by Ruby Duvall
Emma began to chew on the inside of her lip, wishing she could just tell him the truth. You want to know how I ended up here? I was born several hundred years in the future, grew up in a country that no Europeans have discovered yet and died in an accident while wearing a necklace that I now can’t take off.
He would probably just stamp her as officially crazy and call it a day.
“You’ll think I’m lying. You wouldn’t believe me,” she hedged, hoping he would start guessing so that she could choose one story and confirm it.
“Try me,” he said as he set his elbows on the table.
Her heart fluttered in her chest, her stomach twisted into knots and she licked her lips, trying to decide how to put it best—or rather, how to put it so that he believed her.
“I’m not, ah…that is, I was born in… There’s a place across the—” She watched his face, saw the slow rise of his eyebrows and the tightening of his jaw. “U-uh, I should say that I was…well, will be—did…” Oh for crying out loud! “It doesn’t matter where I came from. As far as I care, whatever story you want to tell is the truth.” Iain’s high eyebrows slammed down and he frowned as though she had just insulted his mother.
“For the love of God, woman! How can I trust ye if ye willna do the same? Did ye kill someone? Is that it? Are ye afraid to admit a crime?”
“No, it’s not like that! I’m not a fugitive or anything. There’s no one who knows me.”
“Then why will ye no’ tell me?” he shouted, standing up. “I have opened my home to ye, allowed ye into what remains of my family. I have fed, clothed and sheltered ye… Why will ye no’ let me have something in return?” Iain struck the table with his fists, his voice rising to a roar. “Who are ye?”
His anger frightened her this time, without a doubt. She knocked over the bench when she stood up and stumbled over it on her way to the door. Blinking as though waking up, Iain took a steadying breath but then he frowned again and stomped toward the door. Emma scurried out of his way, retreating to the sleeping side of the house. She watched as he lifted the bar and flung the door open. Without comment, he left the house.
Her knees abruptly gave out and she collapsed onto the extra bed. Her chest seemed tight. She fumbled for the locket around her neck, gripping it tightly. She had seriously ticked him off. Even worse was that there was little she could do to cool his anger.
She would have to leave soon.
—
Iain threw a bucket of milk down next to Kenneth, who was still milking another cow. The milk inside sloshed tumultuously, nearly spilling over. His brother-in-law regarded him with one eyebrow high on his forehead. “Ye seem…agitated. More so than usual.”
Iain pulled in a slow breath, teeth clenched. He wanted to hit someone and hitting Kenneth would certainly suffice. He had always had a short temper, one easily stirred. Aili had the courage of senility and the condescension of old age to shield her from his anger. Kenneth had been teasing him and laughingly dodging fists since they were both barely able to walk. They both riled him but they had never looked at him with fear.
But Emma… Damn it, why did he snap at her?
“Take that one with ye when ye’re done,” he said, having gained a little control.
“Ye’re nae coming? Did ye already eat?” Kenneth spoke with suspicion while his hands hurriedly milked the cow in front of him.
Even as he answered, Iain knew he had hesitated too long. “I did. We’ll be verra busy today, so—”
“Ye’re lying,” Kenneth said bluntly. “What did ye do this time?”
“How can ye ken it was me who did something?”
“Because ye just lied about it.”
Iain sighed. “That girl brings out the worst in me.”
“So ye suffer from lust,” his friend said with a grin.
“That’s none of yer damn concern and that wasna my meaning,” Iain growled, enraged that Kenneth was so easily prodding his open wounds. He had woken rock-hard, so swollen that he thought he might come right there on the bed, like some inexperienced youth. Only the distraction of the morning tasks had somewhat cooled his ardor. It had taken a great deal of creativity to hide his arousal from her line of sight.
Like it or not, he wanted Emma. He wanted all of her forever and in every way he could take her. Iain had tried to tell himself his need was just an infatuation—that it would die away but it had only become stronger. The need to cover her with his body, to explore her soft skin with his mouth and hands, to spend himself between her thighs and then watch her grow with his child… That primal need was now an inferno beneath his skin, barely contained.
“’Tis guilt then.” Kenneth stood up while casting a disapproving glance at him. “Ye did something and now ye canna face her.”
“I shouted at her, just like I’m shouting at ye! Can ye go on with yer day now that ye ken?” His friend opened his mouth but Iain cut him off with an angry gesture. “Just take the milk down to her and dinna ask me questions.”
“Mayhap I’ll invite her to my home,” his friend offered. A raw, burning sensation suddenly filled Iain’s lungs. “Beth likes her and I also—”
“No,” Iain growled, his body starting to shake.
Kenneth’s eyebrows twitched with confusion. “If ye truly dislike having Emma with ye, Iain, I am more than willing—”
“No, damn it! She stays with me.” A violent urge came out of nowhere. God help him, he wanted to throttle his friend and not in the sense of rough play. The redhead’s eyebrows rose high and he took a step back, lifting his hands in surrender. Iain realized that his hands had been clenched into fists. He stretched his stiff fingers.
“I think I finally understand,” Kenneth said, picking up the two buckets of milk. Iain swallowed, listening to his brother-in-law walk out of the barn. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on breathing slowly but all he could see was Emma’s terrified expression.
—
Emma leaned against the side of the tub, sighing. She hadn’t seen Iain all day, though she had made sure to send the rest of his breakfast to him when Kenneth had stopped by with fresh buckets of milk. Shearing took the entire morning since only Kenneth and Iain knew how to do it properly, yet they still had many more sheep to trim. Malcolm had come to fetch their lunch, taking time only to inform her and Aili of their progress. The old woman had headed home an hour ago, leaving Emma to prepare her usual evening bath.
All day, she had been mulling over the scene at breakfast, trying to think of how she could have handled it better. The truth may have been a one-way ticket to eviction and she couldn’t bring herself to concoct a lie. She had never been good at lying. Whenever she tried, she hesitated and her cheeks flushed with guilt.
She wanted to tell him exactly how she had come to this place—and time—so she had been practicing the best way to say it but it was difficult to explain. She didn’t know why or how she had been brought here and she didn’t have a good way to prove anything. She had burned her cell phone, steering wheel and wristwatch in the same fire that had consumed her fake fairy wings. Whatever wouldn’t burn had been buried in the woods, and it wasn’t likely she’d remember where. She had nothing else that could confirm her story.
“Wait,” she said aloud. Bringing her hands out of the water, she leaned over the side of the tub and reached for the towel to dry her hands. Then, sitting higher in the water, she looked down at her locket and slowly opened it. The delicate paper was still inside and she plucked it out. Careful not to drop it, she unfolded the note.
Tensing up, she gave a tiny shriek. Tears of fright sprang to her eyes and she instinctively held the paper as far away from her as she could. It was all she could do not to crumple it up and throw it at the fire.
The note had changed. Not only were the letters much larger but the script had changed from neat cursive to hastily written block letters. Most frightening was the set of eyes at the bottom of the page, drawn in heavy black ink and staring at her with te
rrifying violence.
The wolf doth watch and patiently wait.
Vengeance dangles, a bittersweet bait.
None are saved from blistering hate,
But caution may avoid a mortal fate.
Emma quickly refolded the note and stuffed it into the locket. She then glanced around the now familiar interior of Iain’s home, hoping to find a clue as to what she should do. She was nude, weaponless and alone. Even the door was wide open!
Her heart pounding, she was overwhelmed with the need to be at Iain’s side, to be surrounded by people she knew and trusted. She stood and grabbed for her towel, then stepped out of the tub. Once she was dry enough, she hastily bunched up the towel and set it down on a stool. She reached for her smock.
Someone entered the house, his footsteps heavy. “The boys willna be supping with us toni—” Gasping, Emma snatched up her smock and turned to find Iain standing a few feet in from the door, his mouth open. She covered the front of her body with the linen as fast as possible but knew it was too late. He had seen everything.
Iain couldn’t look away, didn’t want to. He had forced himself to stop avoiding her, to come to the house and tell her that it would only be Kenneth and Beth with them for the evening meal but he had forgotten the time of day.
He didn’t regret his mistake though.
The brief glimpse he had taken in of her smooth, pale nudity had inflamed his lusts far more than any fantasy ever could have. Like music to the ears or sweet fruit on the tongue, the sight of her had been pure pleasure, beauty for his eyes to behold. Her breasts were high and well shaped, the raspberry-colored tips begging to be tasted. Her rear was perfect for a man to grasp so that he could pull her against him.
And at the top of her thighs…
There was no helping his reaction. He didn’t need to look down to know that his desire was easy to see. She was freshly washed, already undressed and not one but two beds sat a few strides away. A dozen fantasies assailed him, all of them starting with a vision of his hands yanking her smock away and snatching her into his arms as he carried her to the larger bed.
A needy groan issued from his mouth and he stepped toward her. He would kiss her first. He dragged his eyes up to her face but as quickly as it had come, his lust washed away.
Emma’s face was white with terror, as though she had seen something that deeply disturbed her, something that had snuffed the light from her.
He had frightened her. Again.
An odd sort of pain, cold but sharp, bit into the center of his chest and carved a path down to his stomach, for in his more lucid moments when he wasn’t thinking of her as a fairy or a MacGregor, he had entertained thoughts of taking her to wife. Though she didn’t drink ale and attracted Auld Aili’s company, she was selfless, kind to children and hardworking. He could see in her an inner strength and wisdom that women like Rossalyn lacked and when she had sensed his desire to start a family, he had been surprised that she had spoken only of matching him with other women, as though she weren’t available, even though she had said no other was in her heart.
He saw now that she did not feel for him what he felt for her. Closing his mouth and swallowing the words he wanted to say, he turned and left.
Chapter Nine
Curled tightly under a woolen blanket, Emma lay awake in the extra bed, unable to sleep. Dinner with Iain, Kenneth and Beth had been extremely awkward despite the little girl’s innocent chatter and Kenneth’s overt attempts to lighten the mood. Once the two of them left for the night, she and Iain spoke not a single word to each other.
She did want to talk to him. She wanted to tell him everything, to show him the message inside her locket, to know that he wouldn’t let the wolf get her. The pair of eyes on the note still tormented her and it was even worse to know that the note was still in her locket, touching her skin.
The moment when he had caught her naked also kept her awake. She couldn’t stop replaying it in her mind—the strained silence between them, the unmistakable swell under his tunic and then his abrupt exit. For a split second, she had thought that he would come to her—that he would take her—and he had even taken a step toward her. Why hadn’t he done what he obviously wanted to do? Why had he left without saying anything? Although his delicious groan did seem to say something.
His short temper had already snapped once that day and she hadn’t wanted to risk upsetting him again, so she didn’t ask such questions. She wasn’t even sure if she really wanted the answers anyway.
Her mind turned it all over again and again. The hours slowly slipped away, marked only by the slow shrinking of the fire as it ran out of fuel. She listened to it crackle and could hear Iain’s quiet, deep breaths as he slept. She wished she could be lying next to him, resting in the curve of his body and in the safety of his arms instead of lying alone. For a few brief moments of sweet distraction though, she imagined rising from her bed, walking to Iain’s and stretching out over his long, wide body. She imagined those thick arms clamping around her and rolling her beneath him…
The fire popped. Iain exhaled. A dog began barking.
She softly gasped, realizing that it was one of Puck’s younger sisters, a high-spirited merle. She had a higher voice and the other sister howled more than barked. It was only a couple of seconds before the other two dogs started up.
The wolf.
She sprang out of her bed and ran to the other one. “Iain! Wake up!” she yelled. Shaking him, she shrieked when he suddenly grabbed her arms and tossed her away from him. She stumbled back, managing to catch herself against the side of the empty tub. Iain was on his feet, knees bent and hands out before she could even regain her footing.
“Iain, the MacGregors.” He eventually realized who she was and what was happening. He cursed violently and ran to the door, where he grabbed his sword from the wall.
Emma was horrified to see him handle the deadly weapon, to watch him rip off the sheath and toss it to the ground. “Stay here,” he ordered. All the breath left her lungs at the sound of his voice. He had never sounded so serious. “Bar this door behind me.” The bar was up and the door open in no time. He ran out of the house.
“Iain!” she screamed. Despite her better judgment, she ran to the entrance, intending to ignore his command and follow him but the instant she looked outside, she wanted to slam the door shut, run to the bed and pull the blanket over her head.
In her old life, there was always light—traffic signals, streetlamps, porch lights, headlamps…but not here. She had not yet been outside past sunset or before sunrise, not in this place. She hadn’t even realized it until now.
The night was pitch-black and the darkness seemed to press against the house almost like deep ocean waters against the hull of a submarine. According to one of Aili’s rambling outbursts, the moon was waning and on top of that, thick clouds had rolled over at midday, so no starlight or moonlight could penetrate. Only the fading fire cast any illumination on the ground just in front of the door.
Iain had gone out into that darkness with only a sword. All three dogs were going nuts and she could hear shouting, though she didn’t know who was doing the shouting. The snarls of a dog attacking someone rang loudly across the glen. Then a man’s scream. Emma began to panic, worried that someone was hurting Iain, was killing him. She wanted to go to him, to help him but to blindly run into that darkness, to leave the only light she had, the only familiar thing she had…
Clenching her hands and taking a deep breath, she dashed out of the house, trying to keep her mind on helping Iain. Her lungs heaved for air as her heart raced with adrenaline but she didn’t stop. The ground beneath her bare feet was cold. Muddy. The sheep were crying. Two dogs were still barking. Puck’s merle sister was eerily silent.
In the distance, the flame of a single torch emerged from behind the barn. Emma skidded to a stop. The person carrying the flame wasn’t Kenneth and certainly not Iain, so it had to be a MacGregor. Why would they bring a blazing bull’s-eye to st
eal cattle? It was like begging to be caught.
She had an immediate answer when the man touched the flame to the roof of the barn. Iain and Kenneth’s barn. She didn’t know where it had come from but incredulous anger flared inside her. Stealing was one thing but this… It wasn’t something driven by desperation. It was reckless cruelty.
Turning around, she ran back to the house, still able to see the rectangle of light cast by the hearth. Once inside, she grabbed the two buckets she normally used for bathwater and then darted back outside, running full tilt toward the river. She could waste no time. The barn’s thatch roof was wet from the damp afternoon but who knew if that would slow down the fire at all.
After filling up the buckets, she ran toward the barn, the heavy double load slowing her down a little. It was easy to find her way there this time because a portion of the roof had caught fire and she followed it like a beacon. The torch was now lying on the ground nearby and the man who had wielded it was nowhere to be seen, though that wasn’t exactly a comforting thought.
She could hear Kenneth shouting about the fire but she couldn’t see Iain. A few scared sheep were running free and the dogs were still frantically barking at the intruders. Another man yelled, followed by another scream.
It was pandemonium. About nine square feet of the barn’s roof had caught fire near the edge. She had only two buckets of water, so once she was standing close enough to feel the heat of the flames, she set one bucket down and held the other bucket in both hands. Aiming carefully, she tossed the first bucket of water, dousing most of the fire. Crying out with relief, she grabbed the second bucket and made quick work of putting out the flames with half of the remaining water. She then picked up the torch.
“Get out of here!” a man yelled. She couldn’t tell from where the voice had come. Another man shouted but his exact words were lost in the chaos.
“Iain!” Kenneth shouted. “Where are ye?” Emma held the torch high, barely able to see Kenneth about fifty feet away. The man was standing over someone’s body with his own sword in hand. She grasped at her throat, wondering if the thief was dead.