by Amy Vansant
“Bring it!”
Broch sized up his foe. The man was naked but for a pair of tightfitting shorts, his muscular body slick with sweat and blood and covered in tattoos. He wasn’t a small man, and while his swollen face and bleeding eye implied Catriona had taken something out of him, his frenzied demeanor suggested Broch would be fighting something more than an average man.
“You ruined the best part,” said Volkov licking his lips.
Broch clenched his fists. “Ah think the best part’s aboot tae happen richt noo.”
The two men ran at each other, grappling like bears. Broch’s hands slipped on sweaty skin and Volkov took the opportunity to punch him in the side of his jaw. Broch stumbled back against the wall, angry at himself for letting Volkov take a shot. He ran at the man again. Volkov swung and Broch blocked the blow, catching the Russian in the center of the church tattooed over his solar plexus. The air rushed out of him, but Volkov continued to shower Broch with blows. Broch did his best to block the bulk of the punches until he was able to catch the Russian with a good right. Volkov fell back, shaking his head like a wet dog, blood flying from his limp, wet hair.
Volkov spat blood on the ground. “She fought like a tiger.”
Broch felt the anger rise in his blood, and fought his urge to run at the man.
Be smart.
He continued to circle, planning his next attack. He didn’t want to drag the fight out any longer. He needed to tend to Catriona. But he also didn’t know the playing field. Didn’t know what traps the dungeon might contain.
“I made her hurt. She didn’t want to cry out but I made her.”
Broch’s patience failed him.
Nope. Ah’m gonna rush him nae.
As Broch leapt forward, Volkov flew into the air as if pulled up by a string. His body contorted as he swung his foot at Broch’s head.
He fights with his feet?
Broch blocked the kick and continued forward, pinning the off-balance Russian to the wall. The kick might have taken Broch by surprise another time, but while Volkov’s body continued its frenzied dance, it seemed that the Russian’s mind had begun to fail him. He clearly hadn’t taken into consideration the vulnerable position he’d put himself in by throwing his leg into the air against a barreling Highlander.
Broch punched his foe in the face twice before Volkov managed to block one. The Russian twisted out from beneath him, his slippery skin sliding through Broch’s grasp. He scrambled away like an animal on all fours to the opposite side of the room.
Volkov whirled and put his back against the wall, appearing stunned. He wiped his face with both hands.
“You’re too fast,” he muttered. “Why are you so fast?”
Volkov stood near Catriona. He glanced at her.
Brock pointed at him. “Don’t.”
Volkov took a step towards her. Broch started forward and Volkov quickly grabbed Catriona’s hair, pulling her limp neck back, her jaw hanging slack.
Brock froze. “If ye hurt her ah’ll keep ye alive until ah’ve broken every bone in yer body.”
“I can break her neck before you take another step.”
Broch swallowed. He felt confident he could put his fist through the man’s skull before he could get a hand in place to do as he threatened.
“Volkov.”
The voice came from the ramp entrance.
Volkov and Broch both turned.
Dez stood there, gun pointed at the Russian.
“Do you remember Ginger?” she asked.
Volkov grinned, the gap where a tooth had been, flashing.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to finish her.”
Without another word, Dez fired.
Broch saw the red dot appear on Volkov’s forehead before his neck whipped back and he collapsed on Catriona.
Broch ran forward and threw the man aside, lifting Catriona into his arms.
He tapped her cheeks and brushed her blood-soaked hair from her face. “Cat. Cat, wake up.”
Her eyes fluttered open and the corner of her mouth curled into a smile.
“You’re alive.”
“Ah am.”
“Little late getting here, though.”
He smirked. “Juist in time ah think.”
“Volkov?”
“He’s dead.”
He could feel her body relax in his arms.
Broch turned to Dez. “We need to get her to the hospital.”
Dez stood over Volkov’s body, her mouth hooked to the right.
“I maybe shouldn’t have done that.”
She kicked at the Russian’s still form and glanced up at Broch.
“Felt good, though.”
Catriona reached up to put a hand on Broch’s cheek, grunting as she sat up. She rubbed the side of her head where it had struck the wall.
“No hospital. I’m good. I’d rather go home. I just need a second. You got Mo?”
Dez nodded. “She’s in the car. And I zipped up the other two.” She scowled at Broch. “Since someone couldn’t be bothered.”
Broch stood and helped Catriona to her feet.
“Kin ye walk?”
She nodded and took a step. “Nothing’s broken. I just feel like one big bruise.”
Dez put her gun back into the waist of her jeans. “I need to call the cops. I need you two to stick around and back up my side of the story.”
Catriona nodded. “I don’t think you’ll have any problems.” She motioned to the archways on the opposite side of the room. “That one has thumb drives of him beating and murdering women. That one has the bodies.”
Dez winced and looked at her phone. “No signal. I gotta go up.” She walked up the ramp and disappeared from view.
Catriona threw herself against Broch, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing him tight.
“Urr ye a’richt?” he asked. He could feel her body shake. “Are ye crying?”
She sniffed. “It’s the adrenalin rush.”
He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to pull her into his arms and carry her straight home.
He kissed her head. “My sweet bonny lass. Don’t ever leave me again.”
“I didn’t have much choice—”
“Don’t dae it.”
She chuckled. “Deal.”
She sniffed and pulled back far enough to look up at him. “I didn’t think I’d see you again, either.”
He scoffed and cupped her cheek with his palm. “Nothin’ kin tak’ me away fae ye, Catriona.”
She sucked in a sharp breath and pressed herself against him again.
“I’m sorry. I’m a little emotional right now. It’s been a hell of a day.”
He chuckled. “Ye stay ‘ere as long as ye need.”
“No.” She sniffed and pulled away again. “Get me out of here.”
Broch helped her up the ramp and set her at the bottom of the ladder, ready to follow her up.
He stood behind her and voiced the words playing in his head. “All ah’m wantin’ tae dae is grab ye ‘n’ haud ye.”
She leaned back against him and closed her eyes.
“Thank you.”
Chapter Thirty
Catriona rested her head on Broch’s shoulder and watched Las Vegas pass by through the window of their cab as they headed to the airport. She’d had a shower and changed, but still felt like a bruised peach left rotting under a tree. Possibly run over by a lawnmower a few times...
Welts had risen in spots she didn’t remember being struck. She looked like she’d fallen off Paris’s mini Eiffel tower and hit every metal rung on the way down.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to experience Las Vegas,” she said, stroking his arm. She was having trouble keeping herself from touching him. He’d gotten a shower, too. He smelled amazing.
“Ah’d rather be home,” he said, reaching over to stroke her hair which, luckily, was about the only thing that didn’t hurt.
“We’ll come back sometime.”
Broch
rolled his eyes. “Or nae.”
Catriona read the signs to herself as they passed outside a big building.
A Special Gentleman’s Club
Buffet Extravaganza!
Wee Wedding Chapel
Catriona sat up.
No way.
That sign had to be a sign, right?
“Pull over!”
The cab driver’s gaze flicked to his rearview mirror. “I thought we were going to the airport.”
“We are. But pull over. Go back. Make a U-turn.”
Broch scowled. “Whit are ye doin’?”
Catriona grinned. “I have an idea.”
“Aw, Catriona. Ah just wantae gae hame noo. Fast as possible. Ah don’t even care we hae tae get on that infernal jet.”
“I think you’ll like this.”
The cabbie made a U-turn and in a moment she saw her destination coming into view again. “Pull in here.”
Broch peered out the window. “A church?”
“A chapel.”
“A wedding chapel?”
She nodded. “Aye.”
“Whose?”
“Ours.”
Broch arched an eyebrow. “Ah don’t remember askin’—”
She slapped his chest. “Yes you do. You’ve asked me like a million times.”
“Ah think t’was more lik’ twa times.”
“Whatever. If twa means a million.”
“And I don’t remember ye ever sayin’ aye.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Bit noo you’re aff tae drag me tae the altar lik’ a pregnant farmer’s daughter?”
“What? Ew. No.”
“Then whit are we doin’ here?”
Catriona sighed as the taxi came to a stop in the parking lot. “Think of this as a dry run for the real thing.”
“Ah dry run?”
“Yes. It won’t be official, we won’t get the paperwork done, but it will be fun and you can consider it a sort of promise from me.”
“A sort o’ promise. Ah loue the way ye modern fowk ne’er commit tae anythin’. Even a promise is sort o’.”
Catriona reached for the handle of the taxi’s door and immediately regretted stretching as her ribs ached. Pausing, she bobbed her head to try and catch a glimpse of herself in the rear view mirror.
Oh my.
Her lip was split. Something was off with her cheekbone too, though she couldn’t quite place what. The rest of her body felt even worse.
“I hope there’s not a swimsuit competition,” she mumbled, sliding from the car.
She asked the taxi driver to wait and led Broch inside.
A man looked up from behind a counter, dipping his magazine, but not fast enough for Catriona to not see it was a men’s mag.
Classy.
“I didn’t think they sold them anymore,” she said, motioning to the magazine.
“Huh?”
“With the Internet and all.”
The man snorted and put the magazine somewhere under the desk. “Can I help you?”
“We want to do the marriage thing.”
He nodded. “Full photography and video?”
“Oh a few pics. No video. This isn’t real. It’s just a dry run. For fun.”
“Uh huh. Music?”
“Sure. I mean, just the basics. Not a choir or anything. The wedding march bit.”
He pushed a few sheets of paper in Catriona’s direction. “Uh huh. Sign here. Need a dress? Tux?”
Catriona concentrated on scribbling her name as the man pushed one sheet after the next at her while taking a few moments to glance at Broch.
He wore jeans.
That wouldn’t do.
“You need to get your kilt.”
Broch looked down at his legs. “Aye.”
Before he could run outside the man caught his eye and pointed at him and then a paper. “You.”
Catriona handed Broch the pen and he scribbled his name before jogging out to the taxi.
A woman pushed aside a curtain separating the front area from the chapel. Her hair was dyed bright red.
“Are ye ready, me dear?” she asked.
Catriona chuckled. Having had to listen to Broch’s heavy brogue for weeks on end, the woman faking her way through the accent sounded a little like the Lucky Charms leprechaun.
“Just a second, I have to wait for—”
Broch jerked open the door and entered in his kilt.
Catriona eyed him. “Did you get changed in the parking lot?”
He nodded.
She shrugged. A Scot dropping his drawers in public was surely not the most scandalous thing to happen in Las Vegas that week.
That day.
Probably that minute.
“Come with me meh sweeties, and I’ll tack ye toooo da altar.”
“She’s speaking in your native tongue,” whispered Catriona as they pushed through the curtain and followed the woman down the aisle. She couldn’t help giggling. It had taken them hours to finish with the police after her ordeal. She was running on no sleep for over twenty-four hours and felt absolutely giddy.
Broch winced. “Whit she’s sayin’ is supposed tae be Scots?”
“I think so.”
He snorted a laugh through his nose.
The woman stood behind a dais and motioned to the spot in front of it. “Have a stand der will ye? Where should we send yer pictures toooo?”
“Tae,” mumbled Broch.
“What’s that nooo?”
“Send the pictures tae. Not toooo.”
The woman scowled and looked at Catriona. “What’s your email?” she asked, effecting no accent at all.
Catriona covered her mouth to hide her giggles and rattled off her email.
The woman jotted it down.
“Did you come with vows?”
Catriona squinted at the woman. “Vowels?”
“Vows. Did you write your own vows?”
“Oh, no. Sorry. I’m, I’m really tired.”
The woman nodded. “We get that a lot.”
Broch looked at Catriona and took her hands in his.
“Are ye sure ye want tae dae this?”
A warm feeling flushed Catriona’s cheeks as she realized she did.
She really did.
“When I thought I’d lost you I—”
Broch kissed her and she leaned in, feeling as if she could fall asleep that way, on her feet, her lips pressed against his.
When he pulled away she nearly fell forward.
I really have to get some sleep.
He sniffed and took her hand again, staring into her eyes. “Ah love ye, Catriona.”
Catriona felt her own eyes begin to well. “I love you, too. It feels like we’ve known each other forever.”
“Ah think mibbe we hae,” he whispered. “Ah came through time tae find ye. Ah’m sure of it.”
She touched his face. “And I was here, waiting for you.”
“Holy shit.” The woman pulled a handful of tissues from behind the dais. “You two are somethin’ else.” She blew her nose noisily into the wad and flipped a switch.
A fuzzy bagpipe version of the wedding march blared.
Chapter Thirty-One
The elevator doors opened and Broch stepped through, Catriona draped in his arms. She’d fallen asleep shortly after downing three tiny bourbons on the plane, awoken briefly to disembark, and then fallen asleep again in the car on the drive home. He only needed to get her to her apartment and felt confident she’d be asleep again moments after he placed her in her bed.
“We should check in with Sean,” she mumbled as he walked her down the hall to her door.
“Aye, we will.”
She pulled on him to lift her face closer to his neck. She kissed him there, and he smiled.
“Whit are ye doin’, sleepy lassie?”
“We’re married now. I can do that anytime I want.”
“Ye said it was fake.”
“Close enoug
h though, right?”
Broch lowered her feet to the ground and propped her against the wall beside her door. He stood close and she looked up at him, sliding her hands along his ribs to rest on his chest.
“Ravage me.” Catriona said the words in a whisper, but punctuated them with a giggle.
He pressed his lips to her forehead at her hairline.
Sae adorable.
“Ah would, but whit aboot all yer bruises?”
She looked up at him and touched her finger to her mouth. “I think my lips are good.”
It was a lie. Volkov’s fists had connected with her lips at least once, and the evidence remained. But Broch kissed her, as gently as his rising passion would allow and largely towards the right, undamaged side of her mouth. His hand slipped to the small of her back and drew her closer to him.
“Let’s get ye tae bed.”
“That’s what ah’m talkin’ about.”
“For sleep. Ah’ll join ye soon enough. Ye’ll be tired o’ me.”
She scoffed. “I doubt it.”
He heard a jingle and looked down to see she’d pulled her keys from her pocket.
“Open the door.”
He took the keys and pushed them into the lock.
“Oh yeah, baby.”
He looked at her, laughing. “Yer a nutter.”
She giggled and thudded her head against his chest. “I am so tired.”
He pushed open the door and bent down, slipping his arm behind Catriona’s knees.
“Up we gang, lassie.”
He lifted her and she wrapped her arms around his neck again.
“Aw, you’re carrying me over the threshold.”
Broch strode through the door and stopped upon spotting a pair of eyes staring at him from the sofa.
Sean sat there, watching television.
“Did I leave the TV on?” Catriona lifted her head from where it rested on his shoulder.
“What are you doing here?” she asked upon spotting Sean.
“Hello to you, too.” Sean dipped to grab the remote and turn off the television. “Something wrong with your foot?”
Broch let her to the ground. “She’s covered in a hundred bruises, bit ah think her feet ur fine.”
Catriona tried to stand on her own but ended leaning on Broch, her head tilted back and eyes closed. “It isn’t a hundred bruises. I did pretty well, considering. I messed him up good.”