by Mariah Stone
“All right then.”
A moment later, they’d mounted and were heading out of the castle. With Amber riding by his side, he needed a distraction from this distraction. He urged his horse into a gallop, enjoying the whistle of the wind in his ears and the hard rhythm of the horse under him. The loch was to their left, stormy and gray under a sky the color of woodsmoke. There were woods and rocks to their right, where trees and bushes swayed in the wind.
The place wasn’t far, and they soon arrived. There was a small outlet that created an oval pool. The shore rose up steeply and there was a cave half hidden by bushes and undergrowth.
The view from here took his breath away. The loch spread in front of them to the left and to the right. On the shore across from the cove, there were green hills and mountains covered partly by purple fields of heather. Behind the cave, the shore rose steeply into a rocky cliff.
“Why did you want to come here?” Amber said.
Owen tied his horse to a tree and stood by the shore, allowing himself the first deep, cleansing breath and feeling the tension and anger in the pit of his stomach melt away.
“’Tis where I used to come as a lad when everyone seemed to have forgotten about me. And when even my pranks didna attract my da’s attention.” He chuckled softly to himself.
Amber walked to him and stood by his side, facing the loch. “This is a beautiful place to run away to.”
“I’d sometimes sleep in that cave.” He pointed up towards the cliff. “There’s a bit of magic there. I discovered it when my mother died. I was a lad of twelve years old. She became sick very quickly and died.”
“I’m so sorry, Owen. I lost my mother, too. Nothing comes close to that kind of loss.”
He sighed. Sadness crippled his heart, but knowing Amber had gone through the same thing somehow made him feel better.
“My ma was Craig and Marjorie’s stepmother, but she treated us all the same. As though they were hers.”
Amber chuckled. “She sounds like an amazing woman.”
“Aye. I think she’s watching over me. I realized it first when I came here. ’Tis why I keep coming back.”
“Really? Why here?”
He studied her, contemplating if he should open up to her about it. This was the first woman he’d ever loved, his soul wanted to share with her everything that was dear to him. Among this windy gray weather, clouds spread across the sky, but the sun shone brightly between them. Yes, she was watching over him. That was a sign.
“Come, then. I’ll show ye.”
He took her by the hand and went up the slope with her. They passed the bushes and the undergrowth and entered the cave. It smelled like rotting leaves and something earthy, animallike even. The cave was rather small and deep, and although the sun was high in the sky, it was hard to see what was in the black depths of it.
The opening of the cave shone with the brilliance of crystal sparkling like a night full of stars. There was the same wonder in Amber’s big eyes that he felt in his heart. God almighty, even this divine creation of nature didn’t come close to the beauty of this woman.
Their eyes locked, and he forgot to guard his fascination. It was just like that night in the inn where they’d been naked in front of each other, sheltered from the world like nothing existed but them.
He saw the decision in her eyes. She crossed the distance between them, took him by the collar of his tunic, and brought his face to hers.
The kiss was like plunging into the waters of the loch—fresh and delicious. He sank into her with the inevitability of a rock heading towards the bottom.
Her scent filled every bit of his body. Her lips caressed and her tongue teased, hungry for him, and she pressed herself against his chest.
Let her go. Tell her, no. Release her. Stop.
All in vain. She was water, and he’d been thirsty his whole life. Nothing could stop him from drinking his fill. Here, in the cave that gave him strength in the moments when he needed it, he’d have her. He’d make her his.
He deepened the kiss, devouring her mouth. Claiming her. Possessing her.
He was instantly hard and throbbing for her, his blood like fire. She rubbed herself against him, as impatient as he was. He took her face in his palms, then traced his fingers down her body. He cupped one breast through her tunic, and it was warm and lush against his skin. He circled her nipple with his thumb, and she sucked in a quick breath and arched into him. He went down and under her tunic and cupped both her breasts with his hands. They were so soft and warm. He massaged them, rolled her hardened nipples between his thumbs and index fingers.
She let out the tiniest whimper of pleasure at the back of her throat. He imagined her making the same sound as he drove into her for the first time. He broke the kiss and slid her body to the ground. He looked down at her breeches and realized they were his. Why did seeing a woman in breeches bring his blood to boil even more?
He pulled them down her hips and stared at the black triangle of hair he’d craved ever since he’d seen her naked in the inn.
“So beautiful,” he whispered.
He spread her folds and put his mouth on her, blood pulsing hard in his ears.
A growl sounded from somewhere near.
Owen was so drunk from the succulent, wanton taste of her that he didn’t make the connection at first, but Amber tensed and shifted.
The growl came again, closer, louder, more urgent.
Everything seemed to happen slowly. Owen went cold all over, as though a bucket of ice had been thrown over him.
A bear.
His mind knew he needed to react, but his body still refused to move. Distantly, he remembered bears liked to nap during summer days and hunt at night.
Like in a nightmare, his body felt as slow and heavy as a boulder. He rose to his feet and shoved Amber behind his back while removing his sword from its sheath. The beast emerged out of the darkness, roaring like a monster from old tales. He was big, fat, and brown, and he stood before Owen in the sunlight, his jaws open, yellowish fangs flashing.
All Owen could think about was Amber. Don’t let any harm come to her. Do anything to protect her.
His sword flashed in the sunlight as he swung it in warning before the beast. It roared again—a heart-stopping sound—and launched itself at Owen.
Owen roared at the bear, too. It hugged him in a deadly embrace, claws tearing the flesh of Owen’s back, but before it could sink its teeth into Owen’s shoulder, he thrust his sword upward through the animal’s jaw and into its skull. The bear fell into an impossibly heavy heap of stinking fur.
“Owen!” Amber cried.
He kicked a heavy paw off himself, and she helped him stand up and dragged him away. They both stood at the mouth of the cave staring at the dead animal, a pool of blood forming around its head.
“Are you okay?” she said. “Let me see.”
She touched his shoulder in an attempt to turn him and see his wounds, but he jerked away.
This was his fault. She’d tempted him again. And after all the promises he’d made to stay away from her and not get distracted, he’d done it again. He’d gotten distracted and they both could have died.
She frowned at him in surprise and hurt.
“We almost died because of me,” he said.
Her face smoothed in shock. “What?”
“Aye. If ye had nae kissed me, if I had nae given in to yer charms…”
Now it wasn’t just a matter of failing his king and his family, it was a matter of failing her. She’d almost been hurt because of his inability to be responsible and focus.
This was a good slap in the face, a reminder he couldn’t give in to temptation.
Next time, it might not be a bear, it could be an English sword that put an end to everything he was fighting for.
Chapter 23
One week later…
* * *
The watchmen on the walls shouted and ran, and Owen stopped in the middle of the courtyard
on his way to the great hall.
Someone was coming.
His heart drummed against his rib cage. He saw Amber in the courtyard and longed to talk to her. She was the only one who knew he’d sent a messenger to the Bruce.
In a dark-blue dress, her hair split into two braids joined at the back of her head, she looked like a noble lady from his time. Ever since Amy had given her some clothes and helped her look less like a contemporary woman, he’d imagined her here with him like that every day, and something ached sweetly in his chest.
Something that would never be.
“’Tis the Bruce!” one of the sentinels cried. “And his army.” The man ran towards the great hall to tell the rest of the clan.
Owen’s gut churned. His father was about to find out he’d disobeyed him. “By God’s bones…” he muttered.
He was in trouble whether the Bruce listened to him or not. Rather than confront his father, he rushed up the wall to see the Bruce’s arrival for himself.
He flew up the stone stairs attached to the wall and stood there watching the crowd of men move over the green hills towards the castle from the north. A standard-bearer rode ahead displaying the Bruce clan’s colors, two red lines crossing like a letter X on a yellow background.
“Owen!” a furious cry came from the courtyard.
Owen gritted his teeth and went down the steps under the lethal gaze of his father.
“By God’s blood, what did ye do?” Dougal growled. “Did ye send word to him?”
Owen stood before his da, a part of him trembling like a little boy, but he raised his chin high. He had nothing to prove and nothing to apologize for. He hadn’t made a mistake this time.
“Aye,” he said. “I did.”
“Ye stupid, stupid lad. What if ye bring shame on this family again?”
“I wilna. If ’tis shame that comes, it will be mine and mine alone. I swear if I’m wrong about this—and I’m nae wrong—I’ll leave forever, and ye’ll never see me again.”
“This canna be undone. And there’s more at stake than shame. The lives of so many people, the destiny of our country—”
Craig came over to them, obviously just as angry as their father. “’Tis too late to argue about this. We must decide together what to say to the king. Do we stick to Owen’s suggestion about attacking at the Pass of Brander? Or do we talk the Bruce out of this?”
Their father glared at Owen, then spat on the ground.
“I dinna want to stand ashamed of my son in front of a king again.”
The rumble of horses’ hooves thundered in the air and vibrated the ground. The king rode through the gates and into the courtyard surrounded by men. Uncle Neil was at his side, as well as Owen’s cousins, Goiridh and Colin. He recognized James “Black” Douglas, one of the Bruce’s favorite officers. Malcolm rode in as well and dismounted at the farther side of the procession.
The king dismounted, and so did Neil and the rest. Owen took a deep breath. He locked his eyes with Uncle Neil, but the older man’s expression was unreadable. What did he think of the whole matter?
“Welcome, Your Grace,” Dougal said. “Hope yer journey was good. We didna ken of yer arrival.”
“Aye,” the Bruce said. “But the message yer son sent was very important. We must act. Where’s Owen?”
Owen stepped forward. “Aye, Your Grace, I’m here.”
A tall, mighty man with the neck of a tempered warrior, huge shoulders and arms, the king wore a look of grave intensity. Owen had never spoken to the king directly, and being under his penetrating gaze made his skin itch. What if he was wrong? What if he was putting the destiny of his king and Scotland in jeopardy?
“Come,” the Bruce said. “We must talk somewhere quietly and decide what to do.”
“The great hall?” Neil asked Dougal.
“Aye, of course. Owen, make sure no one enters but those who’re supposed to be there. Craig, Domhnall, come with.”
Owen’s teeth clenched. He wasn’t even invited?
“Father,” Craig said quietly while Uncle Neil showed the king to the great hall. “Owen should be there. ’Tis he who heard the news.”
Dougal eyed Owen heavily and shook his head. “Aye. No way of turning this around, anyway.”
Owen was about to walk with them to the great hall when Amber caught his arm and stopped him. Her delicious scent reached his nostrils, her full lips close to him.
“Owen, don’t falter,” she said. “Don’t let them intimidate you. You got this.”
Even though he’d kept his distance from her all these days, she didn’t hold a grudge and still supported him. Gratitude spread through Owen’s limbs with tingling warmth. And then he had a thought. “Come with me. Ye’re from the future. Ye might have some good ideas.”
“Me?”
“Aye. Please. Amy’s helped Craig with her skills of finding people from the future. She boils milk and water and cloth, claiming it kills some invisible sickness. It sounds like witchcraft to me, but it works. Ye are a warrior from the future. Ye might ken something we dinna.”
Amber glared at him. “Didn’t you say I was distracting you?”
Guilt pinched him. “I will try to contain myself,” he said through his teeth. “If ye can help, ’tis more important.”
She tapped her feet nervously and held his gaze, thinking. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“Aye.”
They walked to the great hall. It was being emptied for the discussion. The Bruce appointed his own men to watch the entrance and they blocked when Owen and Amber approached.
“The king wants me there, lads,” Owen said.
“’Tis nae about ye,” one of them said. “She canna enter.”
Amber took a step back. “Seriously, Owen, I don’t think I should be in there.”
“Nae, ye should. She’s with me, lads. She’s a known military strategist from the caliphate.”
The guards exchanged a look, but one of them shook his head.
“The Bruce will be pissed,” Owen said.
“I dinna hear nothing about anyone from the caliphate,” the guard said.
Craig appeared from the doors. “What’s taking so long, Owen? The king is asking for ye.”
“These good men dinna want to let Amber in.”
Craig frowned, clearly confused. “Amber? Why would she—”
“Aye, she’s a renowned military strategist from the caliphate. And the king would very much appreciate her advice.”
Craig’s forehead flattened. “Oh, aye. Lads, let her in. The king wants her in here.”
The guard sighed and stepped aside, letting Owen and Amber pass.
Men stood around one of the tables, the benches set aside. The king himself, Uncle Neil, Dougal, Craig, James Douglas, the Bruce’s brother, Edward, and several others stood around the table. Their presence suffused the great hall with a palpable pulse of power.
“Owen Cambel”—the Bruce raised his head—“finally.” He frowned at Amber. “Why is this woman here?”
“Lady Amber’s a traveling mercenary from the caliphate,” Owen said. “She was hired by Kenneth Mackenzie.”
“The caliphate?” The Bruce’s look sharpened. “Dinna women there sit inside harems and produce children? ’Tis what I heard.”
Amber raised her chin. “Not all of them. The strongest ones build their own lives. At least, that’s what I wish for them.”
His strong lass. But would the Bruce believe her?
“Why are ye here?” the king asked. “A woman doesna belong on my military council.”
If the wrath of the king would fall on Amber, it would be Owen’s fault. He needed to protect her. “I believe her unique knowledge from the caliphate might be beneficial. I have seen her fight and she possesses military skills I havena seen before. She is an asset to ye, Your Grace.”
The Bruce held him in his long gaze, then Amber. “’Tis most unusual, but these are unusual times. I’ll allow it. But rest assured, if I suspect foul
play, ye will be held a prisoner, Lady Amber.”
Owen suppressed an urge to shield Amber from the king’s words. Another threat of prison… That must be hard for her.
The Bruce gestured for them to come closer. “Tell me, what happened, Owen. How did ye come to hear the information about MacDougalls and the ambush?”
Owen walked towards the table, feeling the eyes of every man on him. His da’s gaze was especially heavy. Owen could physically feel it on his skin. But his father was not his concern now. He came to stand at the table and met the king’s eyes. They were dark and piercing, the eyes of a man who knew what he wanted and expected much from himself and people around him.
The man who’d made himself king.
He wouldn’t forgive a weakness, or a mistake.
“As de Bourgh took Inverlochy, he took me prisoner.” He looked back at Amber, who stood behind him. The Bruce studied them both. “As well as Amber. De Bourgh tortured her, trying to find out anything that would compromise ye or the campaign. And when it was my turn to be interrogated, John MacDougall showed up.”
The Bruce’s sharp gaze pierced Owen. “Aye, and?”
Owen’s fists clenched as he remembered the rage that had thundered in his body. “We talked. As ye ken, our clans have a history.”
The Bruce shook his head briefly. “As does mine with his.”
“Aye. He beat the shite out of me and knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, de Bourgh and MacDougall didna ken that I was listening and they discussed their plan. Yer peace treaty with the MacDougall ends in a sennight. He kens ye’re coming for him since he’s the last strong clan in Scotland that stands against ye. And he kens the only way to his lands are through the Pass of Brander.”
“Aye.”
“He wants a repetition of the Battle of Dalrigh. He will ambush ye there.”
The Bruce stared at him for a long time, and Owen felt rooted to the spot. The anticipation of the waiting to see his king’s response was like cold iron solidifying the marrow of his bones. What would it be, shame or victory? Would he lose everything over this? Would he dishonor the reputation of his family in front of yet another king?