"Supper will be served in the Hall, I'll fetch you in an hour."
"I'm going down for dinner?" Shock replaced the sadness on her face. Then skepticism. "Why?"
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"One hour." He ignored her question, and strode out of the room.
Mackenzie sagged against the wall and caught her breath, mentally preparing herself for the inevitable contact she would have with Connor in an hour.
Connor replayed the past events in his head as he strode downstairs. When Robbie had told him that Mackenzie was part of the plot to invade his castle, he'd lost it. She had lied to him! She had claimed no knowledge of the Campbell's plans, and he had believed her to be an innocent in all this, but in reality she was central to the plot. He had thought all his men loyal to him, but he'd never once thought the girl he'd stolen from his enemy would be a ruse.
He had always prided himself on being able to read people.
Living by the sword, one found ways to read the smallest changes in expression, the barest hint of deception in one's eyes. He had never doubted Mackenzie's wide sincere gaze.
He didn't like to be wrong, in fact he was rarely ever wrong, but he had been very, very wrong about this girl. And when the clan chief made mistakes, people died. He was very lucky that the man captured had told them of the Campbell's plots.
To think! Mackenzie's abduction had been so easy because it had been a set up! Connor did not like to feel like a fool, and she had without doubt played him for a fool.
So he locked her in her room and tried to forget about her.
But the past few days he'd spent angry at her had been some of the worst of his life. It was the irritating attraction he had for his enemy's woman that was the problem. He'd wanted to barge into her room and demand an explanation.
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He'd wanted to kiss her senseless, forcing her to admit what was between them was more than just attraction. And most of all he wanted to be wrong about her.
When Dougal, his captain, had suggested that they send the amulet back to the Campbell, Connor couldn't admit to himself that he really just wanted an excuse to see Mackenzie again. Which was completely stupid; she was the Campbell's wife, and therefore the enemy. Especially since she had the key role of distracting and seducing Connor. He was grateful that his men had gotten that piece of information from the Campbell's toady so quickly.
So when he had walked into Mackenzie's chambers, he'd really had no intention of bedding another man's wife. But when she had turned her lying emerald green eyes, swimming with tears on him, imploring him to believe her tale, he'd thought, Why not? She was here to do just that, so he might as well be in control. It wasn't as if she were a maid. He now knew that to be false.
He'd given in to temptation and kissed her. It had surprised him a little when she had kissed him back so hungrily, but in truth, he found it hard to concentrate on anything when her tongue tangled with his. She seemed eager enough for his kisses, but what he didn't understand was why she kept stopping the inevitable? That was the one complication; he was constantly fighting his attraction to her.
He felt like she had been sent to him to bewitch him. The Campbell had chosen his actress well. It would be a strong man who could resist Mackenzie. It also made her story that much harder to believe as truth.
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Her story. He couldn't understand what she hoped to gain with a tale such as that? It was beyond anything he'd ever imagined. How could she ask him to believe such a tale? But some of her idiosyncrasies could be explained that way; her clothing, her manner of speech, her behavior, her blue toenails. There was something very obviously different about her, but was it this fanciful tale?
Nay, he couldn't believe anything she said.
But when she had answered his questions about the future of the Highlands, she had answered that they would not be free...was that because she was telling the truth, or because she was on the side of the Campbell? He narrowed his eyes as he thought of the plot to invade his castle from the inside out. He'd like to believe that the prisoner was lying, but to what end? It made no sense. The prisoner, named MacAllistair, had said that Mackenzie and the Campbell were already married, and the amulet had further supported the story. Supper would be served in less than an hour, and already a plan was forming; he would get the information he needed from Mackenzie. But first, he would speak to this MacAllistair himself.
When he'd spoken with the Campbell's man, he hadn't learned anything his own men hadn't already found out. In fact, the story told was almost verbatim to what his men had said. He did, however, deduce that the man was lying. About what, he did not know. But he would figure it out. That one flaw gave Connor a slight glimmer of hope that Mackenzie might be telling the truth. He wanted to believe that she had not lied to him. Everything in him wanted to believe that. It 144
mattered, no he corrected, she mattered, much more than she should.
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Chapter Twelve
The sorcerer Morvern was meticulously sifting through ancient scrolls, reading ancient languages, and praying for a miracle. He feared John Campbell had more than "dabbled" in the black arts that he himself had always avoided.
Gregor hurried into their dark work space. The only light came from several tallow candles scattered about the room.
There were no windows here, no light, only dark. They were not using the rooms set up for them in the tower; that would give them away.
"Father, I think I have found a way to bar the dark magic from entering the MacRae's castle. It is something akin to a protection spell, only rather than protecting one person, it shall protect the whole of his keep."
"Tell me," the firm command belied the frail voice.
"If we use the charm we placed on the amulet, and add a greater amount of rosehips and lavender; it is said to protect a lady. Have you discovered a way to kill him yet?"
"No, my son, the dark arts blind our magicks to him. I have only defensive spells as of yet. So far I can only trap him or freeze him momentarily. Although, mayhap a moment would be all we need?" Morvern trailed off into his own train of thoughts, as happened to a man of his years.
His son interrupted his musings. "Perhaps we can trap him in the amulet somehow?"
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"Perhaps...you work on that. I must needs unbind his dark works from this castle. Only then will we have a chance to defeat him."
"Aye, father, I shall begin immediately."
"Yes, yes, of course. Let us hasten. I fear that Lord Campbell is a lost cause, and while we cannot save him from himself anymore, we certainly can and must vanquish him."
"But how? His anger at the abduction of his bride-to-be grows with each passing minute. He wants vengeance. If we let him be for much longer, I fear he will try to kill both the MacRae and the girl. Are you sure that he does not know of her true identity?"
"As of yet, no. He has been too focused on the MacRae to investigate into her background. For now, he is satisfied that she is who we say. However, while his anger is directed at Connor MacRae, I would not assume that he will let the Stewart lass live til All Hallows Eve. His heart blackens daily and I fear he will forget his plan and try only for total destruction."
"Then we must protect her while we can, else she will surely feel his wrath." Gregor was uncharacteristically compassionate toward the Stewart lass. He shrewdly guessed what his father had not said, "You have foreseen that she loves the MacRae." It was a statement.
"Aye."
"Did you know that he would attack our carriage that night?"
"Aye, it was inevitable."
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"Then why the pretense of the marriage? Why did we not just tell her that she would be delivered into the hands of Connor MacRae? That they were destined to be together?"
"We told her what was necessary, no more, no less. She will need to think that this was the plan from the start. She needs to fall in love without us prompting her. Do not forget, she is not of
our time, her world does not believe in magic and true love is a lost concept. And she needed to remain innocent else Connor MacRae would not trust her, let alone allow himself to love her."
"So if they are destined to love each other, if bringing the two of them together was the plan all along, what of our plan to distract Lord Campbell?"
"He is distracted, is he not? Hell-bent on vengeance, he has momentarily forgotten his plot to use our magicks as a means for his dark purposes."
"Then we had best hurry, Father, for Lord Campbell is not a patient man. He is getting closer each day to using the dark arts to defeat Laird MacRae."
"Then let us cast your protection spell without haste. And we had better pray."
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Chapter Thirteen
When Connor knocked on Mackenzie's door, he was in a much better mood than before. He didn't want to admit to himself that part of it was the prospect of seeing Mackenzie again. He'd missed her over the past couple of days. He had missed her smile. He had missed her laugh. He had even missed her flash of impatience when he ordered her about.
Connor didn't wait for her to answer his knock, he never did.
Usually, Connor just walked right in. He frowned as he realized that she wasn't too far off the mark at accusing him of allowing her no privacy.
She was sitting in a chair by the fire, with her legs tucked up under her skirts and her arms wrapped around them. She looked over her shoulder at him, stood gracefully, and walked to stand a couple of feet in front of him. Her eyes were blank, on her face she wore a careful expression of neutrality.
Connor didn't like this. Something was wrong. Normally she would have greeted him with a smile, or a heated comment.
He found both her anger and her joy to his liking, in fact he found her to his liking, dammit! He liked her. He liked how she always had something to say, and how she seemed determined to question everything. While he had not liked to have his orders questioned, even that had become endearing.
And now that he was finally leaning towards believing her, she changed.
It was obvious she must be distancing herself from him, but what he did not understand was why?
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And with that thought in the forefront of his mind, he wondered why she was behaving like this? As if she was empty, or broken. He sucked in a deep breath, and stared at her blank face. He wanted to shake her a little. He wanted to kiss her until she moaned into his mouth. He wanted to throw her down onto the bed and force her to confront this all-consuming desire. He wanted her. How could he bring that fire back into her eyes?
"Shall we?" Connor offered her his arm.
Wordlessly, Mackenzie placed her hand through his arm.
She didn't meet his gaze, instead keeping her face turned forward.
"How are you feeling?" He was worried about her now.
"Well, thank you."
He tried again, "We have a piper tonight; he'll entertain us as we dine."
"That's nice."
Her tone was polite, uninterested, that was all. Where was all the passion, the emotion? Where was Mackenzie?
Mackenzie had taken the past hour sans Connor to re-prioritize herself. Obviously he hadn't believed her crazy tale.
Well, she wasn't sure she believed it yet! But for a moment there, he had looked at her as though she might not be entirely insane, and Mackenzie had pinned all her hopes on the brief flash in his eyes. Unfortunately, he went back to being rational. It hurt having him think those horrid thoughts about her being in league with the bad guys. But it really didn't matter what he thought of her, if he wouldn't believe anything she said, why bother trying anymore, right? So she 150
gave up. She gave up caring about her "mission," or caring about who started a fight or a war. Mackenzie gave up hope that she would be rescued, or that she would ever see her own time again. She gave up hope that Connor would ever believe her, and she gave up hope that he wanted her for anything other than to warm his bed. That was surprisingly the hardest thing to give up on. But she did. And when hope was gone, there wasn't anything left. Mackenzie was numb.
But numb was okay; she couldn't feel pain when she was numb.
It was a complication that she went up in flames every time he touched her, but maybe she could avoid touching him? Hmm...not likely. Well, she'd just concentrate on getting through dinner, and worry about everything else later, as it came at her. She would live moment-to-moment. It was easier than trying to think ahead; to think of what else the crazy fates were going to throw at her.
It had been what, a week since she'd officially gone insane? Time had become just as meaningless as everything else. She had expended so much energy on hope, and on trying to get Connor to believe her, that she was barely hanging on to her sanity. The instincts for survival were the only things functioning in her overwrought brain, and even those were down to the bare minimum. Eat, sleep, breathe.
Her last go-round with Connor had emotionally drained her, and she was running on empty. So she stared at him balefully, and slipped her arm through his as they walked down the hallway to the stairs.
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Dinner went by in her newfound haze. She ate the food, but tasted nothing. She listened to the music, but heard nothing. And she sat next to Connor, intensely aware of the heat passing from him to her, and futilely tried her hardest to remain unaffected.
The next few days passed in the welcome fog of numbness. Connor now let her go where she pleased in the castle. She still wasn't allowed outside. Only once, when she glanced out the window in the library and saw Connor with a tender look on his face, conversing with a beautiful woman with long auburn hair, did she feel any of the pain she'd been hiding from herself. But ever the survivor, she resolutely turned her face back to the book she'd been pretending to read and tried to forget the soft, unguarded expression Connor had worn when he'd looked at the girl. He had never looked at her like that; as if he'd cared for her. She refused to feel jealousy for something that had never been hers. She vaguely remembered wishing once that he would look at her like that; with his guard down. But Mackenzie tamped the memory down, and tried not to think.
It was too hard to keep her traitorous thoughts from straying to Connor, so she went back to her room and tried to take a nap. Sleep came quickly to her. Mackenzie hadn't been sleeping well, so she constantly felt tired, and drank a lot of the strong coffee she'd begun to like. She'd found out through Bronwyn that they actually had coffee houses here in 18th century Britain. What she wouldn't give to see one! The first primordial beginnings of trendy cafe! She had smiled for the first time in days when Bronwyn had shared this information 152
with her. Apparently, when coffee was first introduced to Britain during the 17th century, it was a drink enjoyed by everyone. While the rich would enjoy coffee almost ceremonially in their social clubs, the poor saw coffee as an essential nutrient, a hot drink to replace a hot meal. She just needed the caffeine.
This time, the dream that woke her was as close to an actual nightmare as she'd ever had. It was the man with the ice cold blue eyes again...she was now assuming that he was her "fiance," John Campbell. He and Connor were fighting in a strange dark place but she could tell it was inside somewhere with high arched ceilings.
It had begun the same as always, but when she glanced across the beautiful room at Connor, she realized he was in chains, as he looked at her balefully. She looked down at herself and noticed that there was something cool and metallic in her hands. She couldn't figure out all the pieces yet, the way some dreams are. Then Connor's chains turned to snakes and he leaped out of them. He ran to the man, sword drawn and Mackenzie screamed.
Her fear wasn't for herself, it was for Connor. In the dream, while Connor had a sword, the Campbell had fire.
Mackenzie couldn't explain how he controlled the fire; it seemed to come from his fingertips, but her instincts were shouting to her that Connor would die in this fight. And she was r
unning. She knew how to stop it, the fight, the feud, her purpose here...she knew it all. If only she could get there in time! But she couldn't; she kept running and running, but she never was able to gain any distance. She woke screaming, 153
and pulled a pillow over her face to stifle the sound. She sat up drenched in sweat, and with her hair sticking to her face.
Her ragged breathing and staccato heartbeat wouldn't slow.
The sound of her door being thrown open tore a soft scream from her throat. She cut it off by clamping a hand over her mouth as she saw Connor leap through the open door, sword drawn. His eyes were scanning the room, looking for something. She realized that he must have heard her screaming.
He turned his eyes to her and his voice was rough, "Are ye hurt?"
She quietly cleared her throat and said, "No, I'm sorry. It was a dream." She said once more, this time to herself, "It was only a dream."
He sheathed his sword and came to stand in front of Mackenzie, who still sat in her bed, tangled in the unavoidable skirts that came with this century. His eyes searched hers for a moment before he dropped to his knee, so he was at eye level with Mackenzie.
"A dream?" He said it softly, but seriously.
"A...a bad dream." Mackenzie suddenly wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around the man whom she'd been ignoring for the past few days. She wanted to feel him warm and safe, even if it would only hurt her in return. She'd known that she had feelings for Connor, but the dreams had shown her just how deep her feelings went. Her fingers ached to touch his face, to smooth the worry away from his brow.
So instead, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, and straightened her skirts. She kept her eyes on her hands.
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"Can you tell me of the dream?" Her eyes flew to his.
"You mean you actually want to know?" She didn't want him to know how central to her dreams he was. She could say she didn't remember it. No, he could tell when she was lying.
Quickly she mentally edited the dream; it was about blood and death, probably brought on from what she'd seen in her short time here...that could work.
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