The Legend Mackinnon

by Donna Kauffman

  “Or I will simply put a bullet through your head and toss you into the sea.” He slid the muzzle of the gun down the side of her neck and propped it under her chin. “Your choice,” he said, his voice dangerously silky.

  “Delaney,” she managed.

  “Good decision.”

  She grudgingly admitted he was good, damn good.

  She’d simply have to be better.

  “Who is the owner you spoke of?”

  “At the moment, I am.”

  That got her the break she needed.

  He rolled her to her back, her hands still gripped in his, his body still trapping her against the stone. But her knees were free now. And she used one. Swiftly.

  He had quick reflexes and her blow caught him in the thigh, but his shift allowed her to duck and turn. Using his grip on her hands for leverage, she was able to use the force of her movement and his body to flip him. Unfortunately, he didn’t let go of her hands and she went down on top of him.

  She immediately somersaulted over his head and tried to leverage her way free once again. He would either have to drop the gun, or drop her hands. He let go of her hands. She continued her roll and as he swung the gun toward her, she executed a perfectly aimed kick and connected hard with his wrist. He grunted as the gun flew up and clattered into the rock tumble above their heads.

  Both were quickly on their feet, circling the other as each looked for a weakness to exploit. She had a glaring one, her size. But she’d long ago learned to use it effectively. However, she didn’t underestimate him. He was a big man, but he moved with a lithe grace that belied his size. She’d have to be quick. And accurate.

  “Who sent you here?” he growled.

  “I don’t think you are in a position to demand anything at the moment.”

  “Think again,” he said. “Balgaire, strike!”

  Damn! She’d forgotten about the stupid dog.

  She twisted in time to see the beast’s massive body leap from the rocks overhead. She ducked his flying pounce, but wasn’t able to regroup fast enough to evade her other opponent. He took her down with a bone-jarring, skin scraping tackle. Stars twinkled in her peripheral vision as he rolled her to her back and pinned her, hands on either side of her head. The dog stood over her, grinning and drooling on her, completing her humiliation.

  “Retrieve,” her captor commanded and the dog leapt effortlessly up the boulder pile. He was back seconds later with his master’s gun. “Good lad.”

  “Yeah, a real wonder dog,” she muttered.

  Her unfortunate position did yield one benefit. She could finally see his face. Well, sort of. He had dark hair that had been secured in a ponytail, but the front had come loose and hung in his face, preventing her from seeing him clearly.

  She did see his grin. A quiver of recognition jolted her, but he spoke and the sensation fled.

  “Don’t let him hear y’. He’ll gloat for weeks.”

  If she hadn’t been so ticked off, she might have actually smiled back. It was hard to hate a guy who fought that well and respected his dog. But this was no time for professional admiration.

  “If it hadn’t been for the dog, I’d have taken you.”

  Surprisingly, he nodded. “I believe you might have. Someone trained you well.”

  He gave her little time to enjoy the compliment, as he transferred her hands into one of his and slipped his belt from his pants. He efficiently bound her hands and placed her back against a rock. He’d cleaned the drool-covered gun and trained it steadily on her as he sat back on his haunches. His hair still hung irritatingly forward, making her want to push it out of his face.

  “Delaney. First name, or last?”

  She stared at him for several long moments. “First.”

  “What are y’ doin’ down here? Who sent you?”

  “Are there many people who know of this place? I was under the impression that Stonelachen guarded her secrets very closely.”

  That got his undivided attention. So, he hadn’t just stumbled into this cave, unaware of the castle above it.

  “What do you know of Stonelachen?” If she’d thought his voice cold before, it was downright frigid now.

  “I own this place. I inherited it.”

  “No one can inherit Stonelachen.” He straightened his shoulders, looking every bit as imperious as he sounded.

  It all fell into place. Each hair on her body stood directly on end. “Let me see your face.” She was unable to keep the words from wavering.

  “Why?” But he was clearly unnerved.

  “Show me your face.”

  Holding himself stiffly, he did as she asked.

  “Holy mother of God.” His face was sculpted differently, his mouth fuller, his forehead broader. But those eyes … “It’s you. Alexander MacKinnon.”

  THIRTY

  Alexander froze. How could she know his name? He’d not told his true name to anyone in this time. But she knew Stonelachen, claimed to own it! And she knew him.

  “What are you? Witch?” He had never been one to lend credence to the sithiche, until Edwyna had made a believer of him. He gave this one a wide berth.

  As he moved back an inch or two, she also shifted and a beam of light caught her face, making him swallow hard.

  “Faery eyes,” he murmured. “Who sent you here?” This time the question was prompted from a different source. He no longer worried that one of the many men he’d dealt with over the last seven years had somehow traced him back to his lair. He had been supremely careful to build his arsenal as anonymously as he could. No one would ever surmise his true reasons for hoarding the weapons of the twentieth century.

  But perhaps he’d been protecting himself against the wrong foe. There was only one person who knew where he was.

  “Did Edwyna send you to me?”

  He studied the sprite in front of him. She was faery. She had the gamine face, the lithe body … and those eyes that could not be of the natural world. She also fought like an underworld warrior.

  In his seven years spent amassing weapons of destruction, he’d also studied everything he could find on the faery world. Edwyna had credited the faeries in helping her create the portal she’d tricked him into passing through. He’d hoped to divine the secret to open the portal back to his own time. He’d yet to find it.

  But perhaps, it had found him. Perhaps this run he’d just completed was to be his last. Edwyna had claimed she’d tricked him for his own good, to save his life, his soul. Perhaps she’d realized her mistake and had sent this sprite to bring him back.

  He would return gladly, but he would return triumphantly. He had planned for this every minute of the past seven years. Edwyna’s clan would bear the brunt of the mistake she made in trying to spare him from the future she had seen.

  “Edwyna is long dead,” the faery proclaimed.

  “She is perhaps long dead in this century, sprite, but she is very much alive in another time. You will show me the portal to it.”

  “I am no sprite,” the faery said, heat coming into her eyes. Powerful, mesmerizing eyes. He pulled his gaze away, realizing that there may be powers there he would not be able to withstand. He certainly felt his control slip when he looked into them for any length of time.

  “Explain yourself to me then. But you will show me to the portal. I have wasted too much time searching.”

  She studied him in silence. He began to grow uncomfortable as the quiet stretched around them. Was she weaving a spell? How else to explain the unsettled way her gaze made him feel? He’d stared down warriors, both in this time and in his own. They were men who would kill, and did, as easily as they breathed. Yet this one sprite challenged him, making him fight the temptation of a hasty retreat.

  “How are you here, Alexander MacKinnon?”

  Her sudden question caught him off guard. “You would know better than anyone. Edwyna sent me through the portal of time. She claimed to love me, wished to save me from death on the battlefield.” He woul
d have to be careful with this sprite. They were a tricky lot who craved war and enjoyed all its strategies. “Now it is time for my return. We are to wed.”

  “Oh, I don’t think there will be a wedding.”

  His gaze narrowed. “What do you mean?” Could Edwyna know of his plan? Had she a way of spying on him from her place in the past? Had she sent faeries here before to spy on his actions and intents? He did not think so. Balgaire had a nose for intruders, no matter their origin or species.

  “I can’t send you back to your own time. I’m afraid you’re stuck here.”

  “That cannot be,” he demanded.

  She shrugged. “Well, I can’t say there isn’t another way, but it’s not with me. The only portal I came through was that tunnel up there.”

  He did not have to look away to see the passage she spoke of. “Impossible.”

  “If you travel back down the tunnel, you’ll come to a set of very steep, wide stairs. Sound familiar?”

  She had been in the tunnel. But he hadn’t opened that door in five years. Calum had entrusted the knowledge of the secret cavern and its passage to the sea to his eldest son only after his betrothal to Edwyna. There was one lever in Calum’s private council room, which was situated directly above the tunnel door, and another in the cavern itself, in one of the many catacombs. It was in those catacombs he’d hidden all but the most recent cache of armaments, sealing each one shut from the water that filled the cavern when he was gone. And Calum’s council room was in a section of the castle that was now inaccessible due to rock fall. Unless someone had cleared it in the last five years. He hadn’t been in the castle in that time.

  Stonelachen had kept her secrets well these past three hundred years. Waiting, waiting for him to find his way back and change the bloody treachery she did not deserve. But it was clear now that someone had indeed discovered at least some of her secrets. “If you’re not sent from the underworld by Edwyna, then how did you discover Stonelachen and the passageway to the cavern?”

  “I told you, I inherited it.”

  “This land has been the legal property of many, but not one has discovered her.”

  “I had help.”

  Just then the bristly tan hairs on Balgaire’s massive back lifted, a low growl rumbled from his throat. “What is it, lad?” The dog maintained his stance; his gaze intent on the upper tunnel. He was a massive shaggy beast, a deerhound whose origins Alexander knew not. He’d been but a pup when he’d made the leap through time along with his master. Alexander had come to be grateful for the animal’s companionship and his innate ability to serve and protect.

  If Balgaire sensed something was wrong, it usually was. Alexander didn’t waste time. He hauled Delaney to her feet by her elbow and pulled her along. “This way. Come.”

  “Like I have a choice?” After stumbling once, she kept up with him as he moved swiftly around the boulders and into a catacomb.

  “I never even saw this last night.”

  “They’re not designed for easy detection.”

  Balgaire loped in behind them.

  “Guard,” Alexander commanded. The dog dutifully sat at the entrance, nose to the air, gaze searching the area.

  “Spooky beast,” she said as he pulled her deeper in.

  “He is rewarded well for his service. In many ways, dogs make better compatriots than men.”

  “That’s a cynical view. Especially for a Scot, and a clan chief at that.”

  He stopped short and pushed her up against the wall, his face inches from hers. “What do you know of my past?”

  “I know that if you treat your compatriots as well as you treat your dog, you will earn their loyalty and respect. A loyal man will lay his life down for you.”

  “And what do you know of loyalty, little warrior? Have you tricked men into declaring fealty to you? Have you coerced them into giving their lives so you may go on to lure others with those fey eyes of yours?”

  “I said nothing of trickery. I spoke of respect.” She didn’t struggle under his grasp, nor did she seem to have any trouble holding his gaze. “Perhaps that is why you must rely on a dog for a companion.”

  “I don’t see anyone flanking your side.”

  She had no answer to that. Instead of enjoying the taste of victory, he found himself wondering about the taste of her mouth. He yanked away from her and shoved her in front of him. Trickery.

  “Where are we going? What are you afraid of?”

  “We are going where I can keep a better eye on you. And I am afraid of nothing.” Alexander had been stunned to find anyone in his cavern, but Balgaire had known immediately after he’d returned from securing his boat that someone had invaded his sanctuary.

  As shocking as the discovery had been, he didn’t think anyone else had breached the lower sanctum. Until, perhaps now. He hadn’t forgotten her words just before the dog’s warning growl. She’d had help finding this place.

  He kept them moving around another tight bend, then another, then pushed her into a small alcove. “Sit.” He pushed as he commanded and she complied with no resistance. Wise, that one. She knew when to fight and had the patience to wait for her moment. His throbbing shoulder and wrist were constant reminders of her agility.

  He lit a small kerosene lantern and sat on an empty wooden crate. The room was small, with a narrow rug, a crudely built table and the crate he sat on. There was another room behind this one with a narrow connecting passage that he slept in when he was here, which was only very briefly between voyages.

  He laid his gun on the table and faced her. She sat against the wall, several yards from his feet. If her arms or hands hurt from being bound behind her back, she didn’t show it in any way. Her cheek was raw, but there was no blood. She had borne his brutish behavior without a cry or a tear. She held his gaze easily, as if she were his equal, not his captive.

  She was an underworld warrior for certain. No one else could have found Stonelachen, much less the cavern. Was he to be invaded with bluidy sithiche? “Who helped you?”

  “My cousins,” she responded.

  Faery kin kept close ranks. “They know where you are?”

  “What are you planning to do with the guns?”

  Her question surprised him, but he managed to keep his expression even. “What guns?”

  She nodded to the empty crate he sat on. “The ones that were inside that crate. The ones you have stashed amongst these little rooms. It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, you know, buying from the right and from the left. But then, you didn’t plan on being here long enough to get caught in the middle did you? What is your plan, Alexander? To go back to your time and wage war with twentieth century weapons?”

  He stood, shoving the crate back. “You say you are not faery, but you have the knowledge of a sithiche.”

  “No, I have the knowledge of terrorists. And that is what you will be if you do this.”

  “I come from a time of warriors, and a warrior uses whatever tools he can find to defeat his foes. The battle goes to the most cunning. Edwyna made a tactical error and she and her clan will pay the consequences.”

  “You seem to have forgotten one small detail,” she said. “How are you going to return? And how will you bring your pile of guns with you?”

  He towered over her. “You will show me.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you? I am a twentieth century woman whose great uncle left her a pile of rocks in Scotland. In those rocks I found Stonelachen.”

  “With your cousins,” he said skeptically. “You of the amethyst eyes are no more mortal than Edwyna. I will not be tricked again.”

  Delaney eyed Alexander. At any other time in her life, she would have been convinced she was dealing with a delusional psychopath. It said much for the experiences of the past few days that she knew him to be anything but. She was still stunned by the reality of his presence, but after reading the journals, she had no doubt he was Alexander MacKinnon. Born in sixteen-something. She stifled a sh
iver.

  Her gut told her to convince him of who she really was and take him to his brothers. But she wasn’t an idiot. She had to look at the big picture. He had every intention of going back and kicking Claren butt. And he might well decide to begin with hers. What if the key her cousins and his brothers were presently looking for ended up unlocking this portal he spoke of? What if he talked Duncan and Rory into going back with him? And what of Maggie and Cailean then? For that matter, if the MacKinnon brothers went back and changed history, would she and her cousins even exist?

  She had no idea what rules of nature he was playing with or what was best. Should she allow him to believe she was indeed a faery and lead him on a wild goose chase to buy time? Or did she reunite him with his brothers and pray the portal never opened again?

  She was saved making an immediate decision when Balgaire’s ringing bark echoed down the passageway.

  “Stay put.” He grabbed his gun and left the room.

  Delaney immediately rolled to her knees and stood up. If she could find a weapon, she might at least buy some time to think through a rational plan. First she needed to get this damn belt off her wrists. She moved quickly around the room, looking for his food stash.

  “Aha,” she breathed quietly, as she spied the two crates in the corner. She could hardly see the contents since the corner was deep in the shadows, but she spied the bottle of oil easily. She cast a quick look at the doorway. Alexander could return any moment. She turned and knelt with her back to the box and leaned back until her fingers grasped the long neck of the bottle. She moved to the table, then laid the bottle down with the cap hanging over the edge, keeping her eyes trained on the door as she unscrewed the lid. The oil would ruin her clothes, but it was a small price to pay for freedom.