The MacLomain Series: A New Beginning Boxed Set (Books 1-4)

by Purington, Sky

  She’s not yours, he reminded himself. Anything to keep from storming in there. To keep from feeling so strongly that it was his right. That she should be in his arms if she slipped away altogether. If she didn’t survive. He ignored the tightening of his chest at the idea and redirected his thoughts. Best to think differently so that he didn’t end up cutting down his cousins to get to her.

  Even if she survived, he did not want her.

  She was better off with one of his kin.

  He scowled at Bryce and Graham remembering all too well how they hung all over her like fools in his great hall. More than that, how they were not there to protect her when a Sassenach ran his blade through her. Just like that. One second she had been holding a child, the next, bleeding out on his castle floor, the life draining from her glorious silver eyes.

  A sight he better bloody well never have to witness again.

  “She will be all right,” Rona said softly from beside him. “I would know otherwise, Cousin.”

  When Rona said such a thing, it was typically worth heeding. Rare was the day she was wrong, or so said her cursed gift of seeing life come and go before it actually happened.

  Conall refused to look at her. Refused to be hopeful until he was sure.

  When Aðísla finally stuck her head out and gestured that Conall enter, his heart about stopped. Was her expression grim because Lindsay was dead?

  He stepped inside the tent and immediately went to the cot. She looked pale. Was she breathing? Though tempted to use magic he knew better. They had traveled back to a crucial time in history which meant there could be a warlock or two about. If he used his magic, it might draw unwanted attention.

  Aðísla’s magic apparently followed another set of rules.

  “She’s alive, Conall,” Aðísla said softly. “More than that, she is nearly healed.”

  “So your magic—” he began, but she cut him off.

  “No, it was not only my magic,” she responded. “But the ring’s as well I believe.”

  His eyes shot to the Claddagh then its stone. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted the answer to his next question. “Did it glow? Take on a different color? Is that why it healed her?” Conall frowned at Aðísla. “I didnae know the rings were capable of healing. Is this new?”

  “Look at the gem in the ring for yourself.” Aðísla gestured at the bauble. “It is a different color, and if Rona is correct, it makes no sense.”

  Not that he would ever admit to it, but now that the sheer panic over Lindsay’s potential death was past, he was beginning to see things clearer. She lay peacefully on William’s cot beneath a blanket. Color had returned to her cheeks, and her chest rose and fell slowly as she slept. He crouched beside her, his eyes lingering on her lovely face before he looked at her ring again.

  “’Tis grayish.” He shook his head and frowned at Aðísla. “So ‘tis doing what Milly’s ring did then? Being undecided?”

  “Yes, in a way.” Aðísla appeared troubled. “But not like you’re thinking.” She shook her head. “Not to match a man’s eyes I do not think. Not yet.”

  When he kept frowning in confusion, she continued.

  “According to Rona, the ring glowed in your great hall,” Aðísla explained, her eyes on Lindsay’s face as she pondered something. “It shone the color of that little girl’s eyes. The one she tried to protect...comfort.” She crouched beside him and gestured at the gem in the ring. “It remains that very color now.” She arched a brow at Conall. “A shade remarkably similar to Lindsay's.”

  Conall studied the gem and tried to remember the child’s eyes, but everything had happened so fast. The Sassenach had somehow slipped by his castle’s defenses, and he still had no clue how. Outside of MacLeod Castle, Hamilton Castle was the most impregnable fortress in all of Scotland thanks to its location on a seaside cliff. So it made no sense.

  Not yet anyway.

  He ground his teeth and brushed aside his emotions. They would serve no purpose right now. Not until he had more answers.

  “What does this mean then?” His eyes went to Aðísla’s, and he shook his head. “That a warlock might somehow be controlling the ring yet again?”

  “I dinnae think so,” William murmured softly, the first words he had said since Conall entered. “I think Lindsay controls her ring so far and nobody else.”

  Naturally, Wallace would give his opinion. As it was, he almost ended up with Milly because her gem shone the color of his eyes.

  It seemed William had no recollection of seeing them at any battle but the one in Stirling. Because according to Grant, they would all be traveling to two skirmishes. Earnside and Happrew. They were in Strathearn now to fight at the Earnside skirmish so that meant they would eventually travel back in time six more months to Happrew. Based on the fact that William did not recall seeing them there, one of two things happened. Either they would not survive this battle or Adlin and Grant had somehow altered William’s memory. That, he surmised, was the more probable of the two scenarios.

  Or so he hoped.

  Either way, it was always best to remain vague with well-known historical figures while traveling through time.

  As it stood, the last time William had seen Lindsay was in his tent before the Battle of Stirling Bridge in twelve ninety seven now it was thirteen hundred and four. A day or so later for Lindsay and Conall but much longer for William. Yet Wallace seemed just as fixated on her. And just as fond.

  “I think you are right, William,” Aðísla agreed. “In fact, I know you are. At this point, Lindsay does still control her ring yet something tugs at her power. Something determined to get past the walls she has put up. The defiance that is second nature to her.”

  Walls? Defiance? While Lindsay could get a little heated, as he saw recently in his dungeon, she did not strike him as overly defiant. Why would she be when she could so easily enchant every man around her?

  “Can she be moved?” Conall eyed her. “’Twould be better if she was housed with Rona, would it not?”

  “’Twould be best if she stayed here,” Wallace started, but Conall interrupted him.

  “Ye’ve a sizeable enough band of men.” He quirked a brow at William. “Men who will likely be in and out of yer tent, aye?”

  “Nay.” William frowned at him. “They shall meet me elsewhere.”

  “So ye say,” Conall began before Aðísla interrupted him.

  “She will wake soon enough. Within hours I imagine.” She looked between them. “When she does, she will decide where she would like to continue resting. Do you understand?”

  It was clear his Viking ancestor would make sure that happened whether or not they agreed.

  They both nodded, scowling at each other as Conall debated his next move. Though loathe to leave her alone with Wallace, staying would not be wise either. If she were to awake with him watching over her, it would work against his plan to see her safely in the arms of one of his cousins.

  “Until she awakes, I will stay with her,” Aðísla continued, not asking William’s permission. It seemed she did not need to based on William’s grateful look. But then Aðísla had taken good care of his friend, Moray, at one time and Conall knew Wallace would never forget it.

  William nodded. “Then I will see to my men.” His eyes met Conall’s. “Join me, Laird Hamilton.”

  Not a request but an order if he were not mistaken.

  Nonetheless, Conall nodded and followed. He might not have liked Lindsay spending the night in William’s tent in Stirling, but the fact remained that William Wallace was to be respected. Revered. The sacrifices he had made for Scotland, the ones he would make, were heroic.

  As they exited the tent, he noticed his cousins weren’t too far off. Ever vigilant. Though he could not help but wonder why Rona was here as well. Was it because she had been in the great hall when they were transported back in time? Or was it, mayhap, because they were so close?

  As he and William joined his kin, Conall noticed that Wall
ace didn’t eye Rona as most men did when they met her. Then again, now that they were out of the tent and away from Lindsay, he could see William. Really see him. Though he was seven years older, he seemed aged beyond his years. Tired. But then, if history served correct, Wallace had been on the run for some time and was, by far, the most wanted man in Scotland. Now another skirmish lay on the horizon.

  One that history was quite undecided ever took place.

  More than that, if this was even the location.

  Here they were though which told him all he needed to know. Something would happen. Something important enough to warrant him and his kin being here. Though he had claimed the number of Wallace's men sizeable, they were not. He counted two hundred at most and by the looks of them not the strongest fighting men, either.

  “’Tis my hope more come,” William said, clearly aware of how ragged his bunch looked. “But then, ye four have come, so that is a good start.”

  “So yer expecting the Sassenach, aye?” Graham said as they walked through the encampment. “Have ye a battle strategy?”

  “Aye, rumor has it a garrison will be passing through.” William gestured at the trees around them. “We will fight them by using the forest to our advantage.”

  It was a tactic often used in these times and Conall well understood it. Guerrilla warfare his mother would call it. In his opinion, it was bloody smart, and he nodded his approval. “What of the tents, though? Will they not be obvious?”

  “Props only. Soon to come down,” William said. “We’re housed in caves not far from here.”

  “Ye’ve Lindsay resting in a prop then?” Conall stopped short. “Vulnerable to the enemy?”

  “Nay.” William shook his head as they stopped at a small fire and he handed them a few skins of whisky to share. “I have verra dependable scouts. The Sassenach are still a ways off.”

  “What about rogue bands?” Bryce growled over his shoulder, already heading back in Lindsay’s direction.

  “None are about,” William called out. “I can assure ye,”

  “How would ye know—” Graham started when Rona interrupted him.

  “I would say with Adlin’s help.”

  “Aye.” Adlin grinned as he and Milly joined them. “All is clear right now.”

  “When did you arrive?” Conall asked.

  “Not long before you.”

  Before them?

  “Did the ring pull ye here too, then?” Graham asked as Milly hugged first Graham then Bryce. Rather than embrace Conall, she eyed him with what he knew were bound to be several uncomfortable questions.

  So he said something he hoped she didn’t know so she would take her questions elsewhere. “Though she is all right, Lindsay is in William’s tent after a difficult ordeal. Mayhap you should be there when she awakens?”

  “The ring didnae pull us here, we just knew to come here next,” Adlin reported as Milly answered Conall’s question without budging an inch. “I know Linds is okay and I intend to go see her soon.” She made a gesture back toward the river with her head that meant he would not be escaping so easily. “Meanwhile, I was hoping to speak with you alone, Laird Hamilton.”

  Her use of his title told him much. She was not feeling all that cordial.

  Conall looked at Adlin and made it clear with a stoic expression that he did not think now was an appropriate time for this. Adlin, however, in typical Adlin fashion, merely shrugged and grinned. As usual, he had absolutely no intention of making Conall’s life easier.

  Fine then. He and Milly didn't go far before she stopped, crossed her arms over her chest, narrowed her eyes, and said the last thing he expected with a glint of humor in her eyes. “Thank you for what you did at the Battle of Stirling Bridge, Conall. Thank you for...protecting Linds like you did.”

  Before he could respond, she shocked him when she stood on her tip-toes, kissed his cheek then took his hand. “I did not see that coming.” She shook her head, a sparkle in her eyes that reminded him far too much of Adlin. “None of us did.”

  “Aye,” he murmured and merely nodded, not sure how else to respond.

  “You thought I was upset with you, eh?”

  “I didnae know what to expect,” he said, preferring to be blunt. “I kissed Lindsay against her will. ‘Twould be fair if you were upset with me.”

  Milly twisted her lips against what he surmised was suppressed amusement before she smoothed her expression and nodded. “I was...more surprised than anything.” She perked her brows, clearly trying to remain serious. “I hear after the kiss you ended up in your dungeons...” Her lips twisted again, that same fight in her eyes to remain serious. “Then I hear it took another kiss to free you two.”

  Damn his bloody grandfather. His eyes swept over the forest. Where was he?

  “He’s not here. Not yet.” Milly tapped her temple and quirked the corner of her mouth. “Grant told Adlin everything telepathically.”

  Naturally.

  “So where is Grandfather?” he said dryly. While tempted to cross his arms over his chest in a defensive posture all too familiar to him, he preferred to keep his hand close to the hilt of his blade. Though Adlin assured them that the Sassenach were not about, he would not risk Milly getting hurt if his cousin was wrong.

  “I’m not entirely sure where Grant is,” she said softly, her eyes on his. “I’m sorry about what happened at your castle in the great hall, Conall.” She shook her head and swallowed hard. “More than you know.”

  He clenched his jaw, his eyes drifting into the woodland as though he could look forward in time and see what had been left behind. Now that he was no longer distressed over what happened to Lindsay, he should be pestering Adlin to send him home. He should be doing whatever he could to get back to his people. To protect them. Yet he was not, and he loathed the reason why. He detested that he put protecting one life ahead of protecting so many others. His own people.

  “It hasnae happened yet, Cousin,” came Adlin’s soft voice from behind him before he joined them. “The battle that just happened at your castle, the lives lost, doesnae happen for eight more winters.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” But Conall already knew. Because something might very well happen here in thirteen hundred and four that could change the fate of that night.

  “You know why.” Adlin handed him a skin. “Take a sip or two, Cousin, before we join the others and prepare for what is to come.”

  They both knew he had barely touched alcohol since Fraser died and though tempted to take a hearty swig now, he would not. It was best to keep a clear mind, especially during such precarious times.

  “Nay,” Conall replied. “Thank you, Laird MacLomain.”

  Adlin frowned as Milly chuckled and shook her head, murmuring, “Laird MacLomain again is it?” She cast Adlin an amused look. “I think that’s Conall’s way of saying let’s get serious and damn fast.”

  Adlin met her amused look with one of his own. “Were we not serious then?”

  Though he’d had about enough of this conversation, Conall would not head back to the others first. Not until Milly was done speaking. But how was he supposed to know when that was when it seemed she joked just as readily as Adlin now? And it appeared more and more likely they had forgotten he stood there since the two of them kept gazing at each other.

  Likely aware he needed saving, Rona appeared, blade in hand as her eyes met his. “Sorry to bother ye, but I could use a hunting partner when yer done speaking with...” Her pointed eyes went to Milly who wasted no time introducing herself.

  “I’m so sorry.” Milly held out her hand to Rona. “I’m Milly Broun.”

  “Aye.” Rona offered a forced smile as she shook Milly’s hand. “I am Rona, daughter of Niall and Nicole MacLomain.”

  Milly smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

  Little was said after that, and thankfully the awkward meeting soon ended. He and Rona did not go far before he crouched beside a small stream and splashed cold water on his face. As
was her way, Rona said nothing at first and waited him out.

  “’Tis all right,” he muttered, still crouched as he stared at the water, frustrated.

  “Nay.” She shook her head, white-knuckling a blade as she eyed the stream for fish. “None of this is, and well ye know it, Cousin.”

  The battle that had taken Fraser’s life had changed them both. And not for the better. They were hollow shells of their old selves, seeking answers to questions they knew may never be answered. It had taken away the light in an already dim situation. In some ways, it had brought them closer. But he often wondered if he should be more alarmed. Where Fraser’s sister, Blair, had embraced a warrior’s attitude, determined to avenge him, Rona had done something different.

  Something...hard to explain.

  She had embraced a caustic and sometimes morbid persona.

  But then her magic was markedly different than everyone else’s. To sense life and death was no small thing. Based on the sudden silence she experienced before her gift ignited, Grant suspected it was born of her mother's semi-deafness. Either way, possessing such magic could by its very nature turn a person more somber when they struggled with grief.

  “Grant and Adlin keep more secrets,” she spat as she crouched and splashed water on her face as well. “Ye know they do.”

  “Aye.” He frowned and stood. “That is nothing new and willnae help us right now.”

  “Because we dinnae know what they’re hiding.” She shook her head and eyed him over her shoulder. “Ye know God sent me along with ye to keep ye safe, Cousin. Ye do know that, aye?”

  “Aye,” he murmured as he sat on a rock and set to sharpening his blade. “And I am thankful yer here, Cousin. Never doubt that.”

  Conall scowled at the small voice in his mind that wished she were not. Wished that she was back at MacLomain Castle spending time with her parents healing. Like all of them, Uncle Niall and Aunt Nicole were still struggling with the loss of Fraser and in many ways the loss of their daughter. Rona never went home. She always stayed at Hamilton Castle close to Conall. And close to her memories. Especially those last few moments when they still had Fraser with them.