It took everything Mackenzie had in her to not scream, or faint, or cry. She tried to yank it free, and had to bite her lips to keep from screaming. It must have gone straight through her shoulder, because it hitched as she pulled. She stayed upright on her horse, at full gallop next to Connor.
And he had no idea that she'd been shot.
His face looked angry, and his eyes were roving the trees, but he hadn't glanced at Mackenzie. The way back to his castle was much more direct and much faster than their meandering route from earlier. For that, Mackenzie was intensely grateful. Now, she was not only gripping the horse to stay upright, but she was trying to maintain a grip on her fading consciousness as well. When they were on the stone 295
bridge, within shouting distance of the keep, Connor shouted something to the gate guards and several men flew into action, but Mackenzie saw this through an ever dimming gaze, and heard nothing but the steady ringing in her ears.
Once they were inside the yard, Connor jumped down from his horse and turned in time to see Mackenzie finally lose her tenuous grip on her consciousness and slump limply from her mount.
When Connor leaped from his horse to make sure Mackenzie was safely inside the yard before the yett slammed down, his blood ran cold. There was an arrow sticking out of her shoulder. He vaguely noticed that it was through and through, which was good, easier. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she slid from the saddle. He was there instantly, catching her before she hit the ground, but the force of her fall knocked him to one knee. His heart and breath had both stopped. It wasn't until he saw her chest moving with rapid, shallow gasps that he calmed enough to lift her and run to the castle, shouting for his brother all the while.
Once inside, Connor rushed her to their room. His brother met him with some whisky and a cauterizing iron. After gently setting an unconscious Mackenzie down on the bed, Connor pulled out his dirk and sliced the sleeve off of her gown, rather than wasting time unlacing the front of her bodice. He delicately slid as much of the sleeve off and did the same to her sark. Her stays weren't in the way, but he yanked them off as well. Mackenzie's face was pale, and her lips were white. His eyes met Liam's as he rolled her to her side.
Connor held her down while Liam took his sword and sliced 296
the barb and the fletchings off. He glanced at Connor as he prepared to pull the shaft out of her shoulder. Whatever his brother saw on his face must have been bad, because Liam grimaced before he placed one hand on Mackenzie's shoulder and pulled the shaft straight through. She moaned lightly and her eyes fluttered. Connor's heart stilled at the thought of the pain she must be in. He knew the worst was yet to come. As Liam liberally poured whisky into her wound, Mackenzie strained against Connor's hold. While not squeamish, he could barely watch.
Liam went to the fireplace where the flat end of the cauterizing iron was heating in the fire. Connor gingerly removed any material near her wound and as his brother was about to weld her flesh together, Connor gripped Liam's wrist tightly and met his gaze. Liam wordlessly handed it over to his brother. Connor laid her gently against the pillows, and traded places with Liam. The pain of a thousand daggers through his heart would have been easier to endure than the thought of hurting Mackenzie. She didn't even moan or twitch as he pressed the white hot iron into her soft flesh. The smell was nauseating. Connor had smelled the scent of burning flesh more times than he cared to remember. He and his brother had both cauterized many wounds out on the battlefield, he had even had it performed on him once or twice, but never before had it tightened his chest, or caused him so much pain to watch. Connor wished he could be in her stead.
He had Liam hold her up, her head lolling against his shoulder, and Connor repeated the cauterization on the exit 297
wound. When he had finished, Liam handed her off to Connor, who held her tightly, careful of her wounds while Liam pressed some linen strips into a salve before laying them on Mackenzie's shoulder. Connor finished stripping her down and wrapped the linen strips around her arm and shoulder in a figure eight fashion. There was nothing more to be done. He pulled the covers up to cover her and sat down in the chair by the fire place to wait.
Liam's hand on his shoulder brought Connor out of his absorption.
"Any change?"
"Nay, brother, none at all."
"Dougal and Robbie caught the man who shot her."
His eyes flew to Liam's and he grinned in angry joy. "Let's have a chat with him, shall we?"
"We've already begun. Robbie says that he'd be one of the Campbell's men, for sure. All he has gotten from him is that he was aiming for you."
"He had better pray that she wakes soon, else I'll aim for him!" Connor declared it so firmly that had Liam never met Connor before that night, he'd have believed it. "And I won't miss."
Connor's eyes were molten fury. He wanted to beat the truth out of the man with his own two fists, however, the desire to stay with Mackenzie and to be here when she opened her eyes was equally as strong. He didn't want to leave Mackenzie's side. How could he?
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Liam's softly said, "Connor, she'll be out for a while, you know this. Fetch Bronwyn and have her stay with her until you're finished."
"Aye, Liam, you're right, I ken ye are, but I canna bring myself to leave her." Connor stared at Mackenzie, silently willing her to open her eyes.
His thoughts moved to the possibility that she might be carrying his child. A wound like this wouldn't ordinarily affect any other body part on a man, but Connor knew little of how a woman's body worked, especially one with child. Women were supposed to be soft, and warm, and delicate. Would her delicate body withstand an infection?
"Brother?" Liam once again intruded on his thoughts.
"I'm coming. Send for Bronwyn, I doona want her left alone. I'll meet you downstairs."
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Chapter Twenty Eight
The first thing Mackenzie noticed when she woke up was that her arm hurt. It was as if her left shoulder and arm were on fire. God, couldn't someone put out the fire? She couldn't drag her eyelids back yet...it was like trying to claw her way out of a wet blanket. She dimly heard voices, but they sounded far away, as if down a well. Mackenzie listened harder, more intently; all she could make out was her name, though. She tried to understand more, but soon gave up. It was too hard to listen, she wanted to go to back to sleep....
When she woke this time, she was able to open her eyes.
It was difficult to focus on anything specific, but it was dark.
The fire was going. She sat up and instantly regretted it. Her head swooned, and her arm felt like it was ripping off at her shoulder. Mackenzie fell back against the pillows, gasping from the pain. Oh, right, she'd been shot. With an arrow, of all things! This was surreal. The whole event came back to her quickly; that was good, no head injury, right? She felt warm hands on her forehead, and face. Her eyes desperately searched the dark. It was Connor. He sat on the edge of the bed. Thank goodness he hadn't been hurt. His knuckles were bruised and scratched up, his eyes were frantic; he looked awful. When was it? Had he slept at all?
"Are," she cleared her dry throat and tried again, "Are you alright?" She felt parched.
He looked almost angry. "You want to know if I'm alright?"
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Was she speaking German? "Yes, you look awful." Every word scratched her parched throat on its way out.
Connor barked a short hard laugh, and ran a hand over his face. "Nay, love, I'm no' alright. You've been shot. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she said automatically, but at his incredulous look, she added, "My arm hurts. Actually, it feels like it's on fire." Mackenzie frowned as she thought of all the primitive medical resources available. Her frown deepened as she reached over to feel the wound, realizing that the idea of having been crudely stitched up did not appeal to her. All she felt was cloth strips wrapped around her shoulder. She could move her arm, though, so even though the
pain was not localized, the injury was.
"Can I have some water?" she still sounded as if she'd been hiking in Death Valley during the height of summer. Her throat hurt almost as much as her shoulder did. Connor handed her a cup of water. Swallowing gratefully, Mackenzie asked, "What happened?"
"Do you no' remember? You were shot with an arrow, Mackenzie."
"I know, I meant, how did you remove the arrow?" She was frustrated that he hadn't known what she meant.
Connor didn't understand her irritation. "We pulled the arrow through and cauterized the wound."
"How?" She persisted. "How did you cauterize the wound?"
Connor didn't answer, so Mackenzie tore the bandages off and felt the tender, puckered skin. She felt sick instantly, understanding that it was a burn. Connor's hands replaced 301
hers on the bandages and he rewrapped her shoulder more delicately than she would have thought possible for such a
"braw lad." For a man who lifted a two-handed sword with deadly force, he was extremely gentle. Looking at his face, she could see that he didn't understand her reaction. Of course not; he didn't know the miracle that was modern medicine. She was horrified when she thought of how they had cauterized the wound. But she was more worried about infection; didn't most people who survived arrow wounds die from blood loss or infection? Great. Was it too much to think they'd invented penicillin yet? It had been discovered by a Scotsman, after all.
"Will I survive?" She'd asked it lightly, trying to make him feel better, but she was intensely curious.
"You tell me." His tone was even, but his eyes were tight.
"I feel okay." Other than the burning fire in my shoulder.
"Did I lose much blood?"
"Nay, the arrow held most of it in."
"Oh. And what are the chances of infection?"
"You doona have a fever, so I am hoping that there won't be any complications with your recovery."
"Oh," she said again. "Wow, I really got shot with an arrow?" She shook her head; this was really weird.
"Aye, and ye gave me the fright of my life." Connor sounded angry; his voice had changed. It was deeper, harder.
Mackenzie realized that this was hard for him to admit. He'd said he loved her before they were attacked, and now she was beginning to believe it.
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"I'm sorry," she said automatically, but Connor looked annoyed at her apology.
"It's not your fault, Mackenzie. 'Tis I who should apologize to you. I canna believe I exposed you like that. I dinna even bring my sword." He sounded disgusted with himself. "When I saw you slide from the saddle," he covered his eyes with his hand, and spoke in a whisper, "I saw the arrow sticking out from your limp body..." Connor trailed off and removed his hand, his eyes burning into hers. "I thought ye were dead."
His voice grew stronger, his brogue thicker, "Why did ye no'
scream? Damn it, woman, I had no idea ye'd even been hit!"
"I'm...sorry?" she hadn't known what else to say, her eyebrows knit over her nose. Why was he so mad at her?
He sighed, "For what?"
"I don't know, for whatever made you so mad."
Connor chuckled at her logic, or lack thereof. "Mackenzie, I'm not mad at you. "
"Then what are you mad about?" She was burning with curiosity.
"Myself. I am furious with myself. I ken what the Campbell is capable of, and I didn't take any precautions. I didn't think at all. Instead, I took you riding, alone, without any weapons or guards. If he had stolen ye back, I'm not sure I could hold a level head. I would have chased after ye and probably gotten both of us killed in the process."
Mackenzie was surprised. He'd always seemed so calm and collected to her. His self-control never lapsed. Except in the bedroom. She smiled at the remembrance of Connor in bed.
"Why are you smiling? This isn't funny."
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She blushed and looked away. "No, of course not."
The blush didn't escape Connor's attention. "What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing."
"Tell me," he demanded.
"It's not important." She blushed harder and changed the topic. "And don't feel bad, see I'm fine." Mackenzie tried to rotate her shoulder and it burned like crazy, but she did it.
"Stop, you'll hurt yourself."
"I'm good. See?" She tried to lift her arm above her head.
"Your lips are white."
"Okay," Mackenzie expelled a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "Wow, that hurt.'
"That's what I thought." Connor sounded a little superior.
"Alright Mr. I-told-you-so," Mackenzie said a little tartly, "I admit it hurts. Happy now?"
"Why would I be happy that you are injured?" He looked confused and annoyed.
She rolled her eyes, "It's called sarcasm, Connor. Ugh. I suppose that this will scar pretty badly?" She grimaced, indicating her shoulder.
Connor pulled his shirt free of his plaid, lifted it, and showed her a small puckered scar. "Like so."
"You've been shot before?!" She was appalled.
He seemed amused. "Of course."
Mackenzie's fingers traced the scar on his stomach. She thrilled when his muscles tightened in response to her touch.
Truthfully, she was not immune either, with the familiar heavy sensation spreading to her limbs as she ran her fingers 304
over his granite hard body. Her curious fingers moved on to other scars, now, intrigued as to how he got each one. She paused as she reached a large, straight scar on his chest.
"And this one?" she asked tapping it lightly with her index finger.
"A sword." He seemed to like this game. His eyes were watching her face as she trailed her fingers along his skin.
She looked at him aghast. "You've been struck by a sword?"
"Many times." Was he proud of that fact? Typical man; proud of his battle wounds.
"Where else?" Mackenzie thought back to the first time she'd seen him training in the yard without his shirt on. She'd thought him beautiful, and thought that the scars proved him a real warrior, not some prissy lord who ordered his men about. He fought side-by-side with his men. She'd been intrigued, and now she wanted to know how he got all of the scars that freckled his body.
Connor pulled his shirt over his head, and his warm hand enveloped hers, brushing her fingers across his chest to his arm, "Here." He continued up his arm and over his shoulder to place her fingers on his back. "Here." He turned around slightly, so she could see where he led her fingers this time.
"Here." He'd run her fingers across a long, white line that looked as if someone had tried to slice him in two from shoulder blade to waist. Mackenzie gasped. He turned to face her, and with her hand still firmly encased in his, he trailed her fingers down his arm and traced them along a pink line on his right forearm. "And here." His eyes held hers.
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It was the scar from where she'd stabbed him the night they'd met. Mackenzie blushed to her hairline and dropped her eyes.
"I'm so sorry, Connor. I never should have stabbed you. I feel just awful about that."
"It's alright, love, see?"
"Yeah, but I stabbed you!" She sounded horrified. "I was just so scared and my mind was still reeling from the whole time travel thing, and I am sorry."
"Mackenzie, stop." Connor placed a finger against her lips and said, "I abducted you, if you recall."
"Yes, but..." she tried to say against his finger, but Connor pressed his lips to hers to silence her. When he pulled back, Mackenzie resumed her apology. "I'm so sorry, Connor. If I'd had any idea what meeting you would have led to, I'd have come along willingly."
"I doubt that." He raised his eyebrows at her.
She smiled. "Are you insinuating that I'm difficult?"
He smiled back. "Aye lass, stubborn to the end." His answering smile was brief, though, and his expression changed until he looked as though he was in pain.
"What? What is it?" Mackenzie r
ested her hand on his cheek, feeling his dark stubble graze her palm.
He placed his hand on her stomach, not meeting her eyes.
"How long before you know whether you are with child?"
"Oh." She hadn't expected that. "Umm..." Mackenzie mentally counted her cycle. "About a week, maybe a little less, but it's unnecessary. I am certain that I'm pregnant."
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Connor's face lit up with joy. He tenderly laid his ear to her belly and didn't move. When he did move, he slowly turned his face into her body and kissed her stomach. Mackenzie's breath hitched and broke into a silent sob. He was so happy at the prospect of a child, of their child, and she was going to run off to his enemy as soon as she was healed. What would that do to him?
An idea started to form...
"Connor, I want to ask a favor of you."
He lifted his head and looked up at her, "Anything," he vowed. His sapphire eyes were still full of wonder from her announcement.
"I'd like you to teach me to use a sword."
His whole body tensed, and his eyes darkened so much that in the dim light from the fire, they looked black. God help her if he discovered her plan. He'd said earlier that he wouldn't be able to think straight had she been taken, and she believed him. Well, she'd leave him a note telling him of her plans, so he could think rationally. She hoped she could make it to the Campbell's lands before he could stop her, because there was no doubt in her mind that he would stop her.
"Why would you need to use a sword?"
"So if something happens, I can defend myself," she didn't want to say it, but she forced the words out, "and the baby."
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