"What curse? And how on Earth am I supposed to help defeat some bloodthirsty tyrant? It's not as if I'm a ninja or a Navy SEAL. What exactly am I supposed to do? What is it you expect from me?"
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Mackenzie thought that the elder of the two seemed a bit uncomfortable with her directness. Well, too bad, she thought, it was their turn to feel out of place He cleared his throat, and glanced furtively at his son before answering her.
"Well, we have foreseen that you'll be distractin' the Campbell with wedding and feast details, so that he will not be as intent on" he cleared his throat, "attacking the other clans."
"Excuse me? You expect me to be able to distract him from killing all of his neighbors with wedding plans?!" The incredulity was evident through the sarcasm. What man has ever been distracted by wedding details? "You pulled me from my century to discuss wedding plans with an evil dictator?
Right. This is going to work soo well..."
"It will work." The authority of the old man rang in each word. "You are going to pique his curiosity enough that he will be so intent on being with you, that it will delay his other" he hesitated "plans." He added quickly, "Then Gregor and I shall use the distraction to gain access to and study the sacred texts." Then he muttered under his breath, "And we shall do so before he sacrifices you."
"Who's Gregor?" Mackenzie asked faintly before his words sank in, "Wait, WHAT?"
"Oh, have we forgotten to introduce ourselves? I am Morvern, and this is my son Gregor. We are the sorcerers of John Campbell. This is how we know of his plans, and how we hope to thwart his unpleasant plots."
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" Unpleasant? That's what you call his plot to sacrifice me?
You two are insane!" Mackenzie was almost shouting at them.
"You brought me here to have me sacrificed? No, uh-uh, no way, you can just take me right back home. Now. There is no way in hell that I am staying here to pretend to marry a man who wants to kill me. Absolutely not!"
Morvern and Gregor shifted in their seats during her rant, but Morvern calmly stated, "Of course we shall return you to your time before he kills you." He was trying to soothe her, but Mackenzie was still freaked. Not only was her mind being asked to process time travel and magic, but now she had to act like a girl who was in love with the man who wanted to kill her. She felt nauseous again. Morvern continued, "Once we have an idea of what exactly it is that we need to do to accomplish this, we shall contact his most hated enemy, who is also the laird of the most powerful of the clans, Connor MacRae. The MacRae has been looking for a way to end the feuding and to dispose of the Campbell for years. He will help our cause."
Mackenzie thought that Morvern sounded like he was hoping this Connor guy would help, rather than being certain of the fact. She had no idea how she was supposed to believe these magicians, or whatever they were, when they didn't even sound too sure of themselves.
"Wait, wait, wait. Let's just think about this." Mackenzie was holding her hands out, palms facing them, and emphasizing each word with her hands. "You don't even know if this guy will help you or not? And you want me to agree to an engagement that has me being killed at the end rather 18
than happily married? And why does this Campbell person want to kill me? He doesn't even know me," her fear was seeping through and she was done trying to remain calm.
"We will do what we can to protect you, of course." Gregor pulled a heavy piece of jewelry from his cloak, and handed it to her. "This amulet has been charmed with a protection spell and it is also the key to getting you back to your time. It will open the portal on Samhain and you will be returned to your time as if nothing ever happened."
The talk of her going home calmed Mackenzie enough to find her voice.
"And what if I refuse to help you?"
Morvern looked staggered by her soft question, but Gregor looked smug, "The time when the gate opens again is set.
There will not be another opening until All Saints Day, the first day of November, and after that not until the end of the year."
"So I don't really have any choice in this, do I?" her tone was sour, even under the anger at being roped into this.
Morvern tried to placate her by saying, "We will not force you into our feud. If you choose not to help us, we shall find a way to hide you until the gate opens."
"And that's what, a month away?"
"Yes."
Mackenzie's mind was reeling. She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose and hunching her shoulders, while she so casually discussed her fate. She figured that she really had nothing to lose; besides, she wasn't altogether convinced that this wasn't a dream. She exhaled forcefully, 19
and straightened her shoulders; might as well face this head-on.
"Okay, I'm here, I might as well do a good deed. So, you've dragged me 200 years into the past, now what?"
Gregor spoke up, "Now you will play your role. You shall use your middle name, it is Isabella, is it not?" At Mackenzie's hesitant nod, he explained, "Your given name is quite unusual in our time. Then you shall play the part of a woman excited at the prospect of a smart match. He is wealthy and titled, and in this time, that is enough for any bride-to-be. Your distractions must center on having him show you his lands and meeting his people. It will be time consuming, and a safe enough topic. You will need to dress accordingly. I hope you do not mind that we have taken the liberty of sending a trunk of clothing ahead for you?"
Mackenzie shook her head, feeling dizzy that they had this all worked out to such a degree. Something was nagging at the back of her mind. What about the fact that she was nothing at all like a proper lady of this time? Her mannerisms and her manner of speech, wait, she wasn't even Scottish!
Panic made her voice come out a little higher than normal,
"But I'm not Scottish. How am I supposed to explain how I behave and talk? And I know nothing about this time, and what do I call him? What's his first name? And what about..."
Mackenzie's voice trailed off as the fear clawed its way up her throat.
"Calm down, please. It is common in this time for men and women to know nothing more than each other's names before marriage. He has been told that you are Isabella Stewart.
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Your mother was English and your father Scottish. Your parents liked to travel, so you were raised abroad...that should explain your, ahem, muddled accent. You will be introduced to your betrothed as Miss Stewart and you will address him as My Lord. You are expected to be spoiled, and demanding. Your reputation is of great beauty."
Mackenzie rolled her eyes at that and muttered, "Right, this should be a piece of cake."
"Might I continue?" At Mackenzie's chagrined nod, he resumed his description of her character. "You are a little older than the average bride, so the story is that you were betrothed to a Frenchman whom you left on the day of the wedding. Although your reputation has not been tarnished, you chose not to marry any of the other potential suitors." He handed her something long and sparkly; a knife with jewels on the handle.
"Here is a dirk for your protection. You must hide it on your person once we have reached his keep."
"And once we reach his 'keep,' what then? It's the middle of the night!" Mackenzie was really nervous at the idea of meeting this Campbell guy, and she doubted that waking him up in the dead of night was the way to start off their relationship. Especially one where she needed to hide a dagger under her gown, and pray he didn't kill her on the wedding night. With that thought resonating in her head, she tucked the dagger into her waistband.
"We won't arrive until well into the day," Gregor spoke in a patronizing tone, as if to a child.
"Oh."
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Morvern continued in a gentler tone, well it was a raspy, dry whisper, but Mackenzie assumed it was supposed to be soothing.
"My Lady, please do not fret. You will be the distraction we so desperately need, and it will work splendidly. Once we are able to vanquish him, you will be sent home im
mediately after. You need only act as a besotted bride for a few weeks and all will work itself out."
Right, act like a spoiled, obnoxious, brat to make the evil warlord like me, this'll work. Mackenzie was having trouble wrapping her head around the whole scheme. She blew out a long breath and squared her shoulders. At least she didn't have to do anything dangerous. This Highland warrior they were hoping would help was supposed to do all that stuff. All she had to do was visit a lord in his castle. And survive. Well, it wasn't like she was going to be held prisoner against her will. She was going in completely aware. Besides, she would be treated as a lady, with the privileges and graces afforded to one who would marry a man of that station. Mackenzie felt slightly hopeful that this whole crazy plan might work.
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Chapter Three
The jarring motion of the carriage did not steady, but it seemed to shudder now. Actually, it had halted. Strange. Why would they be stopping here? Mackenzie was under the impression that it would take all night to reach their destination. She heard men shouting, and what sounded like a scuffle. Were they being robbed? In the brief second that someone shouted "Highwaymen!" and the carriage door was thrown open, Mackenzie was suddenly very grateful that she hadn't changed into the gown they'd given her. She was still dressed in her plaid Bermuda shorts and gauzy white tank top. She glanced down at her Nikes and was doubly thankful she hadn't worn the less-functional espadrilles, just in case she had to run. She pressed herself against the carriage wall, and held her breath.
When the door was yanked open, Mackenzie didn't know what to expect. Probably a man yelling "Give me all your jewels" or something equally cliched like that. Whatever it was, it definitely was not a long, muscular arm reaching in for her of all things! The strong arm dragged her out of the carriage and brought her up hard against a wall. No, against a rock hard muscular chest. The man had his arm wrapped around her ribs, just under her breasts. Mackenzie had never before been so aware of her breasts before. Ever. And she was hot. There was heat everywhere that he touched. Odd that this man was so warm against her back. Although she 23
wore the cloak, she could still feel his heat radiating into her body, forcing her senses to notice every solid inch of him.
And there was a lot of him to notice; six foot plus, easy.
Mackenzie shook off the odd feelings and thought of the dagger she'd tucked into her waistband. Mentally thanking Josef, her kickboxing trainer, Mackenzie stomped the man's foot as hard as she could, drove her elbow into his ribs, and twirled into him with her arm raised to stab him. But as she looked up and locked eyes with her attacker, she gasped and stepped back.
It was him!
The Highland warrior from the oil painting that she'd been so fascinated with! In that brief flash of recognition, Mackenzie hesitated, and the man saw her intentions; the dagger had glinted in the moonlight. Nevertheless, Mackenzie swung, but he'd blocked her swing and she'd only grazed his forearm, dropping her dagger in the process. He swore, and reached for her again, but she danced out of his reach. While it didn't incapacitate him as she'd initially planned, it did buy her precious time. She took off sprinting full-out for the trees on the left. She didn't know what she would do once she reached them, but perhaps just getting to cover would help buy her more time. What did this guy want with her anyway?
As she ran, she tore off the cloak; it was tangling in her legs and the last thing she needed was to trip right now. Once more thinking grateful thoughts to still be dressed in 21st century clothes, she ran as fast as she could across the too open meadow. Not hearing any sounds of pursuit behind her, Mackenzie turned once, losing her hair clip in the process, 24
and couldn't see anyone giving chase. The relief was almost staggering. She stumbled to a stop, bracing her hands on her knees and panting, she glanced around to get her bearings.
Wrong move. She felt the impact before she heard him. The man had tackled her around the waist and drove her face down to the grass. Mackenzie wryly thought that an NFL
linebacker would have been easier to avoid.
He pinned her to the ground, letting her feel helpless for a moment, before roughly rolling her onto her back. His hands were all over her, and they were not gentle. He was running his hands across her breasts, ribs, stomach, thighs...was this what he wanted? Had Mackenzie been naive in thinking it was jewels? The thought made her eyes widen in fear and then narrow with determination.
"NO!" she shouted, and tried valiantly to free herself. Her thrashing only made her more aware of his strong muscular body pressing along every inch of hers. Instinctively, in a timelessly female move, she freed her knee and brought it up to his groin. Her attacker was one step ahead of her though, and shifted his weight so that his hipbone ground into her soft abdomen, and she inhaled quickly with the pressure. He captured both of her wrists in one of his large hands and put a dagger to her throat; her dagger. She swore, and froze.
"Smart. Now Miss Stewart, lie still."
He spoke softly with the same lilting Scottish burr she'd heard from the receptionist, except rather than sounding musical to her American ears, it sounded seductive.
Mackenzie was so annoyed that she found anything seductive about her attacker, that she missed his familiar use of her 25
name. Her anger at herself helped her as she renewed her struggle by yanking her wrists free and hoping he didn't actually want to slit her throat. In the same instant that she freed her hands, Mackenzie grabbed for the blade at her throat. His eyes widened as she tried vainly to push it away.
"While I admire your courage, lass, my patience only extends so far." Damn his voice was sexy. It was throaty, and raw, and dark, and reached places deep inside her, and what was she thinking?
The man recaptured her wrists and then pulled her to stand up with him, the blade never leaving her throat. Her wrists were seared with the heat from his one hand. He held them in front of her, as if she were handcuffed. She frowned as she realized her breathing and heart rate had yet to slow.
Mackenzie hadn't realized how tall he was; she had to tilt her head back to meet his steely gaze. He was not only tall, but he had broad shoulders and muscles to spare. The plaid tartan and kilt he wore only seemed to emphasize just how very muscular he was. He made her feel small. Since there weren't too many men out there who could make her feel small, this frightened her a bit. It actually frightened her more than the huge sword slung across his back. Mackenzie started thinking of ways to get him to drop the blade at her neck, but the only thing that kept coming to mind was her original plan. So she tried once more, shifting her weight slightly enough that she didn't think he would notice, and swiftly bringing her knee up towards his groin. But the man must have been a mind reader, because just as swiftly he sidestepped her, yanked her arms above her head, and 26
pressed the dagger into her skin hard enough to make swallowing impossible.
"Lass, if you try that again, I'll tie you to my horse." Damn him, but he sounded amused.
Mackenzie did not doubt that he would. His clear blue eyes were almost silver in the light of the moon, and they sparked with his annoyance at her. She lost her breath for a moment.
"What do you want from me?" she demanded, however it came out so quietly that it lost all power.
His eyes narrowed at her breathless question, "To make sure that you are unarmed."
His eyes dropped for a second and Mackenzie realized that with her arms restrained above her head, her breasts were moving conspicuously with her ragged breathing. She almost rolled her eyes at that. Only helpless damsels in distress were supposed to have heaving bosoms. She was normally far from helpless. Of course, normally she didn't have a dagger at her throat. What a weird dream, she thought, because she was now thoroughly convinced that this was a dream. She must have hit her head and passed out on the tour of the castle and was now understandably dreaming about the man she'd seen in the painting. Right? Mackenzie tried to calm her b
reathing. Dreaming or not, she was not about to become some cliched damsel in distress. But once his eyes had finished their insulting perusal of her body, and his gaze came back to hers, she almost gasped. The sparking anger was gone, and in its place was some emotion that had turned the blue flashes to molten sapphire. No one had ever looked at her like this in her life, with such open desire. It was like he 27
wanted her, right there in the meadow. Mackenzie forgot how to breathe.
His voice broke the spell his eyes had on her and she sucked in a shuddering breath.
"You will come with me without complaint." He raised an eyebrow as if to dare her to run again.
She glared at him mutinously. He would probably just love an excuse to tie her to his horse. The man ignored her glare, and instead his eyes swept down her body as if he were appraising a horse. The look he gave her was beyond incredulous; in fact Mackenzie couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips in response to the shock on his face.
"Where are your clothes? You canna be seen in this undressed state!"
It wasn't so much his question, but rather his tone, high-handed and arrogant, that got under her skin. "There's nothing wrong with my clothes!" Mackenzie snapped at him.
"And just because some pushy Scotsman decides he doesn't approve of my outfit, which is by the way, perfectly normal for an American tourist, it doesn't mean that I will automatically change them!" she huffed. Her anger caused her to speak her thoughts without censoring them, forgetting that she was playing the part of Isabella Stewart who would be from this era, and who would be dressed in a gown, a modest gown.
The man simply shook his head and put her dagger in his waistband. Then he started to tow her towards the line of men and horses that waited in front of her carriage.
Mackenzie stumbled along behind him because he still had 28
both of her hands in one of his, and that hand was causing electric sparks to shoot up her arm. Yep, I'm definitely dreaming, Mackenzie thought. There's no way some random hot guy is going to show up in the middle of nowhere to kidnap me and drag me off to his castle and...and then what?
Highland Destiny Page 2
