by Ruby Duvall
She took a deep breath. “The MacGregor clan will struggle for many years—”
“How many?” he interrupted.
With no clue as to any exact dates, Emma hesitated to answer but eventually said, “Several hundred.” Craig frowned. “But the name MacGregor will survive. Many famous MacGregors will have influence in the world. Your clan won’t die out. I can promise you that,” she nodded. At least she hoped she could promise it. She only knew a couple of famous MacGregors and assumed the rest.
Craig’s jaw tightened and he swallowed hard, glancing behind her. Emma looked over her shoulder just as the two hostages passed. The young MacGregor looked down at the child but Colin firmly kept his face forward. The young MacGregor then turned his eyes to his older brother.
It was subtle but Emma saw dread on the young man’s face. For a second, she thought he was simply afraid, worried that something would suddenly go wrong. Then his pace slowed down. He looked as though he was near to crying.
He was scared of his own brother.
Emma glanced at Craig again, whose eyebrows had slanted down and whose mouth was ajar in angry disbelief. He gestured for his brother to come to him. She looked back at the young man just as he stopped entirely and vehemently shook his head.
“Peter!” Craig whispered harshly. Colin ran the last few feet to his father, who scooped him up and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“I dinna want to,” Peter said shakily. He backed up a step. “I willna let ye do it anymore!”
A sensation like nothing she had ever felt before filled her from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair. With dread, she glanced between the two MacGregors and the three Campbells, realizing what would inevitably happen. She didn’t know how but it was coming. She looked at Iain, wishing she could have spoken to him just one more time.
“Ye’re my brother. I wouldna hurt ye,” Craig vowed. Iain drew his sword. She had known he would try but it wouldn’t do any good.
“Liar!” Peter screamed. He turned to run back to the Campbells and from the corner of her eye, she saw Craig lunge forward to grab his brother—whether in anger or desperation, she didn’t know.
Farther behind Iain, a man stood up from behind the wall separating the paddocks. Emma barely recognized the constable, who held a bow loaded with a single arrow. He let go of the string.
Oh no…
Craig yanked his brother into his arms. The arrow, undoubtedly meant for Craig, landed squarely in the center of Peter’s chest. Over the drizzling rain, she heard the thud of the arrow hitting him. His eyes went wide, the tendons in his neck standing out. Craig made a harsh, anguished sound.
Emma was rooted to the spot, too horrified to move. Craig laid his brother on the ground and then looked across the field at the Campbells. Panting and shaking, he turned to her, his intent easy to see.
“Don’t.” She held up her hands as he stood, backed away when he walked toward her. “Please,” she begged.
“No!” she heard Iain bellow.
Snatching up the rope, Craig pulled her toward him hand over hand, dragging her toward him even though she dug in her heels and screamed for mercy. She glanced desperately between his cold expression and Iain. He was running toward her but she knew he wouldn’t get to her in time.
Half-standing and half-hanging from her wrists, she was screaming still when Craig grabbed the locket and ripped it off. He let her go so suddenly that she hit the ground hard and the breath was knocked out of her. She saw Craig chuck the locket as far away as he could.
Iain let out a roar and Craig ran out of her blurry field of vision. She heard the clang of swords a second later.
Strangely, she wasn’t in pain. She was exhausted to be sure, unable to move but there was no pain. Was she in shock? She turned her head, worried about Iain, and only a couple of feet away lay Peter MacGregor. His eyes were open but unblinking and he wasn’t breathing. He somehow looked peaceful, as though he had been content to die.
But she didn’t want to die yet. She wanted to be with Iain. She didn’t want her strange adventure with the locket to end this way.
Perhaps she didn’t have a choice. Perhaps whatever task the locket had set for her had been accomplished. She didn’t know what would happen when she closed her eyes this time. She might never wake up again.
It was inevitable though. Her eyelids were as heavy as bricks and it felt so good and so right to let them fall shut.
The sound of clashing swords began to sound strange—more like the never-ending peals of sirens than clanging metal. Under her head, the grass was as hard as stone and the air was far colder than it had been a moment ago.
The sirens cut out. After a few seconds of silence, she heard footsteps and a man’s voice—no, two men. They were talking to each other but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. A hand gently touched her face.
The voices faded and she couldn’t fight the tide that bore her away from them, that pulled her under and deep into a dark abyss. Then there was nothing but silence.
—
Iain ran toward Emma as fast as his legs could carry him. Her screams ripped through him. He noticed his limp growing worse but he wasn’t in pain. All he felt was a desperate need to reach the one he loved, to stop anyone from hurting her ever again but the cursed Craig MacGregor ripped away her lahket, dropped her on the ground and hurled her charm into the distance.
Anger erupted, burning his throat and flushing his skin. He trembled with it and his hands clamped tightly around the hilt of his sword as he raised the blade high. He wanted to slice the MacGregor in half but the coward was running away and trying to draw his own sword. Iain recklessly hurled himself forward, hacking down as though chopping wood with an axe, and was ready to feel a spray of hot blood across his arms and face. He was sorely disappointed when his sword met steel instead of flesh.
Craig threw off Iain’s blade and began to attack, his expression both wild and fixed. Iain turned aside each blow but the MacGregor was strong and his strikes were powerful. Dodging to his enemy’s weaker side, he tried to become the attacker but the MacGregor recovered well. As the first moment stretched into two, Iain grew both impatient and fatigued. He couldn’t focus when the one thing most important to him was dying.
“How does it feel?” Craig spat when Iain failed to take control yet again. “To lose someone ye love?”
“I didna take her to lift cattle in the middle of the night,” he said. “Or abandon her like a coward when the rightful possessors defended themselves.”
Craig sneered and his next stroke was vicious, jarring the joints in Iain’s arms. “Rightful possessor?” he scoffed. “Campbells dinna have aught that ye didna steal. This is MacGregor land!” He swung his sword again, harder than ever. “Yer woman was only the start.”
Snarling, Iain blocked the man’s next blow and swung his sword around before Craig could lift his own blade again. He swiped at his enemy, savagely satisfied when he drew blood, though not enough to kill.
Holding his hand over the gushing wound in his right arm, Craig retreated several feet, dodging out of range when Iain followed to finish him off.
“Will ye nae meet yer death like a man?” Iain yelled. He darted forward to slash at Craig again but his right knee gave and he missed, barely catching his fall. The MacGregor withdrew even farther, leading Iain away from where Emma lay.
“Allan!” Craig yelled. “Allan, now!”
Realizing the reason for Craig’s retreat, Iain hesitated to follow any farther and looked at the trees ahead with suspicion.
He then glanced over his shoulder in time to see both Kenneth and the constable kneeling down next to Emma, having not moved from where she fell. She was so still. Kenneth laid his hand on her face.
“Shoot, damn ye! Allan!” Craig shouted.
Iain’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. He could not let him live. He started forward just when Craig dropped to the ground. Iain saw an arrow sticking out of the ground
beside the MacGregor, who was staring at it in open-mouthed surprise.
Craig looked to the trees again. “Allan, what are ye doing?” he yelled. Seeing his chance, Iain set off at a run, quickly closing the distance between them, but the MacGregor scrambled to his feet and turned to face Iain with his sword held in his good hand.
A second arrow landed in Craig’s back.
Iain skidded to a stop only a few feet away, panting for air and watching as the MacGregor’s sword dipped and then fell from his hands. Craig’s mouth was wide open, eyes blinking in disbelief. He fell to his knees.
“I…” he gasped. Iain lifted his sword. “I hope—she was right.” With one clean move, Iain lifted the MacGregor’s head from his body, both of which fell to the ground after a second’s pause.
Frowning despite his triumph, he cast his eyes along the tree line, unable to see any movement. Then quite deliberately, he plunged the tip of his sword into the ground and backed away. Whether or not the hidden MacGregor understood, he didn’t know but he had no more time to waste and turned to run back to Emma. As for why the hidden MacGregor murdered his own kinsman, Iain could only guess at the man’s reasons but knew for certain that Craig’s death would be blamed on the Campbells.
Kenneth was still kneeling next to Emma but the constable was looking after the dead MacGregor boy. The laird had already placed Colin atop his horse and it seemed that they would return to the castle without delay.
“Kenneth!” he called. “Did ye find it?”
“I dinna even know where to start!” the redhead shouted back. “But she’s still breathing!” Iain stumbled with relief, tears stinging his eyes. By the time he was at Emma’s side, both knees had turned to mud out of fear and he dropped down to lean over her.
She was indeed still breathing. Her dress was torn to shreds, covered in mud and soaked by the rain. He first set his fingers against her ribs, wondering if her injury had returned, but found no broken bones.
“Cut her bonds,” he said hoarsely, reaching to pull her wet, muddied hair off her cheek. He grimaced when he found the bruises on her face, especially the wicked knot just to the left of her eye. Kenneth pulled a knife from his belt and gently severed the rope around her wrists. Iain helped remove her bonds and let out a shuddering breath when he saw red welts circling her wrists. Her hands were also bruised.
“Bring her inside,” a third voice called. Iain looked up with surprise at Aili, who was holding her shawl over her head like a tent. “She needs warmth and a dry bed.” Iain looked down at Emma, afraid to move her. She looked so damn delicate.
“’Tis all right, Iain,” Aili said. “’Tis over now.”
Taking a deep breath, Iain slid his hands under her body and gently lifted her. He cradled her against his chest, urging her head to rest on his shoulder and slowly stood.
Kenneth’s expression was tired and solemn. “I’ll take care of the rest.” Iain nodded at the redhead. Nearby, James shut the MacGregor boy’s unseeing eyes.
The constable’s tone was very careful. “If ye think I feel sorrow over this, then know that I wasna aiming for Craig.”
Surprised, Iain’s eyes widened but he said nothing, already knowing the answers to his questions. No matter his age or circumstances, the boy was an enemy of the Campbells, only kept alive to be traded. If Colin hadn’t been taken, Peter would’ve eventually died in the castle’s dungeon.
Even so, Iain could see that were he able, the constable would’ve let the boy go.
Looking down at Emma, Iain hiked her farther up into his arms and turned to follow Aili to the house.
Chapter Nineteen
Emma opened her eyes. Took a deep breath.
She’d had the strangest dream. She had been inside a crude house with a dirt floor and had followed an old woman outside into a sunny glen filled with the scent of warm summer grass. Quite strangely, the old woman was walking very quickly, so she tried to catch up and just when she was near enough to touch the woman’s shoulder, the dream had faded.
It took her a couple of seconds to realize where she was. A heavy blanket was tucked around her and she felt just a little too warm. The light in the room was dim.
Turning her head, she espied someone next to her. Just as before, Iain was sitting on a stool and half-lying on the bed with his arms crossed beneath his head. Emma was about to touch his hair when a movement behind him caught her attention. Her eyes focused on the door and she saw that it was unlocked.
Somehow compelled to venture outside, she sat up. The blanket fell to her waist. She wasn’t surprised to find that she was naked but the air inside the house was a little chilly and she crossed her arms. Looking around, she spotted a clean smock on the trunk at the foot of the bed and eased down the bed to snatch it up. After pulling it over her head, she tried to locate her borrowed dress but it was nowhere obvious. After pushing the blanket away, she swung her legs off the bed, her toes searching for her black sneakers.
Instead, she found a pair of fur shoes. Recalling the moment when she had asked for them, Emma smiled softly and glanced over at Iain’s sleeping face. Gingerly sliding her feet into the shoes, she was surprised at how soft the leather was. She had expected it to be rough and stiff but it was fairly flexible.
The shoes came up to her ankle, the fur turned out and she wasn’t sure why but a hole had been cut on the outer side of both heels. They had no soles to speak of, or any uniform shape at all. They looked a little silly and smelled strongly of leather—obviously—but she instantly loved them and did her best to tie them shut with leather strips laced through holes that had been punched through the top of the shoes.
It wasn’t until she stood up that she realized something important. She wasn’t in any pain. She didn’t feel tired or bruised. Looking down at herself, she examined her wrists and hands, her arms and even pulled up the skirt of her smock to look at her legs. She didn’t find any injuries at all.
Then the bigger realization hit her. She wasn’t wearing her locket.
Her eyes turned to the door as the foggy memory of losing her locket floated to the surface of her mind. Craig had torn it off her neck and thrown it away.
Without knowing why, she had to find it—now.
Emma walked to the door and opened it to find that dawn had arrived, lighting up the lush glen still wet from the previous day’s rain. Walking around to the back of the house, she made her way to the paddock and scaled its surrounding wall. Once on her feet again, she paused, trying to recall about where she had been when Craig took her locket.
They had entered the paddock from the open gate on the other side and Iain and the laird had been waiting for them with young Peter quite near to where she stood now. Choosing a direction, she headed farther into the paddock, scanning the ground for a bit of shiny metal.
A moment later, she was nearing the gate and stopped. She closed her eyes, replaying her memory. Craig had grabbed her locket with his right hand and thrown it to his left. Turning east again, Emma shuffled slowly and searched the ground.
There it was. Tucked between a few tufts of grass, the locket shone dully, damp and a little dirty. Emma squatted and reached for it but then couldn’t bring herself to touch it. Would something happen if she put it on? Or even picked it up? Or even worse, if she didn’t put it on?
For a long moment, Emma stared at the locket in indecision. Then, slowly and hesitantly, she picked it up. She sighed with relief when she felt no different and brought the locket closer to her face. Carefully opening its clasp, she pulled out the small slip of paper and unfolded it.
To return, simply don the locket.
To stay, thou need only bury it.
Mouth open, Emma stared at the note with tears in her eyes. What had she done that the locket would finally reveal that she could go back to her own time?
It was a cruel choice. Just by putting on a necklace, she could return to her old life and put the last few weeks behind her. She could go back to a time that she understood.
A time that was easier and more convenient. A time and a place that was safer. She could appreciate better the rich life she had lived. Most importantly, she could spare her mother and father the pain of losing another child.
She wouldn’t have Iain though. The thought of lying down to sleep without his warm body curved around her, of never seeing his dimples again, of eating a meal without his arm touching hers… How could she go back after what she had been through, after falling in love? How would she ever get past that or feel normal again?
Her chest ached terribly as she reached for a rock to cut a hole in the dirt. The ground was soft and wet and after she had a sizeable hole, she set the locket in the bottom and used the rock to push the dirt back into place.
Tossing the rock away, she stood up, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes.
“Emma!” a man screamed.
Whipping around, she looked toward the house, realizing with horror that she had left Iain alone. Hiking up her smock, she ran back the way she came.
“Iain!” He appeared from the side of the house. As soon as he spotted her, he was running again and vaulted over the paddock wall.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as her vision of returning to Iain and his home became reality. The locket no longer bound her. The rain clouds had been swept away by the Highland winds. She was free and it was far better than she had imagined.
“Emma,” Iain gasped just as she threw herself at him. His arms clamped around her, held her high off the ground. She wrapped her legs around his waist, hiccupping and sobbing and laughing.
Iain teetered as though about to fall over and sank down to his knees. They pulled back to look at each other. His eyes traced over her face as his hands smoothed down her hair and cupped her cheeks. Her hands rested on his chest, though one hand ventured up to touch his face. The rough stubble of a two-day beard prickled her fingertips. She saw fatigue in his eyes.
“I thought ye had left me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said with a fretful frown. “You must’ve felt so… Iain, I’m so sorry.”