Slowly but surely, a pompous grin slithered onto Bartholomew’s face as he drove Teagan back. Then back some more. “Did you really think yourself better than me, Scot?” He chuckled. “Surely now, you see the error of your ways. The foolishness of your actions.” The Sassenach cocked his head as though thinking about that. “But then perhaps not.” He flicked his sword even faster, laughing madly before he dislodged Teagan’s blade at last. “For you Scottish animals are—”
“No, stop!” Greer cried, drawing Bartholomew’s attention away just long enough for Teagan to scoop up his sword.
“Bloody hell,” he cursed when he realized Greer had grabbed hold of Duncan, who, dagger in hand, obviously thought to come to their aid.
Just like she’d done at the beginning, Greer took up position in front of the lad. Only this time, she had a pompous, bloodthirsty Bartholomew barreling down on her.
“N-nay,” Alfred roared, stepping in front of her. Though trembling like a leaf, he held his blade at the ready and narrowed his eyes on Bartholomew. “Stop r-right there, I say! Stop in the name of all that is g-good!”
Suddenly immobile, caught in a memory, a violent moment in time, Teagan could barely think, let alone take action. Just like that, because of Alfred’s stance, he had returned to that horrible day. Saw the horrors in the village. The broken bodies of women and children. Their lifeless eyes staring at the sky. The pure degradation left in the wake of living, breathing men, turned monsters. The ruthlessness and evil of which people were capable.
Worse yet, he saw the man on the woman once more.
The brutality she had suffered.
Somehow that memory merged with Bartholomew shoving Alfred aside and grabbing Greer.
The two realities became one, and Teagan saw pure red.
Felt pure rage.
He heard a furious roar from far off and somehow knew it was him.
He had made that tortured sound.
He had become the monster.
Teagan had no idea when he moved, only that he must have because, the next thing he knew, he’d disarmed Bartholomew and pulled him away. Away from Greer, just like he had pulled the man away from that poor woman years ago.
“Ye bloody beast,” he swore, speaking to both the man from his past and Bartholomew. “Ye’ll not hurt her again,” he ground out. “Ye’ll not hurt any of them.”
Somewhere in the distance, he heard Adlin wondering if they should stop him, and Edmund and Malcolm unanimously saying no. None of it mattered, though. Nothing could stop him from unleashing pure hell on Bartholomew with his bare fists.
“Remember ye are nae alone, little brother,” Keenan whispered into his mind, a voice of reason amid the chaos. Amid sheer unbridled hatred. “Ye’ve a wee bairn and the lass ye love watching ye.”
“Love?” Punch. Punch. Punch. “I know nothing of love.”
“Aye, ye do, or ye wouldnae have felt so strongly then nor now,” Keenan would reply. “Ye couldnae feel such heartbreaking rage if ye didnae know love verra well.”
“He’s right,” Greer whispered into his mind.
“Ye’re right there, lass.” Punch. Punch. “So ye cannae be in my mind.”
“She can because she loves ye,” Keenan would say. “She can because she understands yer ability to love.”
“Love?” He stopped punching and gripped Bartholomew’s tunic, trying to focus. “What do I know of…”
All of a sudden, his vision snapped into focus, and he saw the groaning Englishman beneath him. Not bloodied beyond recognition quite yet but definitely struggling.
“I do know of love,” he murmured at last, seeing very clearly indeed. “Ye, however, Sassenach, know no such thing.”
With that, he did the only thing he could, and it was not what anyone would have expected.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Greer blinked when Teagan rolled away from Bartholomew and braced his head in his hands. All she could focus on was Teagan as Ada pulled Duncan away. He was all she could see. Yet when she tried to go to him, her legs gave way, and she sank to her knees.
“I know you,” she whispered.
Her voice sounded far away. As though it were not her own.
Every punch that Teagan landed on Bartholomew brought her further and further back. The torture in his actions. The pure rage. Closer and closer to something she’d hoped to forget. “I know you.”
As though from a great distance, blades rang out as men battled. Axes hurled through the air. Daggers whipped. Grunts of pain echoed. She was vaguely aware of Alfred standing over Bartholomew. Of his barely stuttered words promising him a swift journey to hell. Then a harsh thrust when he drove his sword into their enemy.
Like her, Teagan was barely aware of the chaos surrounding them. The roars of fury and cries of victory. Rather, he had gone somewhere in his mind, grappling with something in his past.
Then it all spun away.
One moment she saw him sitting there, the next, she stared out a cracked window in another time and place. Her heart thundered. Her mouth went bone dry. Horrified, she strained to see in the dim light, praying she saw wrong. Praying her mind played tricks on her. Doing her best to keep her violent sobs quiet.
“Darling,” her mother said from far off. “Darling Greer, you must come back to me. We must go.”
She blinked, trying to see past the memory. Past her terror and gut-wrenching guilt. Thankfully, her mother kept talking, coaxing her forth, until she finally snapped into focus. When had her mother knelt in front of her? When had she gripped her shoulders?
When had the English retreated?
“I…she,” she mouthed, trying to find her voice, trying so very hard to be in the present. “He.”
“Yes, he’s gone.” Mother brought a skin of water to her lips and urged her to drink. “Bartholomew is no longer a threat.” Understanding that what had just happened had triggered Greer's violent past, her mother blinked back tears. “But your uncle is not gone, sweet daughter. He’s en route to MacLauchlin Castle and your sister, Julianna, so we must stop him.”
“Julianna?” she whispered. “The MacLauchlins?”
“Yes.” Her mother wiped tears from Greer’s face she hadn’t realized had fallen. “We must make haste and stop him, so we need to go now.” She cupped Greer’s cheeks and held her gaze. “Do you hear me, daughter? We must rally our courage and press on. You must continue your grand adventure. You must be the heroine, yes?”
“Yes,” she managed, frightened for her sister. For Teagan’s people.
“I have ye, lass,” Teagan said, somehow no longer holding his head but crouched in front of her. “I’m here now. I’m sorry I wasnae before…” Pain saturated his gaze. “That I couldnae be there for ye sooner.” He cupped her cheek. “But I am now.”
Greer nodded and whispered, “I know.”
He cupped her other cheek and searched her eyes. “Aye?”
She bit her lower lip and kept nodding. “Yes.”
He pressed his forehead to hers, a means to connect with her, to show her how much he cared before his gaze returned to her face. “Can ye stand?”
“I think so.”