Three Reasons to Love

by Keira Montclair

  Her Bachelor’s degree was in history, and she had originally planned to become a high school history teacher, but now she was pulled in another direction. She’d fallen in love with the 1200s of Scotland, the time of lairds and chieftains, of clan wars, skirmishes, and more. Whenever she found any book about that time period, she would get lost in the medieval world, not realizing how much time had passed while she read.

  Then she’d discovered the Battle of Largs and she couldn’t soak enough information on the period. She’d decided to make it the subject of her master’s thesis. Taking a deep sigh of satisfaction, she strolled over to the desk and whispered, “Hello, Mrs. Evans.”

  The woman behind the desk in a pencil skirt, her hair up in a tight bun with the requisite pencil behind her ear, spun around and said, “Lauren Grant! Thank goodness, you’re here. I haven’t seen you in such a long time. I heard about your house being burned down, you poor thing.”

  People had started to turn their heads and stare, but Lauren knew it was only because they were talking in the library, a place where everyone sought peace and quiet. Sandy Evans said, “Never mind. I’m glad to see you. Call me sometime. Can I help you with anything?”

  Lauren shook her head. “Not today. I have some research to do, so I’m going upstairs. I’ll catch you on the way out.” Summerhill College and Cornell University had reciprocal library privileges for their students.

  She waved to the older woman and headed up the large staircase in the middle of the library, glancing down at the various cubicles tucked into the corners for studying. They weren’t very busy tonight, though it was still the beginning of the semester. By finals week, every cubicle would be taken with students trying to cram a semester’s worth of information into their heads in one or two nights. School libraries, while losing some to internet searches, still thrived. Many students required silence when they studied, and it wasn’t possible in the dorms, or in the Grant-Ramsay abode.

  She settled into her favorite spot, texted her mother to let her know she’d arrived safely, and then moved down the aisles of books, searching for some of her favorite books about the 1200s of the Highlands of Scotland and clan wars.

  She’d found many references to Clan Grant and Clan Ramsay in different time periods, but very little back in the 1200s, mostly because so little had been recorded back then. While she had no idea if she was a descendant of Clan Grant, she loved the thought. She found the fact that her mother had married a Ramsay so delightfully coincidental that she was determined to seek out all the information she could on the two clans.

  As one Scottish historian had told her, there hadn’t been many major events during the 1200s in the Highlands to record until the Battle of Largs.

  The battle wasn’t well known, mostly because nothing decisive resulted from the battle until much later. Lauren had pored over online documents and found enough basic information to recreate the battle. The Norse had plundered and pillaged up the coastline, ravaging the Scottish women and stealing anything of value. The two sides had met in battle in Largs. The Scots had fought hard, sending the Norse, now known as the Vikings by many, back onto their galley ships and down the firth to the Norse King Haakon on the Isle of Arran. The King of the Scots had hoped to wrest control of the Western Isles of Scotland back from the Norse as part of the spoils of the surprise victory, but the King of Norway didn’t relinquish them for two more years.

  It seemed a bit curious to her that despite the acrimonious relationship between the Norse and the Scots there were statues in Ayr celebrating the Vikings and their culture. It was a little bit curious to her. She found a couple of books to peruse, so she settled down, her laptop open to record her notes as she searched.

  Before she knew it, someone made an announcement that the library was closing. She glanced at her watch in shock, unable to believe it was almost eleven p.m. She hadn’t planned on staying past nine, but she’d gotten so wrapped up in the history of Clan Grant she’d lost track of time.

  Now it was pitch dark out…

  She could do it. There would be others in the parking lot. She would not be alone.

  She packed up, making sure everything was saved on her laptop, and returned the books she’d looked over to the right place for reshelving. Checking her phone, she was surprised to see a text and a voice message from Nate. Once she made it to her car and locked the door, she’d check them both. Maybe she’d even call him just to calm her nerves…and also because she wanted to talk to him.

  As she walked down the staircase, she glanced around, hoping to see others getting ready to leave. Ryan had advised her to walk out near someone, preferably someone she trusted. No one was around, so she went to the desk.

  A young guy came out and said, “The library is closing. You’ll have to leave.”

  She shifted her book bag to the other shoulder. “I know. I was just going to say goodbye to Mrs. Evans.”

  “She already headed out over an hour ago.” He pivoted and left her there alone.

  Drat. Mrs. Evans had been her last hope of finding someone to walk with, at least to the parking lot. Well, at least she wasn’t parked too far back. She took a deep breath as she pressed her weight into the heavy door, enjoying the cool breeze that hit her face as soon as she stepped outside.

  Pausing, she checked her surroundings as Jake had taught her and then moved quickly toward her car. She reached into her bag to grab the can of mace just in case she’d need it, but she’d remain positive.

  Only about fifty steps. She would remain positive, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be prepared. After opening her car door with the beeper on her keys, she reached into her bag and grabbed out her cell phone and her mace, carrying one in each hand.

  Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…she spun around because she thought she’d heard a sound behind her.

  No one there. A few cars were in the area, but they all looked empty.

  Seventeen, sixteen, fifteen, fourteen…another sound. Nothing, but she lifted her face to the sky because she thought she’d felt a raindrop. Sure enough, it was starting to rain.

  Huddling her shoulders against the damp cold, she started forward again and pulled the hood of her jacket up over her head.

  Thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten…almost there.

  Nine, eight, seven…almost.

  Six, five…

  A harsh hand shoved the small of her back, forcing her into a group of pine trees at the side of the lot. Pushing against the attacker, she attempted to turn around. To determine who’d attacked her. The phone! She swiped up from the bottom of her iPhone and did her best to hit the camera icon over and over again, having no idea if she was capturing anything. She screamed, but a hand quickly clamped over her mouth. Fighting as much as she could, she made sure the bastard had to drag her to get her where he wanted her. As soon as they were inside the pine trees, her vision settled on something that frightened her more than anything she’d ever seen.

  Six men stood inside the trees waiting for her.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Six men stood grouped in a close semicircle around her. Or at least she thought they were men—they all had masculine figures and were dressed in dark clothing and ski masks. All the voices were deep, and she saw no breasts. She forced herself to do everything Ryan and Jake had taught her.

  She screamed again, loudly enough that some sound made it through the gloved hand that covered her mouth.

  Think! Mace. That’s right. You have your mace. She lifted the hand still clutching the container of mace and wildly sprayed the men in front of her.

  “Bitch!”

  A small sense of satisfaction filled her—she’d hurt at least one of them with the spray.

  “Control the bitch, would you?”

  A hand came down hard on her arm, but she held onto the can, twisting it and spraying it again as soon as she saw someone’s face in line with her hand. She managed to catch a third face before a fist punched her—a fist covered in a glove—hitting her
with enough power for her to drop the mace.

  Chaos ensued. The first man still held her from behind, his gloved hand on her face, and his other arm now held around her waist. She kicked backward and caught his shin, coming down hard on his instep.

  “Ow…bitch. Here. You take her.”

  She was shoved into someone else’s arms as several voices competed with one another.

  “Is that her?”

  “Yes, it’s her.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, it’s her.”

  A masked face came close to hers. The man grabbed her cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, but she twisted free of his gloved hand. He let go and yanked the glove off, reaching for her again. Something must have changed his mind, because he slapped her across the face instead, his hand moving quickly, but not so fast that she didn’t notice something written on his skin. He slapped her again, this one harder than the last. “Stop. We’re not going to rape you or kill you. You need to listen.”

  Lauren squirmed and fought, refusing to trust these men—men who would grab a woman from the library parking lot. Even as she pushed them away, panic raged inside her. Blood raced through her veins, her breath hitched over and over, and tears blurred her vision, but she would not give in to them.

  Hands. Hands were all over her, opening her jacket, tearing her clothing, ripping off her bra, feeling her breasts. When she felt a hand touch her bare skin, she kicked and screamed and fought with every last ounce of energy she had.

  “Hold her.” The voice was that of the man who’d taken off his glove and slapped her. “Pick up her feet and toss her onto the ground.”

  The man who stood behind her already had control of her arms, and two others grabbed one leg each and lifted her up. They threw her down to the ground and gripped her legs, yanking them apart.

  Making her totally vulnerable. Shit, shit, shit. What do I do? Ryan? Daddy? God, please help me?

  Two hands reached up to grab her breasts, twisting her flesh until she screamed again. Someone approached her feet, so she managed to free one leg and kicked at him, connecting with bone.

  “Do you three think you could control one woman? Are you tough enough to handle her?” The voice came closer, so the hands on her breasts let go. The man who’d slapped her—the leader, it seemed, came close to her face and said, “Now. It’s about time you listened, bitch.”

  She spat at him, catching him in the eye, something that put him in a fury so fast she barely saw the fist before it hit her jaw, snapping her head to the side. A second punch hit her in the side of her head, and she saw flashes across her vision. She felt her thoughts slowing, but she fought it. She would not pass out.

  “Stupid bitch!” His hand fell between her legs and he rubbed her. “Now, we’d all like a taste of you, but that isn’t what we had planned for you today. The rain would make things a little messy. Hear us good. You’ll put a permanent end to that group of yours. If you don’t, you’ll pay.”

  His hand moved from her crotch to her bare breast. He rubbed the outside of her skin with his bare hand, but then he grabbed her nipple and pinched it until she screamed again. “Do you understand me? No group for abused women. They ask for it. Let it die, or you’ll be our next victim.”

  He turned his head to one of the other men and said, “Did you get that?”

  She glanced into his eyes, trying to distinguish their color, but the darkness and the mask hid them well.

  “If you force us, we’ll all have you from every angle possible. Keep you all night long until every one of us tires of you.”

  He nodded his head and they let go. Some of them ran away, but three of them kicked her—two in her belly and one in her hip. She huddled into the fetal position to protect herself, but only one more kicked her in her butt. “Stay that way. If you move at all for the next ten minutes, we’ll finish the job.”

  The scramble of feet leaving the area and hitting the pavement echoed behind her. She tried to pay attention to everything. Several car doors slammed, but only two car engines started and sped away. Why hadn’t she paid attention to the makes and models of the other cars in the lot?

  Calm your breathing. Think. Deep breaths, deep breaths.

  Her phone. Where was her phone? It had to be close. She lay in a pool of mud, though she was mostly protected from the rain since she was under a thick oak or a maple. Not daring to stand yet, she lifted her head to check her surroundings for her phone, but she couldn’t see it. Forcing herself to slide on the ground so it wouldn’t appear she was moving, she ran her hand in the mud. Tears flowed freely now, and her belly hurt from the kicks to her abdomen. Her head pounded, but she needed to find the phone. Nothing. Shivers racked her body, a sign of shock. This she knew from experience, because it had happened to her the first time. Mallory had told her shock was real and it was bad.

  She had to stay alert, get help. She propped herself up on her elbow, glancing to see if anyone was around, but the area looked empty. Did she dare scream? Had one of them stayed behind to watch her?

  Deciding to take the chance, she screamed, “Help me! Please, someone help me. Call 911.”

  No response. The area was quiet and deserted. She maneuvered into a different position so she could lengthen her reach, and her hand fell on something hard.

  Her phone. Sobbing now, she sat up. The rain drove down harder, but she gripped her phone in her hand, swiping at the screen to see it. She had to wipe it on her jacket several times before she could even determine how to turn in on. When it lit up, she cried with gratitude.

  The simple task of hitting the contacts button took her several tries. Her vision blurred, her hand shook. She had trouble focusing on her task, but she would not give up. Finally, she found the contact numbers and hit R for Ramsay. Ryan’s name popped up, so she texted him.

  Help me library.

  Then, after several more mishaps, she found the keypad and dialed 911.

  The last thing she remembered was hearing a car pull into the parking lot.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Nate had worked a quiet Monday after the holiday weekend, his thoughts returning again and again to Lauren Grant. He wanted to reach out to her, but she’d made it clear she wasn’t ready for a relationship. The last thing he wanted to do was freak her out.

  He deliberated the matter over and over, and finally decided to call her on Tuesday night. His call went straight to voicemail, so he left her a message. He texted her, too, hoping maybe she’d just turned her phone off in the library or something.

  Was it true that the only places she went were the library and school? It made him sad to think about it—she had so much to give the world. She was like a bright light. He turned on the television, figuring he could distract himself with a game, but he had trouble focusing. Something was bothering him.

  Sam sat on the end of the couch, grabbing the remote from him and finding a college game. “What the hell is wrong with you? You keep fidgeting.”

  “I don’t know.” He brushed his hand across the stubble on his chin.

  They watched a few more plays, and Sam said, “You’re doing it again.”

  “I know. I can’t help it.”

  “What’s her name?”

  Nate sighed. “Lauren Grant.”

  “The one from the picnic? I can’t blame you. She’s nice—and a looker—but don’t let the captain know. She was your victim.”

  “I know, but it’s easy to explain how I ran into her. Ryan and I are friends, and he invited us to that picnic.”

  Sam nodded. “She’s quiet,” he said, “but there’s something about her. She seems confident, yet I get the impression she’s not confident at all.”

  “Yeah, I picked up the same vibe. She’s kind, beautiful, sexy…you name it, but she’s troubled. And I don’t think it’s just from the arson.”

  “Troubled? Why?” Sam stuffed a few more chips in his mouth.

  “She started a group for abused women at Summerhill Co
llege. I think it’s personal for her.”

  Sam’s mouth still full, he managed a garbled, “Oh.” When he finished chewing, he asked, “Are you sure it’s a good idea to pursue her?”

  “No, but I can’t stop thinking about her.” He bolted out of his seat and started pacing, needing an outlet for his nervous energy. The thought—something wrong, something, wrong, something wrong—kept cycling through his head. Finally, the words came out. “Something’s wrong.”

  “What?”

  “She’s an introvert by her own description, hardly goes anywhere other than school and the library, but she hasn’t answered my call or my text.”

  “So? Maybe she’s not interested in you, hot shot.” His brother gave him a sideways grin.

  “Oh, screw you. I’m going to check on her. I’ll be back soon.” He grabbed his keys and his jacket, threw his phone in his pocket and moved out to his truck, just noticing that it was starting to rain.

  He drove by her parents’ house on the lake, but her car wasn’t there. While he sat at a traffic light, he texted her again. Still no answer. Where else could she be? She claimed she only went to classes and the library, and it was way too late for her to be in class.

  He decided to check the library, so he pulled into the parking lot and drove through it, searching the area. There was one car still parked there, but he couldn’t tell for sure if it was hers.

  When he pulled closer, the discomfort he’d felt all evening burst into full bloom in his belly. It was her car. He pulled into the lane and noticed something next to the car. A book bag or a purse. Something that didn’t belong in the middle of the road. He parked next to it and picked it up. The initials LG were stitched into it, so he threw it inside his cab. He pulled his truck off to the side, then shut the engine off.