She blinked again. A second passed, and then another. Without thinking she closed the gap between them. His smile grew larger, thinking she would beg for his mercy. She tightened her grip on the broken piece of wood, quickly brought her arm up, and before she could think otherwise, drove it into his neck.
Alisdair sputtered, trying to speak, his hands and arms flailing as he tried to grab the object imbedded in his neck but unable to dislodge Raine’s grip on it as she fought to push it deeper.
Her ladies all gasped in unison, cringing as the blood spurted onto their skirts. The two men were momentarily stunned, thinking that a room full of women was no threat to them. Lady MacGregor, fueled by her anger at her son’s death and her nephew’s betrayal, grabbed her own chair leg and charged at the man closest to her, taking him off guard. The ladies took heart and raised their knitting needles to attack the other man.
Raine stood over Alisdair, his lifeless body in a crumpled heap at her feet, his beautiful face twisted in pain and disbelief and blood. The yelling and screaming of her ladies jolted her back to the present situation. Skirts and ribbons were splayed everywhere as the women attacked and stabbed Alisdair’s man, overpowering him. He swatted and kicked and tried to crawl out of the door, yelping in pain every time a knitting needle met its mark. Lady MacGregor on the other side of the room loomed over the unmoving body of the other man, bringing her chair leg down in a sickening thud over and over, mindless of the drops of blood that covered her and the surrounding walls.
Raine called to her to stop, but she continued her assault. She came up behind her and grabbed the chair leg. Lady MacGregor tried to push her and had a tug of war with the chair leg, needing to continue the beating on this man who had helped to take her sons away from her.
“Lady, stop. Stop now. It’s over.” They looked down at the unmoving body. Lady MacGregor stared at him mercilessly.
With tears welling up in her eyes, she whispered, “They took my sons. They killed them.”
Raine hugged her and held tightly, fighting back her own tears. She had promised herself that she would not become attached to Leith, but she had failed. Miserably. His mother had been like a mother to her, her people had become as her own, accepting her as their own. Now all of that was gone.
“We should go downstairs and let them see you,” Raine told her. “Let them see you, the mother of the laird of Hell’s Gate, and tell them that their leader is dead. Tell them that you are claiming this keep as the property of the MacGregors.”
The older lady smiled sadly and shook her head. “No,” she whispered.
“No? You have to.” Raine shook her.
She grabbed her hands to still her, and said quietly. “It is not my place to claim this keep. You are his wife.” She cupped Raine’s cheeks. “You claim it.”
Raine swallowed and looked over her shoulder at the battle scene below. Bodies were lying still, covered in blood, while others were writhing in pain. Which men were Leith’s and which were Alisdair’s was impossible to tell.
Stiffening her spine and taking a deep breath, she nodded to Lady MacGregor and looked at her ladies. They were a raggedy bunch to be sure. Skirts were ripped, curls were askew, bodices torn, blood splattered about on cheeks and hands. They stood tall, and cleared a path for her.
Raine lifted her skirts, stepped over the still moving man full of knitting needle holes, and made her way down the hall.
“Your Laird is dead! The keep is ours!!” he yelled after them.
Lady MacGregor calmly met Raine’s gaze, picked up her chair leg and wacked him in the stomach. They continued on their way toward the courtyard.
It was a solemn procession as they made their way through the aftermath of the battle that had been fought. Raine tried not to look, weaving her way around obstacles whether they were broken furniture or broken bodies.
The smell of smoke from the burning fires outside made their way to her, causing her to gag on the taste of burning wood and burning flesh. Just as she stepped outside, her ladies fanned out on either side of her, they all gasped.
The site was something that she would not forget. The rank smell of death bombarded them. A few children ran about crying before their mother’s darted out of hiding to snatch them up.
The battle was over but the price of victory was high. Raine thought she knew most of the people in this village that she had lived in for these past months but most of these men she did not recognize.
A blonde lady that Raine knew to be the love interest of Robbie suddenly appeared and was running toward the outer wall. Her son trailed behind, his little feet thudding against the dirt.
She threw herself against a tall man with a full head of red hair. When the boy caught up to them, he was scooped up in the man’s arms and squeezed. Raine covered her mouth with her hand.
Robbie! He was alive!
Lady MacGregor saw him at the same moment and let out an excited cry. “Robbie!! Robbie!!” She hiked her skirts up to her knees, not caring about propriety, and ran as fast as she could to her son.
She threw her arms around his neck and plastered his dirty, bloody face with kisses. He laughed and kissed her cheeks in return, wiping away her tears. “My son. Oh, my son!” she repeated.
Raine made her way to them slowly, wanting to give them time to reunite, when she heard footsteps scuffling towards her in the opposite direction. The light was fading and the noise had come from the shadows cast by the outer wall. She grabbed the hand of one her ladies, motioning for her to look in that direction.
The scuffling grew louder. Suddenly, her lady gasped and stepped back. “My lady!” She pointed, her jaw almost dragging the ground.
Raine strained to see. The outline of a man began to emerge, limping slightly, holding a sword. The large shadow moved slowly but with purpose as he limped steadily towards the gate.
Her heart began to race as the silhouette became clearer, larger, closer. Her hand fluttered to her throat as she swallowed. No, it couldn’t be. Alisdair had proclaimed so loudly and surely that he had killed Leith.
The last ray of sunlight cut its way over the top of the outer wall as the sun neared the earth, completing the day. It lit on the top of curly, jet black hair, then made its way over broad shoulders splattered with blood and finished its illumination as the man pushed himself off the wall and turned to her.
“Leith!” she whispered to herself.
It was him. It was really him. If she had wondered at Lady MacGregor’s lack of modesty for a woman of her time when she hiked her skirts above her knees to run to her son, it did not compare to the way she tossed away all propriety that she had learned in this century to the wind as she fairly threw her skirts over her shoulders to free her legs as they spun up a cloud of dust in their haste to carry her to the huge Scotsman who remained standing at the gate.
It took all of his strength for his wounded leg to hold him upright as his wife barreled into him, knocking the breath out of him as he was rammed into the wall. It was the only thing that was holding them up.
Their lips met, mouth crushing mouth, lips moving against each other yet still in unison. Hands tangled in hair, arms wrapped around shoulders and waists. They couldn’t seem to get close enough.
She was mumbling something against his mouth.
“What?” Leith asked, biting her lips.
Pulling back only long enough to speak, she said quickly, “He said you were dead. He said he killed you, and the Keep was his.”
Her lips were on his again before he could respond. He pulled back, and pushed the tangles of hair away from her face.
“Who? Alisdair? My cousin?”
She covered his hands that framed her face with her own. Tears threatened as the tension was on the verge of releasing itself. She nodded, biting her lip. Then the sobs came and she buried her face in his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and digging her nails into his muscles.
He smoothed her hair, shushing her, and rocking slightly
. Her entire body shook against him as she cried and mumbled incoherently about knitting needles. When her sobs turned into little hiccups, he hooked his finger under her chin and looked into her eyes.
“Lass, I’m no’ dead,” he said softly. His hand swept through the air. “And the Keep is still mine. And when I find my cousin, he will be punished for this attack on his own family.”
“He will not be punished, I’m afraid,” came the voice of Robbie as they neared the couple.
Raine stepped aside to make room for Lady MacGregor to have her turn assaulting her eldest son with kisses and hugs and tears, rubbing her hands over him asking if he was hurt.
“Och, mother, of course I’m hurt. I’ve just finished a battle,” he laughed as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and grabbed Raine with the other.
They started toward the keep, still limping. “Alisdair will be punished, I swear it,” Leith claimed, flinching with each step. He had managed to escape the battle with mostly just a few cuts and bruises, but the last man he had fought had blindsided him in an effort to waylay him as Alisdair made his way to the Keep. Caught off guard, he had stumbled and the man had run his sword up the length of Leith’s thigh. He knew it was not life threatening, but it hurt like hell all the same.
It was Lady MacGregor who spoke up. “No, my son. You cannot punish him, although I would not stand in objection of it. He is dead.”
Leith stopped and turned. He had wanted to teach Alisdair a lesson, perhaps let the Queen confiscate some land as retribution for Alisdair invading Leith’s borders, but he did not wish him dead. They were cousins. They had played in the dirt together as children, chased each other with swords.
He sighed, and starting limping towards the keep again, leaning heavily on Raine, who was strangely silent. This surprised him since she was usually chatting nonstop and usually to point out how he was at fault in one way or another.
“Och, I for one be glad that mon is dead. I remember playing with him when we were naught but wee lads, but today was a far cry from child’s play. The mon who attacked us and our families today was not the little boy who was our playmate when we were boys.” Robbie spoke the truth, but it cut Leith to the quick that it reflected his own thoughts.
Robbie cleared his throat and threw a glance around Leith and craned his neck to ask Raine, “So, uh, lass, ye’re ladies delivered death by knitting needles?”
Chapter 18
Her gaze swung to meet his, ready to defend her actions. “They broke down the door!”
She balled her fist in Leith’s shirt. “He said that he killed you. He laughed at your mother, his own aunt, when he told her that her sons were dead. He said that he was lord of the keep.” Before she could finish, her lip quivered and her voice caught.
Leith hooked his finger under her chin and pulled her gaze to his. “And would that be so bad, lassie? You’d be rid of me for good if it had been true.”
She gazed into those blue eyes that she was becoming so familiar with for what seemed an eternity. Then she swatted him and exclaimed with a little too much bravery, “Ha! And trade one tyrant for another? I don’t think so. Before you know it, he’d be shouting orders and having me do his laundry. No, thank you.”
She stole a peek sideways. “Besides,” she said nonchalantly, “he had bad breath.”
The mood was lightened and the small group all laughed for a moment. Then Leith had a thought.
“What did ye mean, Rob? About the needles?”
Robbie replied, “Don’t ye listen, mon? Ye’re wife’s ladies unmanned one of Alisdair’s guards with their knitting needles, at her behest, and Mother whacked him on the head with a chair leg. He should still be there, waiting for a good interrogation.” He smiled ear to ear. He loved interrogating the enemy.
Leith shook his head at the wonder of it. Would his wife cease to amaze him?
“Tell me everything later. After a hot bath and some stitches,” he told her as she helped him hobble into the keep.
Robbie guided the woman at his side toward the barn. “I’ll be along anon.”
Lady MacGregor told them, “I’m going to get some order in place here. Your men need food and a doctor as well. I’ll come see you after awhile, my dear.” She tiptoed and kissed him once more.
She called after her other son, “Robbie, you behave yourself young man! And do not dishonor that girl!”
He looked over his shoulder at her and had the grace to blush through his smile.
Robbie was not the son who needed the warning. Leith had rushed the surgeon through the process of stitching up his leg and a few other wounds and fairly tossed him out the door. He had suffered through a bath, washing away the blood and dirt of war. He was barely inside of his trews before she pushed past his manservant and declared privacy with her husband.
She was leaving this life behind and returning to her own world where she belonged. They both knew that. But never had she met a man like Leith MacGregor, and she knew now that she never would again. They just didn’t make men like him anymore.
He sat on the edge of the bed watching her. He could smell the desire pouring out of her. He smiled because he knew it was directed at him. He had wooed her, and he had won.
Three nights later they lay in bed, Raine firmly tucked under his shoulder with her leg laying possessively over his while her fingers wrapped themselves repeatedly around one of his stray curls. She had taken it easy on him tonight due to his thigh wound even though she had wanted to show him how glad she was that he was alright by taking charge and leaving her mark on him.
He spoke, breaking their silence. “I know ye’re thinking about him.”
She did not need to move. She knew exactly what he meant. Sighing, she buried her face in his shoulder, enjoying the male scent of him.
“I did not want to. It wasn’t even a thought in my head at the time. I just thought I needed a way to fend him off, hurt him enough to get away and run. I never wanted to…to…” her voice trailed off as she turned onto her back and threw her arm over her eyes.
“I’ve never seen someone die before. Well, except on TV, but that’s not real. I certainly never thought I’d see someone die especially at my hand.”
He rolled over and leaned on his elbow. “What is tee veeee?”
She opened one eye and looked him, his brow furrowed in confusion. He had not a clue what she was talking about. In this land, in this time, war was on their doorstep constantly. Killing was part of their livelihood. Killing the enemy is how they survived.
She cupped his face with her hand. Whispering more to herself than him, she said softly, “I don’t belong here.”
He asked, “Why? Because I cannot provide you with a tee veee?”
She laughed and gave the best explanation she could as to what a television was. His open mouth and bugged eyes conveyed his amazement.
“Och, ‘tis magic?!” he exclaimed.
“No, no, it’s just technology. But don’t worry. I don’t care for it anyway, so it doesn’t matter that there is not TV here.”
He scratched his head, befuddled at the world she came from. No wonder she wanted to leave his land. It was prehistoric to her.
“We might not have ye’re tee veee but we have things called plays. I have no doubt that they are better,” he said proudly.
Time was passing quickly. He had promised to take her to the stones at the winter solstice. That time was coming soon. Too soon if truth be told. He kind of enjoyed having her body glued to his through the night. She had more than enough body heat to keep them both warm through the winter.
He smoothed her hair away from her face. “Lass, death is not embraced here. But my men and I are charged with protecting my people from invasion. If we did not do what we did in battle, we would all be dead or prisoners.” He shrugged. “It is our way. But it does not make us barbarians. Just determined to survive.”
She looked at him, the candle light casting a warm glow over his face and body. She knew ev
ery inch of that glorious Scottish body. There was not an inch she had not explored, that he had urged her to do with as her curiosity dictated.
Nodding, she replied, “I know. But in my time, things are so different.”
“Ye have no war? Ye’re men do not defend their women against the enemy who would strike terror into their hearts?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, we do. There are wars. Horrible wars that are being fought. Yes, to defend those who cannot fight.”
He pulled the cover slowly downwards to reveal a globe of breast. He ran his finger lightly over it, making little circles. “Then why is yer land so different than mine?”
She stared at the wall over his shoulder. That was a question that she could not answer.
“Does it bother ye that ye killed a mon?” he asked, changing the subject.
She folded her arm under her head, giving him better access to her breasts. Sighing, she replied, “Yes, it does.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not something that I ever envisioned myself doing. I can still see his face.” She shuddered.
She felt his shoulder lift as he shrugged. “It had to be done. It is done. Do not be ashamed, and fret about it no more.”
Watching his finger circle her nipple and then rolling the tight bud between his fingers, she answered, “Where I come from, we don’t just kill each other. Peace is tried for regardless of the situation. War is avoided at all costs.”
Leaning over, his mouth switched places with his fingers. Through his teeth, he countered, “But war had already been declared. Alisdair would have killed me, my brother, and my mother if he had not been killed first.”
He kissed her lips lightly. “Do not fret, lass. Ye did no wrong. Ye saved my family and my people from destruction.”
He rolled on top of her, situation himself snuggly between her legs. “And for that I am truly grateful.”
Smiling she purred, “Just how grateful are ye?”
Enjoying her attempt at mimicking his accent, he growled, “Let me show ye.”
And he did. Several times.
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