She blinked, and for a moment it wasn’t Bittie’s question,but perhaps some Higher Power sending her guidance.Did she know what she would do? She looked out across the dark water, the smooth surface now dissolving into chaos as the storm struck, and the waves rolled beneathan angry sky.
“Yes,” she said softly, “I suppose that I do.”
Bittie took the horse she had ridden back to the stables at Maggie’s request. After he had grown small in the distance,she walked away from the loch and headed in the general direction of the cairn.
As she walked, she cried out her anger and grief and fear and loneliness to the hills and the glens, cursed and screamed as she tramped across them, stopping at the burns to drink and rest from time to time, remembering each bittersweetmoment she’d spent in the Highlands with Quinn.
The skirt slowed her down and eventually she discarded it, leaving her clad only in her jogging pants and jacket, and the blouse Jenny had lent her. As she walked, she braided her long, tangled hair. By the time the sun began to set and the familiar misty twilight swept over the land, Maggie had arrivedat the top of the hill where the cairn sat. She stared at the mysterious mound where her adventures had all started. Where now all of her dreams would end.
Wearily, she walked to the other side of the structure, to the opening she had created the first night she appeared in the past. She fell to her knees and crawled inside, then stood. She wrapped her arms around her waist, the sorrow inside of her rising up again to swallow her whole. But she had no tears left to cry, only an aching emptiness she feared would never go away.
“Och, poor lass,” said a familiar voice.
Maggie spun around. Even in the dim light of the cairn, she could see who had climbed through the opening behind her. The man wore velvet and satin and a long, curling blond wig.
“Pembroke,” she whispered, real terror flooding over her.
“Yes, my dear,” the duke’s henchman said, his voice smug, his dark eyes dangerous. “How pleased I am that you recognized me in your current state of despair over the deaths of the two outlaws.”
She swallowed hard. “How did you—?”
“You didn’t think that I would attend the funeral?” he said, interrupting her trembling question. “That would have been so rude. I was there, at the back of the crowd, and afterward, I followed you. It was quite illuminating to watch your grief.” He arched one pale brow. “Tell me, did you bed both of the highwaymen, or only the one who came to your rescue?”
He moved toward her, and Maggie backed away to the center of the cairn. She was completely alone and at his mercy. Quinn would have never let her set out for the cairn alone, but Quinn was gone, and she was on her own.
“An interesting place,” Pembroke said, his heavy-lidded gaze sweeping over the round room. “Why is it, I wonder, that you came here instead of staying with your friends?” He fussed with the lace at one sleeve and then glanced up at her. “Could it be you already have a new lover and planned to meet him here?”
“I wanted to be by myself,” Maggie said, taking several more steps back until she was standing in the center of the spiral that had brought her through time.
Pembroke frowned and looked down at the floor. “Fascinating,” he said, pointing his toe and brushing it against the raised ridge of the spiral. He began to walk on the edge of the spiral, putting one foot closely in front of the other.
Maggie’s heart began to pound furiously. What if he traveled through time? What kind of damage could a man like this do once he discovered such a powerful weapon? Her fear distracted her, and suddenly Pembroke was beside her, his face too close as he grabbed her, his fingers biting into her arms as he jerked her against him.
“You knew I would come after you, didn’t you, dear Maggie? You knew I would make you pay for what you did to me and I think, perhaps, that you are a girl who likes punishment, eh?”
The cologne he wore was cloying, and the smell made her feel nauseated and weak. She shook her head, wordless.
“But what is this you are wearing?” He stepped back again, though keeping a grip on her, and let his gaze rake lazily over her body. “Breeches on a lass?” He shook his head and tsked softly. “I’m afraid this will never do.”
He turned her around by the shoulders, and Maggie flushed as he patted her bottom and gave it a squeeze. “Though I do like the way the material molds itself to your derriere. Perhaps I will allow it in the privacy of my rooms; however, I generally like my women to wear clothing that allows easy access, if you know what I mean.”
Maggie whirled around, some of her usual spunk returning.“I am not one of your women, and I never will be.”
Pembroke cocked one brow at her again, his lips pursed for a moment. “Ah, but you are, dear Maggie. It is either that, or you will be hanged for conspiracy.”
She lifted her chin. “I would prefer hanging to being mauled by a pervert like you.”
His hand moved so swiftly Maggie didn’t see the slap coming. The pain slammed into her mouth and laced up into her cheekbone as she cried out and jerked away from him, turning to run, only to feel her neck snap backward as he grabbed her by the long braid trailing down her back. She stumbled and fell, then lifted her head to find the man looming over her, chuckling softly.
Maggie tried to stand, but Pembroke shoved her back to her knees. Slowly he unbound her braid, gently parting the twisted locks and framing her face with them as he forced her to look up at him.
“You bastard,” she said, wiping the blood from her lip with the back of her hand.
“Now, that’s better,” he said, ignoring her words. “I think I will forbid you to ever braid your hair. It is so lovely unbound.” His eyes narrowed as he grasped her face with one hand, his fingers digging into her skin, while the other moved to his belt buckle. “Since you are already on your knees, perhaps it is time to teach you exactly which of us is in command.”
Maggie’s throat tightened, and she tried to summon her courage. Rachel would head butt the guy’s genitals. She was too afraid. From behind her back there came a noise, and suddenly she sensed they were not alone.
“Aye,” a deep voice said. “I think it is, indeed, time.”
Maggie gasped. Her heart began to pound as hope surged through her body.
“Quinn?” she whispered. It couldn’t be—Quinn was dead.
“Let go of her, Pembroke,” said the disembodied voice. “Now.”
Maggie looked up at her captor and froze as she saw Pembroke’s face distort with rage. Moving swiftly, he pulled a dirk from a hidden sheath at his waist, and then grabbed Maggie by the hair, swinging her around, placing her between him and the stranger, his blade to her throat.
“I think I would reconsider that order, if I were you,” Pembroke said.
Maggie cried out as he curled his fingers more securely into her hair and jerked her head back, exposing her throat even more, making it impossible for her to see the unknownman. She was afraid to trust her own ears. Pembrokeanswered her beating heart’s question with his next words.
“So, MacIntyre, you are looking remarkably well, for a corpse.”
“Aye,” Quinn said, “and ye are looking remarkably alive for one who is a dead man walking.”
Maggie closed her eyes as the knowledge that it was Quinn’s voice, true and strong, filled her with joy. He was alive. He was alive!
Then she heard the sound of a sword being pulled from its sheath, metal against metal, and fear replaced joy. She knew Quinn would give his life to save hers. “Let her go,” Quinn commanded.
Pembroke pressed the tip of the blade he held into her neck, making her gasp. “Put down your sword and surrender,MacIntyre, or should I say, Piper?” He laughed shortly. “Put it down or she dies.”
Quinn’s voice was smooth, steady. “And what do ye suppose will happen then to ye? After she dies?”
Pembroke’s grip on her hair eased a bit, and Maggie lowered her head enough to see her protector. Relief flooded over her
like the water in a burn, cascading down a hillside, as she actually saw him.
Quinn stood there, broad and tall, his plaid flung across his chest, his sword in his hand, his dark brows colliding over forest green eyes reflecting a calm, controlled rage. Her Quinn. Her love.
“Back away, MacIntyre, or she will die,” Pembroke said.
“And then ye will die. But t’will not be a quick death.” Quinn’s thunderous gaze sharpened and became quietly lethal. The cold certainty in his next words sent a shudder through Maggie’s soul. “I will cut ye to pieces, bit by bit,” he promised, “and leave ye to drown in yer own blood.”
Maggie felt the knife at her throat ease off the slightest bit. “My men are on their way here,” Pembroke said. She could feel his heartbeat quicken as he pressed against her back. “I told them to give me an hour’s head start and then to follow.”
“And why is it I dinna believe ye?” Quinn asked, taking a step closer to the two. “Perhaps because I know that ye prefer to have no witnesses to yer particular brand of perverseness?Just be grateful that I arrived when I did, before ye had a chance to harm her.” He glanced down at her and his entire face shifted into gentleness. “Hello, Maggie mine. Are ye all right?”
“Yes,” Maggie whispered, gazing back at him with all the love in her heart. “I’m all right.”
“What the devil are ye doing here?” he said fondly.
She smiled. “It’s a long story.”
Quinn raised his eyebrows. “I canna wait to hear it.” He turned back to Pembroke. “Come now,” he said, “let this be between the two of us. Only a coward hides behind a woman.”
“Will you give me leave to draw my sword?” the man asked.
“Aye. If ye let the lass come to me first.”
Maggie felt Pembroke’s hand move from her hair, and she glanced up at him, not trusting for a minute that he would do what he said. His gaze was locked on Quinn, and as he pulled her to her feet, she saw the familiar slyness sparkle in Pembroke’s eyes.
“Quinn!” she warned, but too late. Pembroke threw the dirk in his hand toward Quinn, even as he shoved Maggie to the ground.
Maggie screamed just as Quinn ducked, and the blade clattered harmlessly against the stone wall behind him, and then to the floor of the cairn. She tried to stand, but her exhaustionmade her slow. Before she could move, Pembroke had her again, his arm around her waist, his sword held diagonally across her body, the sharp blade at her throat.
“Ye honorless son of a bitch,” Quinn said. “I said to let her go first!”
“And I said that we would see who is in command here.” Pembroke laughed. “Apparently, I am. Come, strike at me if you dare. Or let me leave in one piece with your lady fair. Surely you would rather she be alive and grace my bed, than be skewered on my blade.”
Quinn’s face was as dark as a Highland storm. “Ye will never take Maggie with ye.”
“I beg to differ,” Pembroke said, his voice lilting with pleasure. “To reach me, you must go through her and now I am armed and ready to defend myself.”
Quinn cursed the man roundly, and Pembroke laughed again, backing away from the Scot. He moved in a circle, forcing Quinn to parallel his moves as the man inched his way toward the crumbled opening.
Panic swept over Maggie. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Pembroke was going to carry her with him. Quinn was alive, but she was going to be taken from him again, and she knew he would die trying to stop the evil man who held her. She couldn’t breathe.
“Maggie!” Quinn’s voice brought her back from her terror,and she raised her eyes to his. There was a fierceness there she had never seen before. “Maggie,” he said, more softly, “he willna take ye. Breathe, lass.”
She obeyed, taking a deep breath, letting it slide slowly from her lungs. She repeated the process several times while Pembroke dragged her first one direction and then the other. Finally she had her panic under control once again, but she was still trembling.
“So what is it to be, MacIntyre? Will you risk her life?”
But Quinn’s gaze was on Maggie. “Maggie,” he said, “do ye remember what to do in case of a fire?”
Maggie’s eyes widened. “Aye,” she said. “Stop.” She dug her heels in and brought a startled Pembroke to a stop. “Drop.” She dropped like a stone, letting the suddenness of her dead weight break his hold upon her. “And roll!” Flingingherself over and over across the hard stone floor, she was ten feet away from Pembroke before he could register what had happened.
Now Quinn advanced upon him, his sword slicing through the air as Maggie scrambled out of the way. Pembrokeraised his own blade in time to keep from being cut in half. The captain of the guard was a good swordsman, and as Maggie watched, huddled on the floor, she prayed silently for the man she loved.
The two men fought across the cairn and back, lunging, feinting, parrying, stabbing, retreating, dancing across the ancient spirals beneath the ancient dust. Pembroke was faster, but Quinn was stronger, making them evenly matched. Around and around the room they battled, sword against sword, until both were growing tired. Then Quinn stumbledover a part of the spiral sticking up from the floor and dropped his sword.
Pembroke saw his chance. He lunged for Quinn’s chest, and Quinn reacted by throwing his right hand out in front of him. The sword pierced his hand, and Maggie screamed. Quinn fell to the floor and rolled, just as Pembroke’s sword came crashing down, missing him by inches. Quinn grabbed his own sword as he rolled past it and was on his feet in seconds, the weapon in his left hand.
Maggie had to bite her lip to keep from crying out and demanding that they stop. She didn’t want to distract him. Thankfully she didn’t see great quantities of blood, so no major artery had been severed, but Quinn was right-handed—how in the world could he defeat Pembroke now?
Laughing, sure now of his victory, Pembroke took the offense, driving Quinn back, forcing him to keep moving around and around the circle. “What if I make you a proposition,MacIntyre?” he asked, as he slammed his blade against Quinn’s, pushing him toward the wall. Maggie could tell that Quinn’s left hand was getting weaker, as he struggled to hold his own.
“There is no proposition ye could make that I would yield to,” Quinn said.
“But you haven’t heard it yet!” Pembroke cried, circling slowly. “Here it is—you surrender, and I promise that I will only lay with your wench on Mondays and Wednesdays!”
Maggie shifted her eyes to Quinn and saw that although his face was grim, he was not out of control. Pembroke’s jibe had not had its intended result—leading Quinn to attack in rage and leave himself open to mistake.
“And I have a proposition for ye,” Quinn said as he matched the man’s movements, his gaze wary. “Ye throw down yer sword, and I willna cut off yer balls and feed them to ye.”
Pembroke’s eyes narrowed.
“But of course, my friend, if you are in a hurry to die, I will happily oblige you.”
The clash of the blades rang out again, and Maggie hugged the stone wall behind her, watching fearfully. Pembroke was wearing Quinn down and the captain knew it, his vicious smile growing broader as the other man’s sword grew obviously heavier in his hand.
The cairn had grown warm with the midday sun, and the two men were sweating profusely as they squared off again and again, Quinn doing his best to defend himself. Then, in a burst of energy, Pembroke drove him back with his flashingblade, trapping Quinn against the ogham stone, his sword crossed over his throat in an effort to keep Pembroke’s at bay.
“You have no strength left,” Pembroke sneered, his face inches from Quinn’s. “Give up, MacIntyre, and I will spare your life.” He glanced over his shoulder. “In return for fair Maggie.”
“You bastard!” Maggie cried, looking around for a weapon. There was nothing but Pembroke’s dirk, and she took a step toward it.
“Maggie!” Quinn shouted. “Stay out of this!” There was warning in his voice, and if it had been anyone but Quinn, she’d h
ave ignored him. But she knew that sound. He had a plan.
“Well, what do you say, you Scottish bag of refuse?” Pembroke said, gleeful in his victory as he leaned harder on his sword, his blade pressing Quinn’s almost into his throat.
Quinn’s face was red, and he spoke with real effort. “I say”—he took a breath—“that there is something ye dinna know.”
“And what is that?”
Without warning, Quinn used his sword as leverage and shoved Pembroke backward. The move gave the outlaw just enough room and enough time to toss his blade into his right hand and lunge forward, piercing the other man straight through the chest.
Pembroke sputtered and gasped, blood bubbling from his lips as he took a step backward and his sword clattered to the stone floor. In one smooth move, Quinn pulled his blade from the man’s body, and the captain of the guards fell to his knees, and then flat on his face, dead.
Quinn looked down at the man and finished his explanation. “I am not left-handed.”
Maggie stared at Quinn in astonishment, then she was at his side. His right hand was still bleeding, but apparently he’d been favoring the wound as a ploy to make Pembroke think it was worse than it was. Maggie was still reeling from the blatant violence, and the measure of justice that had been given.
Quinn glanced up at her and she tried to hide the horror in her eyes. His own gaze softened.
“Did ye know that he raped Jenny?” Quinn asked her.
“I didn’t know for sure,” she said, hate rising up suddenlyinside of her.
“Jenny never told James,” Quinn told her, “but he found out. That’s why he was willing to help us.”
Jenny. Sweet, shy little Jenny. No wonder she jumped at every shadow.
“He would have killed you and raped me,” Maggie said. “I’m glad you killed him.”
Quinn moved to take her in his arms, and she leaned against him.
“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, finally speaking the words she’d wanted to say since he’d first appeared in the cairn. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
Highland Rogue Page 26
