“Marjorie.”
Brown eyes and blazing-red hair came into focus in front of her.
“Marjorie, ‘tis Ian. I’ve come to take ye. We’re leaving Innes Chonnel.”
She stopped screaming.
“Good lass. Can ye walk?”
“Aye.”
“Good. Then let’s go.”
She walked behind him on shaking legs, bile rising in her stomach. They climbed down the narrow stone stairs, one, two, three flights. Just before they walked into the courtyard, Ian stopped and turned to her. “I want ye to listen to me. The MacDougalls have come to take the castle.”
She jerked in reaction to the name, her gut clenching like a tight fist. Horror rode through her in a black, icy-cold wave.
“Dinna fash, they wilna take ye,” Ian said. “I’d rather die than let them take you.”
Marjorie bit her lip, fighting to stop the panic from her memory taking her over now.
“The evil king was winning,” she continued her story to Colin. “His men infiltrated the castle and swarmed the courtyard like wasps. Seaghán wanted to get his sister on the boat evacuating the women and children of their clan. But just as he got her out of the castle and close to the boat, a band of the king’s warriors reached him.”
She squeezed her son’s hand and buried her nose in his hair, inhaling the clean, herbal scent of him.
“One had a great sword, the other a spear, the third an ax. They came at him all at once, from three sides just as his sister got on the boat. The boatsman pushed the boat off the shore and began rowing away. Seaghán’s sister watched in horror as he fought the three men. He killed the one with the sword, but while he fought the axman, the man with the spear wounded his shoulder. The last thing his sister saw before the boat arrived at the opposite shore and she had to run together with the other women and children, was that Seaghán had been gravely wounded near his heart and had stopped moving.”
She wiped the tears from one cheek, and Colin reached and wiped them from the other.
“Did he die?” he said.
Marjorie nodded. “The clan had to retreat after that, leaving their seat to their enemy, and their hero’s body as well. He died saving his sister.”
Not just his sister, but his nephew, too. And she’d never forget that.
She glanced at the shadows. Thank you for watching over him, Ian.
She kissed Colin’s forehead and tucked him in. “Good night, my sweet, let yer dreams be restful and safe. The heroes of yer clan are watching over ye.”
She blew out the candle and walked to the door, leaving only the dim light of the glowing ambers in the fireplace to illuminate the room.
“Mother?” Colin called after her.
“Aye, son?” She turned around.
“Seaghán is Uncle Ian, isna he? And ye are his sister?”
She let out a shaky breath. He was too smart for his age.
“Aye, sweet.”
“I would have liked to meet him.”
“I would have liked ye to meet him, too.”
She wished him goodnight for the last time and walked out of his room. She leaned against the door after she closed it and simply breathed for a moment. She was safe. She was all right. Thanks to Ian. Thanks to all the men of her clan. Men she could trust.
While Colin would never have a father as a male role model, and she’d never trust a man with her heart, her son did have plenty of great warriors to learn from, like Marjorie’s father and brothers. That was enough.
Chapter 7
After a night in the castle, Konnor’s confidence that this was some sort of reclusive community was fading. He looked out the window and saw the guards on the walls. They appeared way too serious and way too armed to be playing around. If this was a role-playing game, how long would these people keep up the pretense? If this was a closed community, wouldn’t they still have to have some connection to the outside world?
If they really expected a siege—and judging by their somber expressions, one was coming—that meant there was another group of people who lived the same way.
They couldn’t be completely isolated. Growing and keeping food required gardens, crops, and animals. Yes, there were animals in the courtyard, but he hadn’t seen gardens or fields around the castle. They must buy that stuff from a grocery store.
Something was off. Everything in the room looked like it had been made by hand—the blanket, the bed, the chests, and the torches. There had to be a logical explanation to all of this. There was one possible explanation, but Konnor completely refused to believe it. It was there nevertheless.
Both Sìneag and Isbeil had talked about Ancient Pictish magic opening a tunnel through the river of time.
There was no way time travel and magic were real. He could just imagine Andy and his other buddies laughing their asses off if they heard he was even considering it. He didn’t know what was wrong with this place or how to explain all of it, but there was tension in his gut and tilting under his feet, as though he were on a lurching ship during a storm. Maybe he was just paying for all the whiskey he’d dulled his senses with yesterday.
His ankle didn’t hurt as much today, and it felt like the swelling was going down. He was grateful for Isbeil’s treatment, despite the lack of modern medicine.
He wasn’t going to sit in one place, so he asked a girl who brought him porridge and buttermilk if she could find him a crutch he could borrow. She’d said she’d ask and left the room.
He was going to find a way to escape, hopefully before any siege started. The Marine in him couldn’t help wondering what weapons would be used. Surely whoever these MacDougalls were, they wouldn’t use guns against swords and arrows? He couldn’t just run away and leave the people here at the mercy of a well-armed force, could he?
Konnor shifted, put both his feet on the floor and laced up the shoes.
“Are ye planning something?” Marjorie asked from the doorway.
He turned his head and forgot how to breathe. Her hair was tied up now, and she wore a simple, almost manly tunic that hung to her knees. The baggy clothes highlighted her femininity even more. Her thin waist and the gentle curves of her hips was hugged by a belt. She was strong and willowy, like a taut bow string. There was a crutch in her hands—a straight, thick stick with a small piece of wood across the top of it to fit under his arm.
Konnor cocked his head. “Thanks. I want to look around.”
“Ye’re nae leaving the castle, aye? I thought I was clear yesterday.”
“You were.” He chuckled, enjoying the fire in her voice. “But I can’t sit back and wait for the walls to fall. You talked about a siege. Can I help?”
“Ye?” She looked him up and down.
“I’m a Marine. Served in Iraq.”
“Iraq? Again yer strange words.” She sighed. “Why am I wasting my time with ye when I have my warriors to train?”
She took one long stride into the room and stood right before him. She handed him the crutch. He took it and slowly looked up her body to her face. She was like a Highland queen from ancient legends, with her big, green eyes against her pale skin. Her cheeks were rosy from the exercise, and her lips were round and red. He itched to trace his knuckles against the side of her face. She didn’t wear makeup—and she didn’t need any. Long, thick eyelashes framed her eyes, and her lips were so kissable.