by Erin Grace
And she'd fallen for his 'Mr. Nice' act.
Idiot!
Dreading what she would find when she opened her eyes, she summoned her strength and pried her lids apart just enough for them to adjust to the pale light.
It was morning.
Panic welled within as she stared down at the fine wisps of mist swirling around her feel. She'd been out all night with Liam. And somehow, she doubted if they were anywhere near MacTavish's Keep. Ewan would have no idea where she was.
Her body shuddered as an icy breeze licked her skin, sending platoons of goose bumps scurrying over her like some all-conquering army bent on making her die of exposure.
Cold. Always bloody cold.
She licked her lips, wishing she had a little water from Tilley's flask.
"Good morning, ma Lady. I trust you slept well?"
The smirk on the wretch's face screamed self-satisfaction. What she wouldn't give to claw that look right off of there.
"You're real brave without an oatcake in your hand, huh?" His smile faded into a stony sneer. "Or is drugging a girl the only way you can get a date? Where I come from they use Rohypnol—never mind—but either way, it means you're a cowardly bastard."
The side of her face stung where his hand collided with such force that she fell to the side. Tears streamed from her eyes, as she fought to breathe through the burning pain.
Suddenly she was in Peru.
She was curled up on the bed in her hotel room, hand clutching her cheek. Michael hovered over her, his hand still raised, poised as though he intended to strike again.
After he'd come to her, drunk and angry over some bad media stories, she'd told him to go back to his room and sleep it off. Insisting he'd just wanted to talk, she'd let him in.
So much for what was supposed to have been their first night together.
Instead of talking, he outright blamed her for errors in several site reports that he oversaw. He'd called her a foolish young student with no talent other than fetching and cleaning for 'real' archaeologists like him.
When he began to fawn all over her, she'd threatened to call security. Outraged, he'd slapped her and said if she breathed a word about his behavior to anyone, she'd never work another dig again.
Anger from the past welled up from some distant part of her soul, raced along her veins and found its release as she kicked out at Liam's shins, catching him off guard. He toppled to the ground.
Stunned by her own actions, she sat up and wiped a trickled of blood from the corner of her mouth against her left shoulder. "Don't you ever lay a bloody hand on me again!"
Liam shook his head and got to his knees, his eyes gleaming with intense rage.
"You little bitch!"
"Now, Liam. That is nae the way to treat your future wife."
Her gut twisted at the sight of Father Martin. "Great. I guess I should feel better now that I have a priest here. Or are you just on standby to issue my Last Rites?"
A croaky laugh escaped the old man's throat.
"Aye, but you are a willful lass. Liam will have his hands full."
"Liam can drop dead. Please feel free to join him." She held her chin up and issued him a burning glare. "And if I know my husband at all, I doubt Liam will have any hands left to do anything with. Or head. Legs, either. You see, Ewan has this thing about people hurting me. It doesn't make him a very happy camper at all."
Father Martin looked confused. "Cahm-per?"
She smiled. "You'll find out soon enough."
Liam bent down and grabbed her under the arm, hauling her to her feet.
"Struggle again, and I will slit your throat."
"With Ewan's dagger I suppose?" Liam stopped and stared at her in surprise. "Well. That was just a wild guess, but thanks for confirming my suspicions. It was you, wasn't it? The one who stabbed Ewan in the back just before the battle?"
Liam shoved her forward. A deep roll of thunder rippled across the sky.
"Move, wench."
"For God's sake, Liam. Ewan is your cousin. How could you do a thing like that? Betray your own kin?"
"You know nothing of ma kin. Now, shut your trap and walk."
Father Martin took her by the arm and led her toward a small clearing.
She tried to shrug off his hold, but he held firm. "I hope there is a nice warm place in Hell for you, Father. You might want to pack some sunblock."
He began to laugh, then spoke in a whisper.
"Ah, I knew you to be 'different' when I first met you."
Prickles of fear trickled along her neck. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"All your strange words. Even the way you carry yourself. You remind me so much of the Laird MacKinnon's wife."
"Margot? You mean the Laird's wife. She's dead, from what I heard."
"Aye, lass. You have done a fine job of keeping her secret, but I know her to be alive . . . and not in our realm."
A lump lodged in her throat. Her feet went to lead.
He knew?
"I have no idea . . . ." He squeezed her arm painfully. It was all she could do not to cry out.
"Poor lass. I dinna wish to hurt you."
"You're doing a lousy job of it, then." She glanced at Liam, who was clearly wondering what they were talking about. Ahead, a mass of large stone pieces scattered across a grassy clearing.
Why did she get the sinking feeling she knew what the man wanted?
She sent up a silent prayer for Ewan to find her. Now.
Hands clenched tight behind his back, Ewan paced before the blacksmith's shop, watching in dismay as the sun rose from behind the nearby misty peaks.
The wait was near killing him.
With every heavy-hearted step, he'd spent the past few hours devising new ways he would kill his lowly cousin and the wretched priest along with him.
Yet, even death didn't seem a fitting enough end for either of them.
No. He wanted the evil pair to suffer at his hand for hurting his Ellie. His wife. His love. Like the gale wind blowing in steadily from the north, fury whirled within, threatened to make him come undone.
He'd never told her he loved her. Not once.
Emotions were for the weak, he'd always thought so. Yet the notion of a life without his beautiful, stubborn, willful arc-ee-olo-jest just didn't bare thinking.
"Argh!" He turned and punched the wooden door of the blacksmith's hut, near knocking it from its hinges. "How much longer, Alan MacKillop? Dinna try ma patience, man."
Angus stepped from the shadows, his craggy face clouded an immense look of dissatisfaction.
"I still think I should be going with you, Ewan. The devil knows what the two of them may have planned. It could well be a trap."
"Aye, I dinna doubt it for a moment. But ma mind is set." In his clenched fist was the note from Father Martin. "Besides. I trust you to look after the keep in ma absence."
He was to meet the priest and Liam, alone, by midmorning at the ruins of the pagan temple. If they saw anyone else with him, the cowardly curs promised to kill Ellie on the spot.
Memories of the night he'd last seen his mother—surrounded by the priests as she knelt before an altar—flooded into his mind.
His father had been summoned home early by Father Martin, from a combined clan meeting. The excitement that had gripped the keep since Lady MacKinnon was discovered missing and the Laird summoned home had awakened the young boy. Curious, Ewan hid in the hall, listening as his father and the priest conversed. The old priest claimed his mother had been kidnapped by a group of pagans.
Though only eight years old at the time, Ewan was filled with a fierce determination to protect his mother and bring her home. Without his father’s knowledge, Ewan decided to go to the pagan site himself.
On horseback, Ewan took a shortcut he’d often used to evade punishment when he was in trouble and reached the ancient site before his father. Within the small clearing, he found a group of cloaked figures chanting some kind of spell. His mo
ther was in the center of the circle, kneeling before a tall man who held a golden circle above her head. Looking back, what bothered him was the fact she hadn't seemed in peril. Neither her hands nor feet were bound, and she seemed at peace with what was happening around her.
Emerging from the bushes, he’d wanted to run to her, but his father and their soldiers stormed the sacred area, killing all those before them without a word. All the while, a vicious storm surged above them, sending arrows of lightning down, destroying stones, trees, and any man who fell in its path.
Yet, his mother and the head priest didn't move.
His father was only a few feet away from the pair, when an incredible bolt of pure white light appeared to strike them, leaving Ewan blinded for a few moments.
When his sight returned, his mother had disappeared.
Only after he'd met Ellie and his mother in the future, did he fully conceive what had happened to them all.
And now he was to be forced to watch it happen all over again.
No. Never again.
He gripped the hilt of his sword. The blacksmith appeared from within the smoky hut and handed him a heavy object wrapped in leather.
At last.
He was going to get wife, his love, and bring her home.
"So, tell me, Liam. What was in it for you?" Ellie sat on a large piece of carved stone and glanced up at the encroaching storm. "Surely you had some grand plan in the scheme of things? All bad guys do."
"You talk too much, wench."
"So I've been told. Does it make you uncomfortable that I'm not afraid of you?"
She hid her apprehension as Liam stood and moved close to her. Perhaps she shouldn't have spoken too soon.
Reaching out, he gripped her chin tightly and tilted her head upward.
"You will soon learn how to behave when you’re ma wife." Her lips were crushed beneath his in a cruel, possessive kiss that made her ill to the core.
She bit down hard on his bottom lip, making him jerk back and raise his hand.
"Go ahead."
Her taunt stilled him. Sporting a bleeding mouth, he turned and stormed off to where his horse was tethered to a nearby tree. Her throat closing in disgust, she spat the salty taste of him on the ground.
Lord, she wished Ewan was there.
"Liam is wee bit short-tempered, but you will soon learn to heed his ways."
"I'd rather die first."
"You think me mad, eh lass?"
"How could you tell?"
"What if I was to tell you I know of Margot's ability to travel through the ages?"
She tried to hide her surprise at the revelation, but he seemed to see right through her.
"When she came to our clan, it was as if I had an inner purpose that had lain dormant. She made it come alive. But I was nae the only one. With her arrival came others, all of us with similar abilities that none of us fully understood. It was as if—as if we had been drawn together for a purpose."
"Forgive me if I don't seem very interested." But she was—in every word.
"One night, during the solstice moon we all met here, in the ruins of an ancient cult. Only one amongst us seemed to have any inclination for our destiny. Jonathon was a very persuasive man. If only Margot had the clarity of sight to see that."
"Sounds like you were jealous of Jonathan?"
He stood and paced before her, his features becoming hard and sallow.
"As a man of the cloth I was torn between ma duty and protecting Margot."
"You thought yourself in love with her, didn't you? And when she didn't return your affection, you became bitter and resentful."
"You dinna understand. Aye, I cared for her, more than ma position would ever allow. But I knew Jonathon's influence over her had become too severe when he began talk of transporting our very bodies through time. It was heresy. But they nae listened to me.
"Margot was the first to take the ritual. For three days she disappeared. All of us except Jonathon thought her dead. On the fourth day, she returned to us, spouting wild talk of a place that could have only been created by the devil."
Chapter 26
"Laird MacKinnon's raid caused Margot to be lost in time. And for that you never forgave him—or yourself. You have made countless people live in torment for your own twisted bitterness, Father Martin. Rather than accept that you were responsible for Margot never being able to return, you were determined to make everyone else suffer all the more."
Ellie glared in disgust at the 'holy' man before her. "You make me sick. And what did you promise Liam for his help? Wealth? Land?"
She edged her way along the stone, as the old priest stepped toward her and produced a small gold coin suspended from a length of cord.
"Let us just say the lad is easily influenced. Liam will be rewarded for his loyalty to me."
Shit.
Of course. The way Laird MacKinnon muttered to himself over and over again. It all made sense. She'd seen similar occurrences happen in a few of the more remote tribes off the coast of Indonesia. A combination of drugs and hypnosis had caused victims to literally will themselves to death through starvation and self-blame.
"You have Ewan's father in a trance, don't you?"
An eerie smile snaked across the evil priest's mouth.
"I have to say I'm impressed, lass. Nae many of this time would know of such things. But whereas Margot's strength lay in her ability to travel with ease, and Jonathon's the ability to send her, mine lay in the unique talent of persuading some folk to ma will."
He held out the token and began to swing it before her face.
"And you think I will be one of those people?"
The dark morning sky opened up, releasing heavy drops of rain, followed by streaks of lightning in the distance.
The priest produced a small dagger from within his robes, and prodded her side.
"Pity I won’t have time to give you a proper demonstration. It's been a delight chatting to you, lass, but it's time to move to the altar. Your beloved should be here at any moment. We'd both regret it if he were late."
Ewan was coming for her?
Her heart leaped at the knowledge, just as a terrible feeling of dread welled in the pit of her stomach.
Liam was waiting for him.
"Welcome, cousin."
At the sight of Liam's smug expression, Ewan gripped the reins of his horse so tightly he felt blood ooze into the palms of his hands. If only he could get hold of the bastard's traitorous neck.
The fact his cousin's face was still bruised and swollen from their encounter at the MacTavish keep gave him little consolation, but it would have to do for now.
"Where's ma wife, you bastard?"
He didn't believe in mincing words.
"She's well enough for the moment—in the hands of our good Father Martin."
Ewan glanced from side to side, keeping watch for any other men Liam may have planted as an ambush. "It's good to see you can follow instructions, Ewan. I considered you may have decided against coming alone."
"You think I'd be worried about facing you on ma own?" He nudged his mount onward, pulling up close to Liam. "It isn’t I who has to hide behind a woman's skirt, you pathetic piece of shit. Now, take me to her without delay."
Liam glared at him and started off towards the clearing.
"You have always had a way with words, cousin."
Ewan's horse picked up pace and trotted beside the man who'd soon pay for his sins.
"I always took you for a pretentious prick, Liam, but I never dared to think you'd betray your own kin."
"You have only ever considered me kin when it had suited you. You and Collin—thick as thieves. MacPherson too. Always so generous with his own sons. What did he ever give me?"
"Did it nae occur to you to be man enough to make your own way?"
"Aye, Ewan. It did, in fact." A smile of pure evil lit up his cousin's face. "And, that's exactly why you are here."
Liam stopped his horse and
motioned for Ewan to move forward. He hated the feeling of having the backstabbing bastard at his back—the same feeling he had on the eve of the Munroe battle.
Son of a bitch.
A smile crept to his mouth as he shouted out for his cousin to hear, "I dinna suppose you still have ma dagger? Or do you intend to use it again?"
Just another good reason Liam should die.
Though still midmorning, the heavy rain and dark sky made it seem like early evening when Ewan stopped in the midst of old stone ruins.
Trepidation trickled along his spine.
The pagan site.
"Ewan!"
At the sound of Ellie's voice, he dismounted so quickly, anyone might have mistaken him for falling. With his weapon drawn, he bolted to the altar where he'd once seen his mother vanish into oblivion.
Soaking wet, with tears streaming down her face, his wife stood against a large flat piece of stone—a knife held against her throat.
"Dinna move, Ellie." Tearing his gaze away from his frightened wife, he fixed an icy stare at the old priest. "Let her go, Father."
The man pressed the dagger harder against her, until a small stream of deep crimson ran down her throat and joined with the ripples of rainwater staining the front of her cream linen dress.
The terror in her eyes set his soul ablaze with a fury like none before it.
Heart hammering in his chest, he fought the primal urge to lunge forward and rip the man's lungs out from where he stood. Hell, he was suffocating with the need to save her.
"Dinna take ma for a fool, MacKinnon. Did you bring what I asked?"
Not taking his gaze from the priest for a second, he reached down and took the object from a pouch tethered to his belt.
The evil man's eyes lit up.
"You shall nae have it until ma wife is set free."
The sharp tip of a dagger against his back told him perhaps more negotiation would be necessary.
"Toss it over to me, MacKinnon, and careful as you do it. Any trickery from you, and your lovely wife will pay the price for your foolishness."