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.