by Lexi Post
Three horses stepped out of the woods.
She looked behind them to see two more entering the clearing. She kept her voice at a whisper. “We are surrounded. Who are they?”
Torr let go of her hand and pulled his dirk from his waist. “The damned Comyn.” He raised his claymore. “What do ye here on MacPherson land?”
One of the men facing Torr answered. “We are here seeking traitors, and I see we have found some.”
Torr’s tension at the term was palpable. “We are no traitors. I am a loyal servant of King Robert the Bruce of Scotland.”
She kept an eye on the men behind them, but when they started to dismount, she turned back to the front to find two of those men dismounted as well.
The man who remained on his horse smirked. “As I said, traitors. Kill him, but take the woman. We could use another bedmate in our camp.”
Torr glanced over his shoulder, ready to battle all five at once. He was good, but no one was that good. She couldn’t risk him getting killed now. Just by taking her on this excursion could mean they had changed history. She placed her hand on his shoulder and spoke softly. “I can keep these two occupied until you take care of the others.”
He scowled at her while still keeping the men before him in his sights. “Ye don’t even have a weapon. How the hell are ye going to do that?”
She met his worried stare with a confidence born from long hours of training with Javier. “Trust me.”
He glanced at the men behind them and back to the two advancing on them. “I have not a choice.” The worry in his eyes was clearly for her, but the growl he released was pure anger.
She lowered her arm to his massive biceps. “I can do this. Now, kill a couple Comyn for me.”
He grinned at that and turned his attention to their adversaries. Without hesitating a second, he threw his dirk into the throat of the man still mounted.
She turned away at the sight, but not before seeing Torr switch his sword into his right hand. She’d never seen any of his men handle the claymore so easily.
Now, her attention was completely on the two men anxious to take her with them. She’d handled herself well in an alleyway during the Great Chicago Fire of 1871 when attacked by two ruffians with knives. She’d managed to knock them out with none of her own blood spilled. Her aversion to blood was one reason she excelled in hand-to-hand combat. There was a lot less blood than with knives and swords. Now she needed to keep these two Comyn busy long enough for Torr to take care of the others.
Her leine left her legs free, and she was thankful Torr had started to undress her. Without the heavy woolen brat, she had more freedom of movement.
The blond man snickered, his expression confident. “Looks like yer man is leaving ye to us. What say ye, Alan. Shall we collect our spoils?”
The man called Alan reached for her. She easily dodged him. They underestimated her, which she could use to her advantage.
“Now listen, woman. We can take ye nicely or harshly.” Alan made a more aggressive grab at her and caught her sleeve, but she pulled back hard, and he was left with nothing but the cloth from her garment. She bit down hard to keep from laughing at him, his baffled look, priceless.
When comprehension dawned, he scowled. “Come on, Henry. Help me with her. She needs taming.”
The sound of Torr’s claymore ringing against two others reassured her that all was fine behind her. This time her assailants both made for her at once. As Alan grabbed her arm, she used him to steady herself and kicked up with her right foot, catching Henry in the chin and knocking him back onto the ground with a thud.
Alan stared at his companion. She took advantage of his stunned silence to punch him in the solar plexus. As he doubled over, he let go of her. She clasped her hands together and put all her might into an upward swing into his face. She’d knocked a man out with that move in France in 1763, but the noble hadn’t been nearly as big.
Alan grunted in pain and stumbled back a couple paces. She heard a yell behind her, but didn’t dare turn around. Glancing at Henry’s unmoving form on the ground, she quickly moved her gaze to Alan as fury entered his eyes. He wiped the blood trickling from his nose and pulled his claymore from its sheath.
Oh, Shakespeare. Things just got serious.
She took a quick peek behind her and breathed a sigh to see Torr battled only one man now. As Alan advanced on her, she moved slowly toward the blanket where her brat lay.
He slashed.
She dove to the side, landing on the blanket. When she came up, she had the brat in her hand. He swung at her again, and she threw the clothing at his face while diving to the ground again.
The man stopped to untangle the cloth from his weapon, giving her time to stand. Glancing around for something else to aid her, she found instead Torr, spinning away from his man who was falling backward, minus his head. Her stomach lurched, and she grit her teeth to keep its contents inside.
Alan came toward her again, but before she could move, Torr intercepted the swing with his own sword.
She stumbled back out of his way, confident in his ability to kill the Comyn. She looked away from his fight and found the other man Torr had killed, lying face down in a growing river of blood. She watched it seep between the grass and into the rich Scottish dirt. Turning away, she heaved the lunch they had enjoyed not an hour ago. Wiping her mouth on her one sleeve, she finally dared to look at Torr. It was the wrong moment. The two men were face to face with claymores locked together. Torr took one hand away, drew back and punched Alan so hard, his neck snapped back. A loud crack sounded before the man crumpled to the ground. She spun around and heaved again.
Torr’s hands pulled her hair back. “It’s over now. Ye did well. I’m very proud of ye.” His soothing tone, more than his words, helped her stomach relax. She finally unbent and wiped her mouth again, his comforting presence too tempting to ignore. She grabbed him about the waist and rested her head on his shoulder.
His arms enveloped her and, stroking her back, he kissed her hair.
Her skills were for emergencies, and she’d only used them a few times before, but none of her experience had prepared her for so much blood. And even though the man holding her was responsible for that, his arms meant safety to her.
He pulled back and lifted her chin to look at him. “Do ye feel better?”
She nodded, pulling herself together. “Yes.”
He stared at her, his concern touching, until he lost it himself. “Christ, Diana, I could have lost ye.” He grasped her to him again, and she felt a tremor move through his body. Her heart ached at how much he cared for her. She wanted to calm him, but her own mind wouldn’t settle enough for her to concentrate. They stood still a long time until Torr’s breathing naturally slowed and his grip on her eased.
She lifted her head from his shoulder and touched his face. “Should we go home?”
His neck muscles tightened before he nodded once. “Aye. We will take the last man prisoner, but that means we will have to walk. Would ye prefer I kill him?”
She shook her head. She’d seen enough blood for one day.
With his arm around her shoulders, they walked over to Henry, the man she had kicked. “Is he dead?”
Torr broke their contact to crouch and rolled the man over. “Nay, he lives, but whatever ye did to him, it appears he fell and hit his head on this.”
She stepped closer to study where he pointed and spotted a large rock surface hidden in the grass. She giggled, a little too close to hysteria. Training and defending herself was one thing, but this brutal reality shook her to the core.
Torr touched her bare arm, reminding her of how she calmed others. A slow warmth flowed from where his hand lay to spread like a cozy blanket over her.
“Lass?” His eyes reflected the sky as he gazed up at her, his concern and caring obvious in the bright sunlight.
She took a deep breath. She needed to pull herself together for him. She focused on his touch and her nerves c
almed. Holy Hamlet, it worked! He was the key to her own ability. She smiled, thrilled by her discovery. “I’m fine.”
He studied her, but must have seen her serenity, and he went back to tying up the man.
Inside her, a new happiness bloomed. Something about her connection to Torr helped her find her own calm. She would tell Nanatasis as soon as she returned home. Picking up her brat, she dressed. There was a long rip in her leine, and though she retrieved the torn sleeve from where it lay on the ground, she wasn’t sure she could fix her clothes.
Torr hoisted the unconscious Henry onto his shoulder. “Ceo!”
His destrier walked into the clearing at his call. Striding to the horse, Torr threw the man over it and secured him. He turned and reached out his hand.
Without thought, she put hers in his, and they started the long walk back to Gealach.
…
By time they emerged from the north wood, it was almost time for the evening meal and the clan was about looking for them. Torr was pleased to see they had grown concerned by his absence and had begun a search. Evan spotted them first and brought others. Soon, Henry was taken away, and they remounted Ceo.
He gave orders for scouts to be sent in all directions and to prepare for battle. It may not be tomorrow, but clearly, the Comyn had given up on the men he’d sent out and were scouting the area for the king.
Diana’s stomach growled. She glanced up at him. “Sorry. I think I’m feeling better.”
He smiled as she settled back against his chest. He still didn’t understand the feelings he had since the Comyn surrounded them. Fear for Diana, amazement, pride, concern, even panic had raced through him. It was irrational and so similar to how he felt when his brother had not come home from his hunt last winter that Torr couldn’t fully comprehend it. It was better to enjoy the feel of Diana’s weight against his body than to think on how he felt.
They rode into the yard and Kerr stood at the entrance to the castle as if he was laird. Pride in his brother overrode any territorial instinct he might have had. By time he dismounted, Kerr was in front of him. “Ye had us worried to death! What the hell happened?”
Torr laughed. He couldn’t help it. Finally, Kerr knew what it was to worry and wait, and from the looks of it, command from the castle. He grasped his shoulder. “Ye did not enjoy wondering if we were dead or alive, brother?”
Kerr shook him off, more tense than before. Knowing how it felt, Torr gave his brother what he needed to hear. “We were set upon by a scouting party of Clan Comyn. There were five of them, but we fended them off. Four lie dead in the small clearing past the north viewpoint. Evan has the fifth. We can bring Graham up and chain him to the wall. I want this man in the pit.”
Kerr visibly relaxed, but his thoughts obviously raced forward. “Then we need to send out scouts to—”
“I’ve already given the orders.” Satisfaction in his brother’s leadership abilities made him content. “Have the women start the meal. Diana is hungry after her adventure.”
For the first time, Kerr noticed Diana sitting patiently on Ceo. “Bloody hell. Are ye all right?” He stepped up to help her down and Torr itched to push his brother aside.
“Excuse me, Laird MacPherson?” A stranger stepped into Torr’s line of sight, and he was forced to relinquish Diana to Kerr.
“Aye. Who are ye?”
The man’s chest rose as if his short stature could rise with his importance. “I be Angus MacPherson, yer mother’s nephew, thereby yer cousin. I have been anxious to join the fight for King Robert and have journeyed here to lend ye my sword arm.”
Holy Trinity, another one? Supposed MacPhersons were coming from everywhere. Torr took his time scrutinizing the man before him. He was broad to be sure, a bit older than himself if the white hair in the man’s closely cropped beard was any indication, and he was shorter than most of Torr’s men. Actually, he may well be shorter than some of the women. As the man’s gaze passed him, Torr tensed. Angus MacPherson was appreciating the view of Diana’s state of undress. His men were better trained than this.
“Angus!”
The man jumped and brought his gaze back to where it should be.
“Ye will need to prove yerself in training before I add you to my force, but as ‘kin’ I offer ye hospitality.”
Angus’s eyes widened and his face flushed red, but he nodded once.
Torr scanned the yard. “Fergus! Come show Angus the grounds and share with him the basics of our life here, including the respect we show our women.”
Fergus stepped up, giving the new man a hard stare. “Aye, I will.”
Torr ignored Angus’s reddening face and turned to Diana, who stood a few steps away. Without a qualm, he took her hand and strode into the hall.
Chapter Twelve
Diana adjusted the clean brat about her waist, wanting to make sure she looked appropriately dressed after openly spending the night with Torr. The clothing had been a gift from him, and she truly appreciated it, but today there would be a lot of talk about her relationship with him. The night before he had called her to the high table to toast her before the king for discovering Graham’s clan and for fighting off the Comyn.
He had followed that with an embellished tale of their ride and their fight, leaving out her episode of sickness and drawing out the fight twice as long as it actually took while making it sound as if it took half the time, thanks to his skill. It would be hard for anyone to see either of them as anything but heroes. Then he had taken her hand and simply walked out of the Great Hall with her to his room—the message clear. Smoothing the folds of the long material, she took a deep breath and left Torr’s room.
Many people sat at the tables on benches eating breakfast. Seeing Nessa at a table with Evan, she headed in that direction.
“Diana.” Torr’s voice was not overly loud, but everyone looked up. Dickens, so much for sneaking in.
She pivoted and went to the high table. King Robert was not there, but Kerr and Fergus were, as well as the new man. “Yes, Torr.”
He reached out and took her hand in his, pulling her closer. “I would like ye to meet the newest member of our clan. He came in yesterday, but I failed to introduce ye. Angus, this is Diana.”
The man wouldn’t meet her eyes and simply nodded his acknowledgment of the introduction. Warning bells went off in her head. They were only three days from the battle and this man could be the Disruptor! With her heartbeat racing into overdrive, she took in his appearance, from his short stocky build to the dark, cropped hair and graying beard. He had a large nose and full cheeks making his eyes appear squinty. She’d bet money he was the one.
Torr turned his attention to her. “I don’t want ye in the bakery today. I think ye should rest after yesterday.”
She started to shake her head, but he pulled her close, his arm around her waist. “Ye were honest when you told me ye wouldn’t do as I told ye, weren’t ye.”
It took her a moment to remember the conversation they had in fun before the attack. She raised her brows. “Aye.”
He shook his head in mock disappointment. “Then you force me to distract ye from yer chores.”
“What?” Nervous now, she stiffened, but he squeezed her waist with his hand.
“Go ahead and have yer breakfast. I’m sure ye be hungry.” He dropped his arm and turned his attention back to the men who avidly watched their exchange.
She left the high table, feeling the eyes of all four men follow her as she sat down next to Nessa. That woman, of course, could not refrain from commenting, but at least she did so in a whisper.
“Ye are not only a hero but the laird’s woman. Do ye realize what an honor that is?”
She bent her head as a shudder of foreboding shook her frame. “What do you mean?” She made it appear unimportant as she took a bannock from the trencher and smeared jam on it.
“The laird has never shown such favor to a woman before, right, Evan?”
The serious man gave a simp
le nod.
Nessa continued once her statement was validated as true. “Everyone is talking about how much time he is spending with ye and only ye. They are saying ye may be our next mistress.”
She stilled in the process of lifting the oatcake to her mouth, dread crawling under her skin, and not from the expected bland taste of her breakfast. “What?”
Even as Nessa confirmed it, she scanned the room. Many were talking in whispers and throwing furtive glances her way. One in particular did not seem pleased at all, but she quickly dismissed Douglas and brought her gaze back to her breakfast. Her blood began to pound at the implications of what it could mean for history.
This was not how her mission was supposed to go. She’d never made such a mess of things before. Sure, on her first assignment, she’d caused a few hiccups in the Timestream when she accidently referred to the Midwest as the Dust Bowl a year before the event happened, but nothing of significance had come from that. Her eyes started to sting as the feeling built that she’d completely failed. Jules’s voice in her head when she was given the mission came back to haunt her. “Consider this a Gremlin. The ramifications might be even more serious for the future than we are seeing right now.” What if even now, her mission had been upgraded to a “Situation”?
Dropping her breakfast, she stood.
Nessa’s voice sounded as if from far away. “Where be ye going?”
She shook her head, her throat too tight to allow any sound through, and she ran from the room. Once outside, her vision blurred, but her need to be alone was strong. Her feet took her to the postern gate, and she slipped through. Once outside the wall, she dropped down on the grass with her back up against the still-cool stone of the fortified wall.
Taking deep breaths, she tried to gather herself. Remembering Torr’s hand upon her arm after the battle, she put her face in her hands and thought of him holding her. The warm peace flowed over her again and her tears receded. Lifting her head, she stared unseeing across the east fields.
The mission was no longer her priority. That was why she’d messed up so badly. Her subconscious had known she was falling in love with Torr and despite her rational brain’s best efforts, her actions were sabotaged by her heart.
