by Mariah Stone
“I’m all right, Mother,” he said.
Mother…
Konnor still stood still and speechless, eying the boy. Konnor had seen him in the castle with his wooden sword here and there, chatting with the warriors and the servants, playing with a dog, standing on the walls watching the fields around the castle. He’d even seen him talk to Marjorie. But he hadn’t realized he was her son. He’d thought he was…just a boy.
But now he could see the similarities. Their faces were the same shape, and they had the same unruly, dark-brown hair. He was skinny but had strong shoulders and arms. His chin protruded stubbornly as he stared at Konnor with careful apprehension.
Konnor blinked, coming back to his senses. Marjorie had been abused. And Marjorie had a son.
“Thank ye, Konnor,” she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes. “I thought I’d woken up to a nightmare. If it wasna for ye…”
The sound of footsteps thundered up the stairs and across the landing, and Malcolm and five more men barged in, swords at the ready.
“Mistress, Colin, are ye all right?” Malcolm shouted, looking around the room.
“Aye,” Marjorie said.
“Who are they?” Malcolm said.
“I woke up to shouts and banging from Colin’s room. They came for him, and Konnor saved him.”
Malcolm took three giant steps towards the third man and sank to his knees. He took out a dagger and pressed it against the guy’s ear.
“Who are ye?” he said.
“I think ye well ken who we are,” the man answered and spat at Malcolm’s shoe.
“MacDougalls, of course,” Marjorie said, her voice shaking. “Who else?”
Malcolm stood and kicked the man in the stomach.
“Came to take our mistress’s son? Well, that isna bloody happening, is it?” he growled. “Take them away.” He turned to Marjorie. “Dinna fash yerself, lass, I will question them. We need to ken how they got in. We will look around the castle for more men.”
Marjorie looked at Colin. “Go to bed, sweet. I’ll stay until we ken there isna anyone else here.”
“I can stay with you,” Konnor said. “Just until we know it’s safe.”
Marjorie glanced at him, looking lost and shaken, and nodded. Colin got in his bed, and she covered him with a blanket. As Cambel men carried and dragged the MacDougalls out, Marjorie sat by Colin’s side on the bed and kept stroking him. Konnor stood by the door and watched her and her son, something turning in his chest over and over. Something he didn’t want to think about.
After a while, the boy closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Malcolm stuck his head into the room. “’Tis all clear, mistress. There’s no one else here. Go to sleep.”
She stood up and kissed Colin on the head.
“Will you put a man to guard him, Malcolm? I’ll sleep better.”
“Aye. Of course, mistress. I’ll guard him myself.”
“Thank ye.”
Marjorie and Konnor went down the stairs to the landing. She stopped before her door, hugged herself, and began to shake.
“Are you all right?” he said.
She didn’t reply, standing like a tree shaking in a strong wind. “I thought I’d woken up twelve years ago and was about to relieve the worst days of my life.”
Chapter 11
As she spoke, darkness crept towards Marjorie from the corners of the landing and from the corners of her mind. Cold seeped through the nightgown, and she walked into her room and climbed on her bed. She covered herself with a blanket and shivered. Even twelve years later, she still felt the pressure of fingers digging into her wrists, the weight of one of the men on her legs, the filthy palm on her mouth.
The possibility of her son going through the same thing made sickness rise in her and her head spin.
Konnor walked in the room after her and closed the door.
“What happened?” he asked, pulling her out of the black hole of memories.
No, she couldn’t go there yet. The memory was still too close, too frightening. She couldn’t fall apart now. The whole castle needed her. Silly her, thinking she was mending.
“I’m cold,” Marjorie said.
She wrapped the blanket closer around herself, got up, and went to the fireplace. The coals were still hot and glowing, and warmth spread through her as she sank to her knees and stretched her arms out. She reached out to the pile of firewood and put a couple of logs on the coals.
“How did ye hear them?” Marjorie asked without looking back at Konnor. “Even I didn’t until it was too late.”
“Military training,” Konnor said. “I’m a Marine. And I have a security firm.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. He winced as he lowered himself to sit on the edge of her bed. She was suddenly aware he was shirtless. A handsome, shirtless man. He sat with his injured foot on his other knee. She could see his broad shoulders in the semidarkness of the room, and the muscles of his arms played as he massaged his leg around the splint. This was the first time a man—a half-naked man—had been in her room, and yet she felt as safe with Konnor as she did with her brothers.
“A security firm?” she said. “So ‘tis how ye ken sword fighting?”
She suddenly realized that Konnor had protected her son with her grandfather’s sword. If that wasn’t a sign of Sir Colin watching over his great-grandson, she didn’t know what was.
Konnor shook his head. “I held a sword for the first time in my life tonight.”
“Then how could you be security for someone?”
He pursed his lips, his jaw muscles working. A thoughtful expression clouded his handsome face.
“Can I ask you a question?” He paused for a moment. “What year is it?”
Marjorie chuckled. “What year is it? ’Tis the year of our Lord, 1308.”
He exhaled slowly, his lips forming the letter “O”. Strange reaction.
“Why?” Marjorie said. “Did ye forget?”
She turned back to the fireplace. The firewood was only charring from the heat of the coals, and she put some kindling under them. She leaned forward and carefully blew on the coals until the kindling flared up.
Marjorie turned back to Konnor. He stretched his leg out and watched her with a thoughtful frown, as though he couldn’t decide on something important.
“I didn’t forget,” he finally said. “So you really don’t know what the USA is?”
“No.”
“Hmmm. Who rules Scotland?”
“King Robert the Bruce, although we’re fighting with King Edward of England, who’s allied himself with several Scottish clans, including the MacDougalls. ’Tis why my brothers, my father, and the rest of my clan are nae here.”
Konnor rubbed his forehead.
“And the word democracy, does it mean anything to you?”
“’Tis something Greeks tried once, nae?”
Konnor nodded and hung his head as though doomed. He put his hands on his forehead and ran his fingers through his hair. This didn’t look right.
“Konnor, what is it?” Marjorie said. “Why does the year matter, the king, the democracy?”
He sucked in a breath, looked at her, and then exhaled.
“It matters because you say it’s 1308. And last time I checked, it was 2020. I was born in 1987. In my time, there are no more kings other than symbolic ones. And democracy is how the world operates. For the most part, anyway.”
Marjorie winced, trying to work through what he’d just said. His words made no sense, yet he seemed so convinced. He looked desperate. Confused. A little scared even. He spoke like a madman but behaved like someone in trouble. Mayhap, he was aware of his madness?
“Say something,” Konnor said. “You must think I’m crazy.”
Marjorie scoffed. “’Tis exactly what I think. I’m a woman of logic and reason, nae of superstitions and magic. Do ye mean to imply Isbeil was right about the tunnel through time?”
Konnor pulled himself up,
using the bed to support himself. He put the crutch under his armpit and made a movement towards her but winced. He sat back on the bed and started to retie the bandage on his ankle.
“I don’t freaking know, Marjorie, okay? As insane as this sounds, I think it’s the only explanation. The alternative is I’m dreaming all of this. But the blood on the floor, the swords, and the pain in my leg all seems too real.” He tied a knot and looked at her. “You feel too real.”
The fire shone brightly in the fireplace now, giving her room a pleasant, golden glow. Marjorie threw on more firewood, parts of her mind fighting with each other. She was a Highlander, and she’d grown up on tales of kelpies and faeries and magic. But she was also Christian, and a reasonable person who knew those were just old stories. Still, even the logical part of her saw that Konnor wasn’t just speaking of strange things. He was dressed differently. Those green, broad breeches with pockets, the shoes with thick soles she’d never seen the likes of before. His jacket and short tunic were made of fine material she didn’t even know the name of. He had English letters on his undertunic saying “Born to be wild”. His haircut, his strange accent and manner of speaking. The words he’d used: ambulance, hospital, phone. If he were from the future, things must be different there.
“Look, I don’t expect you to believe me, okay?” Konnor said. “But tomorrow, I will go back to those ruins with the rock and try to get back to my time. I hope you know now I’m not a threat to you.”
The thought of him leaving made her chest tighten.
“Aye,” she said. “I dinna think ye’re a MacDougall anymore. Ye saved me from those men. I’ll be forever grateful.”
She swallowed, her stomach sinking. “Go get some sleep. I’m all right.”
His face brightened, and Marjorie wished it wasn’t because he was leaving her.
“Good night,” he said and limped towards the door, the crutch knocking against the floor.
She glanced at the drying blood on the floor. He’d defeated two men while injured. Not only was he a great warrior, he was also brave and resourceful. If he indeed came from the future, which she didn’t fully believe yet, mayhap he knew some tricks or something that would help her defend the castle.
“Though I do wish you’d stay longer,” Marjorie said to his bare back.
He stopped and turned to her. “What?”
Marjorie rose and tugged the edges of the blanket tighter around her.
“The MacDougalls are going to attack, Konnor. I’ve never been in a war. I’ve never killed anyone. My castle is crumbling, and I’m afraid we dinna have enough men to defend ourselves.” She swallowed, her eyes burning. “If the MacDougalls take Colin… Or me again…” She choked on the words, lacking the air and the ability to say them out loud.
Konnor’s face darkened like a stormy sky. “Again?”
He stepped towards her and led her to the bed. They sat down, his gaze not leaving her. It was time. He needed to know what this battle would mean. What it would mean to her if he helped.
“It was twelve years ago. Our clans used to be allies, and the MacDougall was our overlord. The chief’s son—” She paused and swallowed the knot in her throat. “Alasdair,” she spat his name like a curse. “He asked for my hand. But there was something about him I’d never liked. He’d never been kind to anyone. I asked my father if he’d allow me to say nae, and he did. So I refused Alasdair.”
She exhaled, gathering the strength to tell Konnor the worst. She looked at her hands, unable to meet his gaze. A familiar sense of shame burned her cheeks. Silly. As though it were her fault what he’d done to her. And yet she believed it was. If she’d been stronger…
“One day, I went to gather flowers outside the castle. Only my maid came with me. Horsemen came out of nowhere, and one of them snatched me up on his horse. No matter how much I struggled, he held me.”
Tears blurred her vision, but she saw Konnor’s hand curled into fist on the bed.
“Alasdair held me prisoner,” she said, her voice tight from the tears that couldn’t be stopped anymore. “Every day, he came and beat me and took me like I was his property.”
She wiped her eyes with her hands, but the tears kept coming. She still couldn’t look at Konnor.
“My clan finally found out who was responsible. They came for me, and my brother Craig killed Alasdair. In the skirmish, my grandfather died.”
She finally looked up at him. Konnor’s nostrils flared, his own eyes were bloodshot and watery, his mouth pinched in a grimace. His chest rose and fell quickly, his breathing loud. Something about his anger brought relief.
“You were…” he rasped. “And Colin is his?”
“Aye.”
“And you’re afraid if they come, they’ll take Colin?”
She nodded.
He shook his head. “No, they won’t, Marjorie. I’ll stay and help you.” He reached out but then hesitated, looking into her eyes. It was as though he was asking her permission to touch her. Something relaxed in her stomach. She placed her hands into his. His palms were big and warm and calloused. They felt like home.
“No one will touch a hair on your or your son’s head as long as I have a say in it.”
His blue eyes stared at her with determination, flames dancing on his face in a golden hue. She felt safe and protected, and for the first time in her life, she wanted to kiss a man.
Chapter 12
Konnor tossed and turned after he returned to his room. Now he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Marjorie and his mother were victims of the same darkness.
Konnor couldn’t leave her after what he’d found out. If those fuckers the MacDougalls kidnapped and raped Marjorie, he couldn’t just go back to the 21st century and leave her in danger. It couldn’t have been easy for her to give birth to a child out of wedlock in this century. What a strong woman. Was she choosing to be alone because of her trauma? If so, he could relate. That was exactly the choice he’d made.
She didn’t believe him about time travel. Heck, he didn’t quite believe it himself, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He needed to talk to Isbeil again and ask her for more details about those Highland legends and tunnels through time. He had to make sure he could go back through that stone to his own time.
His gut clenched with worry for his mother, left alone without his financial or emotional support.
He remembered the day his father died. Konnor had been six years old. His dad had been wounded in action while deployed as a Marine and sent to a hospital in Boston. Konnor remembered how he’d entered the hospital room and froze, scared to see his strong father as white as the pillow and breathing raggedly.
“Help your mother,” his father said. “Protect her. You're the only one she’s got.”
Two years later, Konnor thought of those last words the evening after Jerry hit his mother. Mom placed dinner on the table, and the atmosphere was thick and silent, like everyone was afraid to breathe.
A plate with roasted chicken lay golden and delicious in the middle of the table. Mom covered the bruise on her face with the locks of her blond bob. She wore pink jeans and a long-sleeved sweater despite the warm weather perhaps to hid the blue marks in the form of fingers that decorated her forearm.
Jerry and Konnor sat at the table waiting for her to put mashed potatoes on their plates. Jerry glared at him with bloodshot eyes, whirling the glass with whiskey in his hand.
“How was school, Konnor?” he asked.
“Protect her. You're the only one she’s got.” His father’s words rang in his head. Guilt chewed at his stomach. Konnor hadn’t done anything to protect his mom the night before, but he could do something today. Jerry should know he couldn’t just beat her.
“It was fine,” he said, his gut trembling with both fear and anger. “Mom, are you okay?”
She glanced at him with wide eyes and flashed a forced smile, keeping her head low so that her blond hair would fall on the side of her face. “Of cours
e. Never better. Peas?”
“Mom, I heard. Last night, I heard everything.”
His mom’s eyes widened in horror. She dropped the plate and it fell on the floor with a loud bang, peas rolling all over the floor. Jerry’s square-jawed face reddened, his moustache shaking. He stood and grabbed her by the upper arm and drew his arm back to hit her.
“Stop it!” Konnor cried, and darted forward to hang on Jerry’s arm. Jerry pushed him back. Konnor staggered and fell, hitting his head on the edge of the chair. He whimpered, his head exploding with pain.
“Jerry!” his mom exclaimed and pushed Jerry away from him.
“Don’t you dare push me, you bitch,” Jerry cried and slapped her. He grabbed her by her hair and brought her face to his. “You try that one more time…” He was livid and drunk and spitting the consonants.
“Don’t touch him,” Mom growled.
Slap. Slap. Konnor watched with horror as her head shot to the left and to the right when Jerry’s hand came to her face.
“I will touch him in any way I see fit if he disrespects me like that in my own house.” As if to demonstrate, he grabbed the collar of Konnor’s T-shirt and lifted him up. Konnor stared into his bloodshot, drunken gray eyes and began wriggling.
Bam. Came a blow, right in his cheekbone. Bam. In his stomach, blinding him with pain.
“Stop it!” Mom screamed and turned Jerry to her. He let Konnor go, and he crumpled on the floor. She stood between Konnor and Jerry. “Go to your room, Konnor,” she whispered. “Lock your door.”
And, like a coward, he did. He didn’t stay. He didn’t distract Jerry. He ran and he let her take his beating.
But now that he was a grown man, he’d take every hit for her. He’d protect her and take care of her until the day he died.
A knock on the door pulled him out of his memories. Morning light spilled through the slit window into his room. He sat up in the bed, and his ankle ached in response. Marjorie appeared at the door, and she slid her gaze down his naked torso before she pointedly returned to his eyes. A slight blush covered her cheeks. He’d be flattered if he weren’t worried about making her feel uncomfortable.