Ever My Love

by Lynn Kurland

  “Where’d you learn that?” she asked.

  His mouth worked for a moment or two, as if he simply couldn’t find the words he was looking for. “Where in the hell do you think I learned it?” he asked incredulously.

  “You’re cranky.”

  “What I am is fighting the almost irresistible impulse to wring your neck!”

  She did smile then. “No, you definitely aren’t.” Then she noticed the stain on the front of his plaid, which was tossed over what looked to be a linen shirt of some kind.

  That was blood from the man who had tried to kill her.

  She pushed past him before she threw up on him. She leaned over the railing, dry heaving, until she was simply standing there, gasping for breath. It was quite a while before she regained enough control of herself to notice that he was standing next to her with his hand resting lightly on her back.

  “I’m sorry,” she managed finally. “I’m so sorry.”

  He took her by the arms, turned her to him, and looked at her seriously. “I am going to go home now, take a shower, and go to bed. I want your word that you’ll do exactly the same thing.”

  “I’m not sure what my alternative is,” she managed. “I’m running out of clothes to ruin.”

  “Which is why we should go shopping very soon, perhaps at Harrods, where you’ll be comfortably far away from anything that will get you in trouble.” He stepped back. “I want your promise that you’ll stay home. Promise me. I’m fully prepared to babysit you if I have to.”

  “I’m going to strip, take a shower, then go to bed myself. It wouldn’t be very interesting.”

  He smiled faintly. “That is a matter of opinion, I assure you, and almost more temptation than I can bear to walk away from.” He nodded toward her door. “Inside, woman. Don’t make me prod you there with my sword.”

  She had no doubts that he would if pressed, and she’d already forced him to—

  She couldn’t think about that, and she didn’t want to ask him if he’d done that sort of thing before because she had the feeling he had. She took a deep breath, then nodded and walked to her door.

  “Emma?”

  She turned and looked at him. “Yes?”

  He seemed to be wrestling with what he wanted to say, but she didn’t think she should help him. The truth was, she didn’t want to talk about anything more serious than what might be good for breakfast later.

  “I’m curious,” he said finally and apparently quite unwillingly. He stopped, then simply looked at her in silence.

  She understood what he was getting at. She dug around in her shirt and came up with her page. She held it up. “I ripped this out of a book.”

  “What is it?”

  “It says it’s a drawing of the MacLeod keep in 13 . . . well, you know.”

  He was in denial, that man there. He only looked at her and shook his head. “You can’t do this, Emma.”

  “Rip pages out of books?”

  He looked at her evenly. “You cannot do this, Emma.”

  “All right.”

  He dragged his hand through his hair and swore. He looked at her. “I’m not going to discuss this.”

  “And you think I want to?”

  He scowled at her, but came inside and lit the fire in her stove just the same. He walked past her back outside without looking at her. “Lock up.”

  “I always do.”

  “I’ll be back later.” He looked at her over his shoulder. “You had best be here or there’ll be hell to pay.”

  And not from me was what he didn’t add, but she suspected he was thinking it just as seriously as she was.

  She nodded, then shut herself inside her house. She stripped right there in the kitchen, showered, then took her clothes outside and tossed them in a garbage can she was sure didn’t get emptied all that often. She didn’t want to think about what anyone might think of what she’d contributed.

  She went to bed because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept in one. She was going to have to figure things out—

  No. No, she wasn’t. She was going to pull herself together, thank Patrick for the loan of his car and Nathaniel for the offer of his, then pack her stuff and go. She didn’t like to think she had things handled only to find she didn’t have anything handled at all.

  Maybe that was exactly how Nathaniel felt.

  She stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes, grateful for the soft light from the lamp she’d left on in the living room, and wondered how exactly Nathaniel dealt with . . . well, whatever it was he was dealing with, which couldn’t possibly be anything she had unthinkably been sucked into.

  That was, she decided, something she could avoid thinking about until later.

  She closed her eyes and shook until she finally fell into an uneasy sleep.

  Chapter 18

  Nathaniel thought he just might have reached the end of his tether. Considering how many times he had clutched what he’d thought was the end of that rope, that was indeed saying something. Perhaps what he needed was more than three hours’ sleep at a stretch, more than twenty-four hours between trips to the past, and a few answers. A vacation would have served as well, but he didn’t see that happening any time soon.

  All he knew was that he never again wanted to watch a man leap out of the shadows and manage to get his dagger that close to Emma Baxter’s chest before he could be stopped.

  Some of it might have had to do with how little he cared to think about that element of his life in the past. He fought to defend his clan, such as it was, and he had now fought the same man twice to defend his woman. He did both knowing that the damage he inflicted on his attackers was permanent and generally fatal. He did it because he had to.

  He shook his head. He was starting to sound like a medieval clansman in his head. It was only a matter of time before he started spouting that kind of rubbish aloud and to men in the current day. That was something he could deal with, he supposed. Reliving what felt like the same day in the past more than once was something he was still trying to digest.

  It had been the same day, hadn’t it?

  He didn’t know, but he’d already texted the man he thought might be able to help him determine that. He’d been granted an audience, in just those words. He’d been reminded to bring along the appropriate gear. He hadn’t had to ask what that gear might be, because he’d already had it clarified for him several days earlier. He suspected a morning facing Patrick MacLeod over blades wasn’t going to be very pleasant, but he was backed into a corner and needed answers.

  The same day repeating. As if time traveling itself wasn’t gobsmacking enough on its own . . .

  He steadfastly refused to think about the fact that if he’d tried to sort things a year earlier with Patrick’s help, perhaps even a pair of months earlier, he wouldn’t have had to save Emma’s life twice, nor watch her fall apart in front of him the same number of times.

  He would have shaken his head over the state of affairs in his life, but he’d done that so much that he’d gotten a crackle in his neck that took noisy flight every time he turned to look at something.

  He pulled to a stop in front of Emma’s cottage, then simply sat there and thought about her for a moment or two. The woman owned spy clothes. How extensive that wardrobe might have been was definitely something to investigate before he took her shopping. Depending on what he found, he would no doubt have an opinion on what she purchased. He suspected she would pay as much heed to that as she’d paid to anything else he’d said to that point, which was exactly none.

  Damn her to hell, he thought he might never get her out of his heart or his head.

  He crawled out of his car, stood on her porch, and gave one last thought to the wisdom of what he was planning. He didn’t want to talk to her about what had become a shared experience in a different lifetime, he
just wanted it to stop. Unfortunately, he was afraid if he just left her alone, she would go off and do something again that he might have considered ill-advised.

  And he might not be able to reach her in time.

  He sighed and lifted his hand to knock, then jumped a bit when the door opened before he could. Mistress Emmaline Baxter stood there, dressed in jeans and holding a pair of high-heeled shoes in one hand and plaid muck boots in the other. He blinked, then smiled. She did not smile in return.

  “I’m out of clothes,” she said with a scowl.

  “There’s a mercy there.”

  “And shoes.”

  “So I see,” he noted. “We’ll go to Inverness tomorrow and see what can be found. I don’t think I’ll be buying you any useful shoes, though. Don’t want you scampering off.”

  “You won’t need to worry about that, because you’re not going to be buying me anything, buster,” she said. “I was planning on running into the village this morning to buy my own footwear.”

  “Why don’t you opt for boots and come with me for a morning of adventure at Patrick MacLeod’s hall?”

  She hesitated. “It sounds better than what I had planned.”

  “And what was that?”

  “I was considering driving to that old Fergusson castle—”

  “Don’t,” he interrupted before he thought better of it.

  She studied him. “Any reason why not?”

  The list was very long and he imagined she could supply at least a handful of items for it. He looked at her, but couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Damn it to hell, he was not going to concede to anything as barking as time travel. He simply refused.

  She sighed. She put her shoes inside, put her boots on, then pulled the door closed behind her. She locked it, then looked at him. He didn’t want to feel any undue pleasure that she was wearing the jacket he’d bought her—she likely didn’t have anything else—but there it was.

  He was lost.

  “So, where is it you’re going again?” she asked.

  “I was planning on paying a visit to the young Himself, as the locals call him,” Nathaniel said. “I think you should come with me so I can keep an eye on you.”

  She frowned at him. “I thought you wanted me to go away.”

  “I wanted and still want you to be safe. I have madness to solve.” He supposed he didn’t need to elaborate on that. “Until it’s solved, I want you safe. But apparently that now means I must keep you near me for great stretches of time.”

  “Well,” she said with a shrug, “if you have to.”

  He wasn’t sure if the thought was appealing or repulsive to her, but she wasn’t losing her breakfast over the railing, so he decided to reserve judgment. He walked with her over to his car, then opened the door for her. She looked inside, then froze. She simply stood there for a moment or two, breathing lightly, before she looked up at him.

  “What’s that?”

  “I think you know.”

  “I don’t think I want to talk about it.”

  He smiled wearily. “Welcome to my life.”

  She looked at him for so long, he began to feel a little uneasy. She said nothing else, but simply slid into her seat, shifting his sword a bit so they both would fit. He walked around his car, got in, then drove them to the village for a quick croissant and something warm to drink. Thus fortified, he made for Patrick MacLeod’s house and hoped he would manage to get away from the place with equal ease.

  He realized once he’d stopped in Patrick’s courtyard that Emma hadn’t said anything since they’d left the village. He looked at her to find her looking at the castle.

  “Why again are we here?”

  He sighed. “I have some questions for him.”

  “And you thought you would get better answers from him if you had your sword?”

  “That’s the price of admission.”

  “There are rumors about him down at the pub,” she said slowly, “but I dismissed them.” She glanced at him. “What do you think?”

  “I’m not sure you want to know,” he said, “but I might have a better opinion in an hour or two if you’re really curious.” He got out of the car, walked around to open her door for her, then retrieved his sword after she’d gotten out. He took a deep breath and looked at her. “Assuming I survive the morning.”

  “I’ll rush to your defense if you need it.”

  He propped his sword up against his shoulder and shut the door, then smiled. “Could you?”

  “My brothers would probably have an opinion on it.”

  “I think I would like to meet them in a darkened alley sometime.”

  “My hero,” she said seriously.

  “You might think differently when you’re carrying me back to the car and tucking me into bed tonight, but I’ll claim that title for as long as I can.”

  She glanced at his sword, then met his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about the past few days.”

  “I understand.”

  She looked at him gravely. “Thank you.”

  He attempted a smile. “You’re welcome.”

  “I’m sorry I put you in that position.”

  He reached out with his free arm and pulled her close, mostly so she wouldn’t see his eyes growing red. “Dinnae fash yerself, lass,” he murmured. “We’re likely just imagining it all anyway.”

  She patted his back. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  He nodded, then stepped away. He could hardly believe he was contemplating his current madness, but he supposed he’d marched into worse. He locked his car, then walked with Emma across the courtyard to the front door.

  Patrick opened the door at his knock, looked him up and down, and smiled. “I see you came prepared.”

  “You said I should,” Nathaniel said pointedly.

  Patrick stood back and held the door open. “And so I did. You find me in reduced circumstances, I’m afraid. Maddy took the bairns and went with Sunny and my sister-in-law, Elizabeth, to London to escape the chill for a bit.”

  “A big city, London,” Nathaniel noted.

  Patrick lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t think I sent them off alone, do you? Nay, my friend, we’ve an entire collection of terrifying lads to accompany our priceless treasures wherever they go.” He shrugged lightly. “Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

  Nathaniel had no intention of asking him what he meant by that, mostly because he imagined he didn’t need to. He stood to the side as Patrick asked Emma where she might most comfortably pass a few hours whilst he and Nathaniel took a bit of healthful air and exercise. Nathaniel didn’t even consider protesting the length of time. If he managed to get himself out of Patrick’s backyard before dark, he would be fortunate indeed.

  “I’ll watch you two at your work, if it’s all the same to you,” she said quietly.

  Nathaniel caught the look Patrick threw him, but didn’t respond. What was he going to say? That Emma had gotten lost in the past, he’d gone back to rescue her from the MacLeod dungeon, and he’d slain the same man twice in a row to get himself and Emma back to the present day safely?

  He imagined His Lordship would have all those answers and more anyway whilst he was down on his knees begging for mercy, so he thought it might be best to simply leave them for then.

  “You don’t mind if we speak in the native tongue, do you?” Patrick asked politely. “I don’t want to be rude, of course.”

  “Feel free,” Emma said, waving him on. “Wouldn’t want to stand in the way of keeping it alive.”

  Patrick looked at him and nodded. “Let’s go, laddie. No sense in leaving my field untrampled.”

  “Do you have a field, my lord?”

  “I do. I generally wreak havoc at my cousin Ian’s, but I’m too lazy to walk there this morning. If you don’t mind a bit of rough
ground, I think we can find room enough beyond the garden.”

  Nathaniel wasn’t sure what he minded. He was just suddenly beginning to wonder if bringing Emma along had been a grave mistake. He hadn’t wanted to leave her unsupervised, but he was also not exactly sure he wanted her to see what he could do. She had already seen too much.

  He chewed on that as he followed Patrick outside, saw Emma settled on a bit of low garden wall, then paused and looked at her. She was a grown woman, which he supposed meant that she could make up her own mind about what she wanted to see and what she wanted to look away from. The cold steel in his hand, though, brought him back to reality in a way that nothing had that morning.

  “You know,” he said to her carefully, “I didn’t give you much choice about coming with me.”

  Her expression was very serious. “You didn’t force me into the car with you, Nathaniel.”

  “But I didn’t ask you what you wanted to do—”

  “I wouldn’t have come with you if I hadn’t wanted to, no matter what you’re holding in your hand right now.” She gave him a half smile. “Besides, you bought me breakfast and offered to buy me clothes in the future. Hard to argue with either of those things.”

  He wanted to point out that they were completely avoiding what the subject at hand truly was, but she’d already told him that she didn’t want to discuss it. That made it difficult to decide how facing off with Patrick MacLeod over medieval broadswords could improve anything.

  She nodded toward their host. “Go hack away. I don’t think I’ll swoon.”

  He lifted his eyebrows briefly. “I can be pretty spectacular on the field, so you might want to leave the possibility open.”

  She laughed faintly. “Get lost, show-off. I’ll go sit by the fire if I get bored. Patrick’s already offered that escape route.”

  He took a deep breath, nodded, then walked off to follow Patrick out to what indeed proved to be a decent-sized bit of flat ground. As Patrick turned, he realized that the man had left the scabbard of his sword behind, likely against the garden wall, and he wondered why he hadn’t thought to do the same.