gave Niall a good eying over. “Yer William’s grandson to be sure though ye’ve the look of your Da.”

  “Aye, William was my grandfather.” Niall felt a jolt of melancholy. “I miss him.”

  “Aye,” Rònan agreed. “He was a good man.”

  “All me MacLomains are,” Iosbail murmured, her Irish lilt becoming more obvious. “As are me Brouns.”

  “No disrespect, ‘tis truly a pleasure to meet ye, but I should be with my lass,” Niall said. “She shouldnae go unprotected.”

  “And ye thi
nk she’s such with me Sinclair?” Iosbail bit back, eyes sharp and assessing despite her advanced age.

  “That was not what I meant—” he began.

  “’Tis exactly what ye meant,” Iosbail said. “’Tis a MacLomain gene ye come by naturally that ye think none but ye are suited to protect yer lasses.”

  Niall supposed he looked a little sheepish because that was precisely what he thought.

  “’Tis understandable he feels as much,” Rònan defended. “’Tis not every day a lass saves his life.” He took a swig and cracked a grin. “Though ‘tis more frequent that a lass brings him to his knees with a good pinch.”

  “Is that right?” Iosbail chuckled and eyed Niall. “Yer Broun did such then?”

  “Och, aye, bloody nails on her.” But Niall was more concerned with what else Rònan had said. “What do ye mean she saved my life?”

  “She beat on ye good she did. Then kissed breath right into ye whilst holding yer nose then beat on ye some more. ‘Twas nearly impossible to finally get her to stop.” Rònan snorted and eyed Niall. “Do ye two often hold each other’s nose whilst kissing? ‘Twas a bloody odd sight.”

  Niall looked skyward and shook his head. “Ye really need to visit the twenty-first century more often, Cousin. She was performing what they call CPR. A way to save without magic.”

  A host of emotions blew through him as he mulled it over. Thankfulness. Admiration. But more than anything a need to hold her again. He seriously didn't like her being out of his sight.

  “How did ye find Nicole and me anyway?” Rònan said to Niall.

  “Nay.” Iosbail shook her head, wise eyes never leaving Niall. “That will be a conversation for later.”

  Both clearly understood that what Iosbail said was not to be questioned. She was to be respected every bit as much as her brother, Adlin.

  So they chatted about things of little importance. Autumn’s harvest. The holiday preparations and the current going on’s of the Sinclair clan. Niall finally had a chance to peek in the satchel and was pleasantly surprised to see its contents. It was something for Nicole. But how did it get there? Uncle Grant or Adlin were surely behind it. Or at least making sure it made it this far.