by Erin Grace
Oh, her aching head.
The pounding of horses' hooves roused Ewan from a troubled sleep.
Was he still dreaming?
Not for a long time had his body been in the grip of such pain, yet it wasn't nearly as severe as the first time he'd found himself at Ellie's cottage. His muscles still ached and burned, but the overall result felt nothing worse than after a full day's training with his men.
With the exception, of course, of the healing wound in his back. The injury was still tender, but he'd long since learned to ignore such petty discomforts. Ellie, on the other hand, had fussed over him like a typical female.
Nae. Like a wife.
But there was nothing typical about her. She'd shown immense courage rushing to his side before the lightning strike, despite the obvious fear she held behind those emerald eyes. He'd asked a lot of her on faith alone, and she'd done nothing but give.
Even herself.
He took in a deep breath, then let out an even deeper sigh. In truth, even he hadn't been sure his mother's plan would work, but he'd been prepared to risk anything to return home.
His home.
"So," The whispered sound of a familiar voice echoed into his mind. "Do you think he's dead, Angus?"
Something poked his leg.
"Nae, Godfrey. See? He's still breathing."
"Aye, that he is. I'll jab him again, just to be sure."
Ewan opened his eyes, grabbed at the stick above him, and catapulted its owner into the air.
A roar of laughter howled around him as two grubby faces he recognized hovered over him.
Ewan couldn't help allowing a smile of relief to creep to his mouth. "Christ, I must be in Hell." He clutched at an outstretched arm, got to his feet, and shook his head.
"Hah! Told you he wasn’t dead." Angus, a man with red hair and scraggy beard, whacked Ewan on the shoulder. "Though even then, he could probably send Godfrey flying again."
It was as if he'd never left his land, but he was surprised to find himself surrounded by his closest friends—Godfrey, indeed, flat on his back a few feet away.
"Get up, you woman," Angus taunted at his fallen comrade, then wept with laughter as Godfrey ran and launched himself at him.
The pair hit the ground and began rolling down the side of a small embankment, much to the delight of the others watching.
Ewan turned from the warring men and surveyed the area around him. In the distance he could see the silhouette of MacKinnon keep, smoke rising from the many fireplaces inside. Relief flooded his heart. His home was still standing.
They'd done it. They were back.
"Ellie." Christ. Where was she?
Without explanation Ewan walked away from his men and began searching for her. Hell. He didn't recall waking up next to her. He was taking it for granted she was somewhere near to him. But where?
"Ellie!"
Hamish, his best friend, appeared by his side. "Ewan. What are you doing? Where have you been, man?"
He stopped calling out and looked at Hamish. How could he explain where he'd been or what had happened to him? Aye, they'd think he'd gone mad. "Hamish, where's the woman?"
"What woman?"
Christ, this wasn't going to be easy. "There was a woman with me."
"Ewan. There is nae a woman here. Hell, if there was, Angus would have smelled her right away."
"Aye. That's what I'm worried about."
Hamish’s expression darkened. Something was clearly bothering the man.
"Christ, Ewan. Where did you go? We've been searching for three days now,
with nae a trace of you."
Angus and Godfrey had stopped their quarrel and joined in the conversation.
"Aye," added Angus. "Damn happy to have you back, but when you disappeared from the battlefield, we'd feared the worst."
Godfrey nodded and wiped the blood from his split lip, courtesy of Angus. "We thought the Munroe had captured you and was holding you for ransom, but he denies it."
He looked at Godfrey. "You still fought the Munroe? Who won?"
Angus grinned, revealing the few remaining teeth he had. "MacKinnon, of course!"
"We were on our way to see if maybe the MacGreggor’s had you, though I'm sure as hell we would have gotten word well before now. I couldn't see you being a simpering prisoner." Godfrey grinned.
"Aye," agreed Angus. "I'd have expected you to take down at least half the MacGreggor keep on your own . . . though I would have been mighty disappointed not to have been invited to join in."
He nodded, pleased to hear his clan had survived the battle, but his mind wasn't on the subject. Ellie was missing. He had to find her. Things were vastly different here than the time she had come from, which made her a very vulnerable target.
Hell.
"Ellie!"
His men looked at each other, then at him. Ewan knew what they were thinking, but now he was getting angry. Damn it. The woman couldn't just disappear. She had to be here, somewhere.
"Who is this Ellie?" Angus sounded interested—too interested.
"She is none of your concern, Angus. I was injured just before the battle. I don't remember much, but one thing I do know . . . I was stabbed in the back."
The shocked expression on his men's faces was quickly replaced by that of anger and disgust. Highlanders didn't do such cowardly things.
Angus was the first to draw his sword. "We'll find the craven bastard, Ewan. See if we don't."
"Aye," agreed Godfrey, then spat on the ground. "We'll hunt him out."
"But who is this Ellie?" Hamish met his stare.
He needed to tell them something. His men may be rough, but they were not stupid. "She was a woman who'd found me and looked after me, tended ma wound. When I'd healed, I brought her back with me."
Godfrey looked at Hamish, then at him. "Are you meaning to keep the wench?"
He could feel the weight of his kinsmen's stares, knowing what he said next would have a major impact on the clan. "Aye. I am keeping her. Do any of you challenge ma decision?"
The grim frowns on his friend's faces slowly turned into sly smiles.
Angus was the first to pound Ewan's back, narrowly missing his wound. "For God's sake man. Here we were worried you were dead, when all the while you were . . ."
"That's enough." Ewan growled and ignored the sniggers from Godfrey and Hamish. On any other occasion he would already be in the throes of pounding an apology from each of them, but he was so damn happy to be home he let it slide—this time. "Ellie is ma wife, and I'll nae have you speaking ill of her"
"Aye, Ewan." Hamish grinned. "If that is your decision, I'll support you."
"Aye, I'll support you as well," Angus agreed.
Godfrey nodded.
Satisfied, Ewan nodded his approval then set about searching for his errant wife. Even if she'd strayed out of curiosity, she couldn't have gone too far. Blasted female. She wasn't like the women here. She was fierce and independent; he wouldn't put it past her to go in search of something to dig up. A strange habit of hers that he'd never understood—even when she'd explained it to him.
Besides, he could use a few moments until they found her to deal with another problem.
He hadn't quite figured out how to tell his clansmen his new wife was also English.
Christ.
They'd find out soon enough.
Chapter 13
Ellie sat rigid upon a large chestnut steed, a powerful arm pinning her in place against a hard, muscular chest. A familiar scent of wool and warm, earthy male surrounded her, made her pulse race—but for all the wrong reasons.
The warrior holding her so intimately wasn't Ewan.
Just wait until she got hold of him. Husband indeed.
By the time the man at the stream had gotten close enough for her to properly recognize he wasn't Ewan, it was too late to run. Not that her body had been in any condition to gain any respectable ground, but she would have tried.
The strange Hi
ghlander had smiled widely at her, clearly knowing he just made himself a catch, though her manor of dress probably had him wondering just what it was that he'd caught. Unfortunately, it hadn't taken him long to figure out she was a woman.
In the interests of self-preservation, she'd decided to cooperate with her abductor—at least for now—and get on his horse, in the hope he simply wouldn't have his way with her then and there by the stream and abandon her in the wild. Lord knew what these men were capable of.
At first, she refused to speak a word to him, and for good reason. If there was one thing she knew very well about the Scots of this time, it was of their extreme dislike of the English.
And that was putting the matter mildly.
"Tell me your name, woman." The warrior's husky Gaelic brogue shook her from her thoughts.
In desperation, she pretended she hadn't heard him. But when she felt the heat of his breath bristle intimately against her ear, he gained her full attention. What was she going to do?
"Elspeth." The Gaelic burr hadn't quite come out as she'd planned, but at least he pulled away from her nape.
"A sweet name, lass. Though I must say you’re not from any of the Highland clans, are you?"
Perfect. Now the wretched man wanted a whole conversation.
She shook her head instead of speaking and kept her stare forward, which in itself was proving a unique experience. Wherever he was taking her, they'd begun to come across others wearing the same plaid as him. Each time one of them bothered to notice her, they stood still, open-mouthed as if she were painted purple. Clothes aside, it was as if they could sense she didn't belong.
The thought made her more uncomfortable than the thin blanket the warrior was using for a saddle. Even now, she could tell blisters would be forthcoming on various parts of her anatomy. But moving in order to get more comfortable, would mean rubbing up against her abductor. No. Better to grin and bear it. Why make a bad situation worse?
"You’re an unusual female." Was that supposed to be a compliment? "Most woman nae know how to hold their tongue, while you scarce say a word. I could get used to that."
Great. He was a real comedian.
"In fact." His voice whispered next to her ear, sending nervous shivers down her spine. "I'm thinking of keeping you."
Hell. Not again.
She was still trying to come to terms with her first 'husband'.
His hold on her relaxed a little, then his fingers began to gently stroke along her waist. Instinct took over, she smacked his hand, and scowled at the wretch, hoping he'd get the hint.
He laughed and held her tightly once more. "Aye. I like a lass with spirit."
Fabulous.
It was well into nightfall before Ewan stormed into the great hall of Keep MacKinnon. Bursting with anger and frustration, he paced before the giant hearth like a man possessed.
Heaven help him. He'd been unable to find Ellie.
As he'd dismounted from his horse in the bailey, an icy wind whipped up and howled like a painful moan. Cold.
Ellie hated the bloody cold.
But now she was out there in it, somewhere, with no furs or shelter. His gut wanted him to get back on his horse and keep searching, but his men had finally convinced him that there was no way they could find her at night. The mountains were far too dangerous for any of them to ride in the dark.
Hell. He knew they were right, but that didn't stop the incredible angst in his heart from eating him alive. She was his wife. He'd vowed to protect her.
And now, by bringing her back, he may have doomed her to die.
The doors to the hall opened; Angus and Hamish walked in.
He turned away from them, stared into the fire. "How in Hell can I be warm in here when ma wife is freezing somewhere outside?"
"Ewan." Angus spoke with unaccustomed softness. "Godfrey has just come back from a village near our border. No one seems to have ever seen your wife."
Ewan rounded on the man, his second in command. "And I tell you, she is nae from the Highlands. She has to be lost."
Angus scratched his beard. "But all of our scouts have reported in . . . surely one of them would have seen or heard something of a woman . . . especially if she be oddly dressed as you say."
Hamish averted his gaze.
Ewan knew there was something the two men wanted to say, but daren't.
"It sounds to me as though you doubt ma word, Angus." The expression on Angus’s face darkened. Ewan knew for a fact he'd just insulted the man, his most loyal soldier. "Out with it."
Hamish stepped forward. "We don't doubt your claims, Ewan. But you have to admit it strange that we haven't been able to find a skerrick of the woman."
"And you, Angus?" He would hear the truth from his men.
"I'm thinking perhaps the wench abandoned you while ye rested. Aye, when we found you, there was nae a woman anywhere in sight. Perhaps she just wanted to see you safely back to the keep, then returned to her home."
Ewan shook his head, grabbed a jug of ale from the table, and poured a large mug. "Nae. She wouldn’t have returned to her home."
"Why not?" Angus poured himself an ale then offered one to Hamish.
Ewan drank deeply and threw his goblet into the fire. The earthenware smashed against the wall of the hearth. As Ewan turned to leave the hall, his men stared at him, their expressions grim.
The answer to Angus' question hung silently on his lips.
Ellie couldn't return home, because her home wouldn't be built for another eight hundred years—that's why.
The Highlander's keep was smaller than she'd expected and certainly not as grand as she imagined Ewan's home to be, judging by the ruins she'd examined on MacTavish's property. In a dim and drafty corridor, she sat in silence on a rough timber chair next to a set of large doors, which she suspected would lead into the main hall.
Cold, hungry, and tired, she was duly frightened by whatever was going on inside the closed room, but couldn't help but be amazed by the architecture and artifacts surrounding her. Lord. In this time all of these items were just everyday possessions, things of no historical significance to anyone—except her.
And who could she tell about them?
The warrior who'd captured her had finally introduced himself as Liam MacGreggor and, from what she could decipher so far, was apparently the nephew of the MacPherson Laird. In fact, she'd little doubt that the enthusiastic Highlander was at that moment expressing to his uncle his interest in making her his wife.
Something had to be done.
She took a deep breath and rose from the chair.
Time to burst her suitor's bubble. She only hoped her actions wouldn't get her killed.
With a shaky hand, she clasped the iron door handle and pushed. Lord, it was heavy. She put her shoulder into it, only to have the blasted hinges suddenly move freely and propel her into the room.
A loud gasp escaped her throat, notifying all inside to her arrival. That, along with her less-than-graceful landing onto the carpet of stinking rushes lining the floor, must have made a memorable sight.
"Shit." The expletive escaped her lips before she could stop it.
Perched on all fours like some strange animal, she looked up through stray locks of hair to see Liam smiling down at her. He would find something amusing in this. Flames licked her face as she rested back on her haunches, then stood and did her best to brush off the moldy dead grass from her pants.
The room had fallen deathly silent.
Liam was sitting next to an older man upon a wooden dais. With scraggy, thinning grey hair and a weathered, ruddy complexion, the old man appeared fierce enough, but the soft glint she caught in his eye made her wonder if he had been somewhat amused by her impromptu antics.
Lord, she hoped so.
Suspecting the elder to be the Laird, she forced a smile, bowed her head, and did something she prayed resembled a curtsey. Now, if only her knees would quit shaking.
"You were told to wait, woman." L
iam stood up and stepped down toward her.
She looked up, met his disapproving gaze, and frowned back. For a moment he reminded her of Ewan. Something about the shape of his face perhaps? Or more likely it was just the familiar, obstinate scowl that adorned most of the Highland men she'd seen thus far.
The uncomfortable silence was broken by the savage growls of two hounds fighting over a ragged joint of meat.
Her pulse raced, palms became hot and sweaty.
"I apologize for my intrusion." She kept her words slow and clear, in case her Gaelic was hard for them to understand. "But I needed to address the Laird, if I may."
She looked around the room and smiled. There. That wasn't so bad, was it?
The MacPherson Laird raised a goblet to his lips, then drank before releasing a substantial belch.
Charming.
Liam just stood there, arms crossed, expression unrevealing.
Lot of help he was.
"As I just pointed out, Uncle, the woman is nae from the Highlands."
The older man leaned forward and eyed her as if inspecting goods and chattel. He coughed, spat on the floor, then cleared his throat. "So you said, Liam. I suspect, in truth, the wench is nae from within our borders."
A ripple of whispered remarks echoed through the hall. Liam took a step closer to her, touched under her chin, tilted her face upward.
"No, Laird." She held her head firm, met the old Laird’s gaze. "I am Sassenach."
Chapter 14
The silence that followed in the wake of her announcement was not quite what she had expected.
Neither was the sudden burst of raucous laughter from the dais, that startled her, made her jump.
She turned to Liam. Even he was doing a poor job of suppressing a smirk.
Heat rushed to her cheeks; she realized she must be the butt of some joke. "You find what I said amusing, Laird?"
Wiping what appeared to be tears of mirth from his eyes, the old man nodded and near choked on a mouthful of food.
"Aye, lass."
Liam leaned in and whispered next to her ear. "Of course we knew you to be Sassenach."