by Sabrina York
Cameron struggled to his feet and gaped at her.
She met his ominous glower with a simper. “I do deplore violence.”
He seemed as though he was considering another rush at her, so she tipped her head to the side and fixed him with an imperious look. “Dinna the Macintosh tell you what I am?”
He glanced at Dominic, whose expression went bleak. “Nae, Maggie-mine. Donna tell him.”
“Tell me what?”
“I am no’ just a mere lass.”
“Are ye no’?”
“I come from a land, far to the west. Beyond the great sea.”
The Cameron snorted. “There is no land to the west beyond the great sea.”
Maggie sighed and glanced at the sky. She tried to appear blasé in her perusal, but she was not. She had to time this just right…and she sincerely doubted she could, for she didn’t know everything. She didn’t know everything at all. She had to pray her memory was clear, that some future astronomer hadn’t gotten a date or a declination wrong. Her pulse pounded.
“Ah, but there is. A great land. Blessed by God. Flowing with milk and honey. Amber waves of grain and all that.”
Torquil narrowed his eyes. It made him look even more like a pig.
“I come from The Emerald City.”
Dominic frowned. “I thought you said you came from a place called Seattle?”
“With flying fish,” Declan added.
“Aye. But it is also called the Emerald City.”
“What sept are you from?”
Um, sept? She cleared her throat. “I belong to a sept called…academia. We spend all our days studying the acts of men.”
The Cameron’s nose curled. “This tale is entertaining, but does not explain your impudence.”
She laughed. “All women are impudent where I come from. And with good reason. We are highly educated.” She leaned in and grinned. “And we know things.”
Many of the men reared back, apparently appalled at the prospect of educated women.
“Why did you call me a dead man?”
“Because. I have foreseen it.” She had. Torquil Cameron would be murdered by his brother at the age of thirty-six. Poison, if memory served.
Murmurs rose amongst the Camerons. One or two crossed themselves. Dominic groaned but Maggie flashed him a confident smile.
“You are a seer?”
From the crowd, whispers of “witch” and “succubus” rose. She waggled her fingers at them. “Oh, pish. I am no’ a servant of the devil. But I know the good Lord doesna smile upon your betrayal of Clan Chattan.”
Torquil bristled. It was not attractive. “I dinna betray Clan Chattan!”
“Did you no’?” She fixed him with what she hoped was an unnerving stare and murmured, “God knows all things, Torquil. He sees all. He can glimpse inside the hearts of men. And his vengeance canna be escaped.”
His throat worked. His little piggy eyes shot around.
“Oh, doona worry. It is not my place to punish you for what you have done.”
He seemed to gust a sigh of relief.
“But God willna forget.”
“You doona speak for God, witch. Tis blasphemy to suggest it.”
“Aye. I doona. God speaks for himself. To show his disapproval of your ways, he will send a sign.”
Cameron stilled. Stared at her. “A sign?”
“He will blot out the sun.” Dear God, she hoped she had her dates right. She hoped she had the time right. From what she recalled the eclipse that had sent the highlands into a frenzy of fear and ominous predictions had occurred about 12:47 GMT on the 25th of August.
It seemed about that time. As far as she could tell. But it hardly mattered. She could not hesitate now, not that she’d begun on this path.
With melodramatic flair, she threw out her arms to the sun.
All the men in the bailey stared at her—including Dominic—but then, slowly, they lifted their gazes to the sky. Silence thrummed for a long long while.
The sun beamed merrily down.
Maggie’s heart skittered in her chest. Her throat closed. Sweat beaded on her brow. Still she held her pose.
She hoped her ploy would not be the death of them all.
“Well, fook,” Cameron growled after several minutes. “Why are we even listening to this folderol? Kill them all.” He pulled out his blade and headed for Dominic.
“No!” Maggie raced between them, shielding her man with her body.
Dominic muttered something foul and thrust her behind him.
Cameron chuckled. “I’ll happily gut you too lass, if you’ve a liking for it. But later, after I’ve had you and handed you to my men.”
She leaned around Dominic’s bulk and glared at him. “You are a revolting creature. I’m glad your brother murders you.”
From her left, a man squawked. Cameron’s eyes lowered. His head swung around and he pinned the red-faced Scotsman with a glower. “It isna true, Torquil!” he wailed. “I would never do such a thing.”
“A little advice?” Maggie smirked. “Get a food taster.”
It probably wasn’t wise to taunt a bear. Especially when he had a sword. A long, sharp sword. His hammy fingers closed around the hilt and he growled, “Shut your lying mouth, bitch.”
“How rude,” she murmured, mostly to herself, but no one would have heard anyway because just then a hue and cry rose in the bailey.
Also, the sunlight dimmed.
Maggie whirled around to stare at the sky. Her heart lifted as the shadow of the moon rose, blotting out the sun.
Oh, thank God.
Thank God she hadn’t screwed up her dates.
* * *
Dominic stared at the sky as the moon swallowed the sun.
He should not have been worried.
He should not be surprised.
He should have known she was right.
She usually was.
He glanced around the courtyard, at all the men, Camerons and Macintoshes alike, who stared in awe at the sky. They were utterly stupefied, Torquil among them.
It would be folly to waste this opportunity. He pulled his dirk from his boot and whipped behind Torquil, setting his knife to his enemy’s neck.
“Drop your weapons, all of you.”
The Camerons whirled, but taking a cue from their laird, all the Macintosh men sprang into action, surrounding them. A clatter of metal rose as they dropped their dirks and swords.
His pressed the knife into Torquil’s neck. “How did you breach the castle?” he asked softly, but in the silence, his question wafted on the air.
“I…ah…through the sally port.”
“And how did you know where it was?”
To Dominic’s disgust, Torquil’s gaze flickered over to his men and landed on Liam. Who paled.
Hell and damnation.
“Liam? It was you?” Liam, who had brought him the news of the deadly meeting? Liam, who had stayed behind to lock the gate? Liam, who stood to inherit everything if Dominic and Declan died?
Fury scoured him.
The look Declan shot him made clear he’d worked it all out too. He hustled over and grabbed his cousin by the arm. Ewan and Harry joined him, making sure Liam could not slither away. Not until justice was dealt out.
“Tie the Camerons up and throw them in the dungeon,” he commanded and his men scurried to do his bidding. “I hope your family is inclined to pay a healthy ransom,” Dominic muttered to Torquil as they led him away.
He turned to Liam and his nose curled. “As for you…”
“What are you going to do to him?”
Dominic stilled and glanced down at Maggie. The tone of her voice, her panic, the despair, made his blood go cold. He hated the fear in her eyes…because it was on Liam’s behalf.
“Why do you care?”
She tugged his sleeve. “Please don’t kill him.”
Hell. This was more than a soft-hearted woman’s worry over someone being hurt. This was more.
He didn’t like it in the least. “Why not?”
She went up on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear, “Because Dominic. He’s my ancestor. If he dies…I will never be born.”
He froze.
Oh. God.
Oh God, oh god oh god.
He couldn’t bear such a thought.
“Doona worry. I willna kill him. But the punishment must fit the crime.”
“I understand.”
He turned to Liam, surrounded by a circle of his once-friends, a criminal, an outcast. “Liam MacBain Macintosh. For your crimes of betrayal, I sentence you to—”
“Nae!” Liam issued an inhuman snarl. He lurched forward, breaking the hold the men had on him and, grabbing a fallen dirk, he ran toward Dominic. There was a crazed light in his eye. One that made clear his intention to commit murder.
His intention to murder Dominic.
* * *
It all moved in slow motion. Liam racing toward Dominic. Dominic raising his blade. The two men colliding chest to chest, falling to the ground, rolling. The shouts of the others, a flurry of action, of panic.
Dominic’s men converged on the tussle and peeled the two men apart. They were both covered in blood and breathless.
To her horror, Liam collapsed to the ground, with his eyes wide, staring, unseeing at the sky.
And Dominic?
Dominic had a blade buried in his chest. He lay there, still and silent. Limp.
Maggie stared at the horrific scene, unable to speak or move or breathe.
Her mind spun. Her pulse slowed. She felt her field of vision shrinking, shrinking, closing in. Her muscles began to crumple. Her soul shriveled. She could feel herself lightening, as though she might waft away into nothingness.
No. No. No!
She fought to retain consciousness, presence in this world. She would not allow this to happen. She could not.
But she couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop the wheeling of the earth or the racing of her broken heart.
Darkness descended and took her.
She did not know whether to be grateful or to grieve.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
She awoke in a dark room. It took a moment for her to get her bearings. For one thing, she was not altogether sure she was alive. If Liam was dead, no doubt she’d faded into some limbo. Wherever it was lost souls went.
But limbo probably didn’t have fur coverlets on the beds.
Limbo probably didn’t have beds.
She felt around and found a bedside table with a candle and a flint, but she had no idea how to strike a flint, so she fumbled around some more until she found a window and yanked back the heavy drapes.
The moonlight flooded in and she surveyed her surroundings. She was in a modest chamber about midway up the south tower—as far as she could tell. And she was wearing a flowing nightdress.
She tried the door and, delighted to find it not locked, she looked out into the hallway. It wasn’t a hallway as much as a curving staircase. Voices wafted down from above, so she headed that way. The staircase ended at a broad door which was open. She peered in and knew this would be the laird’s solar. It was a large round room that took up the whole floor of the tower.
Dominic laid on the four-postered bed by the hearth. He was surrounded by several men.
Declan glanced up as she slipped into the room. He blanched. “Ye shouldna be here.”
She ignored him. “Is he all right?”
The other men took in her attire and their nostrils flared. Without a word, Declan found a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“It’s just a nightdress, she muttered.
“’Tis not seemly.”
She blew out a breath. It was a fricking night dress. It covered her from neck to toes. But still, her attire was the least of her worries. “Is he all right?”
“He hasna woken up.”
His chest was broad and bare. The knife had been removed but the wound was open and covered with… Her stomach roiled. “Are those leaches?”
“They are necessary.” An old man with a prissy expression sniffed. “To remove the evil humors.”
“Take them off.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Take them the fuck off.”
The doctor glanced at Declan, possibly in outrage, but Declan nodded. “Do as she says.” It gratified her that he took her side.
“Bleeding patients is crucial,” the doctor muttered, but he began peeling the nasty leeches off.
Thank God.
Seriously. Who knew where they’d been?
“Bleeding patients only weakens them. What he needs is that wound sewn up. A little antiseptic would not go awry.”
The doctor reared back. “I willna be responsible for his health if you doona listen to me.”
“Fine,” Declan said, leading him to the door.
Maggie was more than happy to see the doctor leave. Though she was far from a medical expert, no doubt she had a better grasp on healthcare than a man who believed in body humors and trepanning. Besides, she’d seen tons of medical dramas on TV.
Through the night, she did everything she could think of—everything she’d learned from Dr. Blake Braxton—from hot compresses to salt washes, but Dominic didn’t get better. He didn’t awake. By morning, his fever had spiked.
The next day it was worse, and by the third day, it was clear an infection was setting in. The wound was horrendous. Black around the edges and raw inside. What scared her to death was the red stripes fanning out, a sign that the contamination had entered his bloodstream, perhaps leading to sepsis. Sepsis was fatal.
Even without having binged on Game of Thrones and having watched Khal Drogo fade away, she knew, without medication, Dominic would die.
She glanced at Declan. “I’m worried.”
He nodded. He looked like hell. His handsome face was drawn and shadowed. His hair was a mess. “As am I.”
“He needs penicillin.”
“What is that?”
“It’s a common drug in my time.”
Declan froze. His face paled and his throat worked. “Your…what?”
Oh fuck. She hadn’t intended to say that. “I mean, in my country.”
“You said my time.”
She offered a toothy smile. “You misheard me.”
“I know what I heard.” His eyes went flinty. “Are you from some other realm? Some other time?”
She plucked at a hem. Shrugged. “Maybe?”
He crossed his arms and stared at her. He hummed with intensity. “Does Dominic know?”
“I…ah… Know what?”
“What you are? What you really are?”
“Yes.”
He stilled. “Does he…accept it?”
“I think he does.” She set her hand on Dominic’s. It was scorching. “We were just making peace over it when he was injured.”
“Where do you really come from Maggie from Seattle?” There was a thread of a sneer in his voice.
“Oh, I do come from Seattle. But Seattle about seven hundred years from now.”
His jaw dropped.
“Yeah. I was as surprised as you to find myself here.”
“How did you do this?”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t on purpose, I assure you. I simply stepped into a stone circle back home and landed in yours.”
“The stone circle. Is it some kind of magical place?” This he asked with the tone of a man who didn’t believe in magical places. Then again, neither had she. Until now.
“Probably more of a temporal displacement.”
His lashes flickered.
“Listen, Declan, if I can get back home, I can get the medicine Dominic needs. I can save his life.” Hope, excitement, rose in her breast. “Please Declan. Can you take me back there? Back to the circle?”
“Aye.” His eyes narrowed. “But what if you get home, and you decide you doona want to come back? Doona want to save him?”
Her heart clenched. “I
will come back,” she rasped through a raw throat. “I have to save him. I can’t live without him. I…love him.”
For the first time, his harsh expression softened.
“I want to stay here. With him. Forever.”
A pity she didn’t know if Dominic wanted the same.
Hopefully, if her plan worked, if she could get home and being back the medicine he needed, she could save him. And she would have a chance to ask him.
And if he said no…well, she’d deal with that when the time came.
* * *
She and Declan left as soon as they could, leaving Ewan with Dominic and making him promise he would not let the doctor into Dominic’s rooms. The ride back to the hunting camp took much less time than it had in the cart. Within two hours, at a fast pace, they’d traversed the valley. Though they’d been riding hard, there had been time to talk, and she and Declan had come to some semblance of peace.
She even told him of her home on the hill, her cousin, Jenny, her grandmother and the horrific dog that had started all this. She complained again about having lost her locket that day, when he hefted her over his shoulder.
That he laughed did not help her outrage.
They found the ciorcal cloiche with no problem whatsoever. But as she stepped between the stones, Maggie didn’t feel it, the sizzle she’d felt before.
She whirled around, arms out, willing the magic to happen.
But it did not.
There was nothing.
Not so much as a whiff of it.
“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” she said.
Declan stood just outside the circle so as not to interfere with her magic—such as it was. “Try recreating your movements.”
Maggie closed her eyes and tried to remember. Chasing the dog. Trying to catch him and then…
A chuckle filled the clearing. She stood and glared at Declan. He crossed his arms and tipped his head to the side. “Were you doing some kind of dance?”
“No. I was trying to catch the dog. And then my locket fell off and I bent to grab it—“
“This locket?” he asked, stepping forward and picking up the gold chain. The heart caught the light and flashed.
