by C. A. Szarek
An equine scream parted the air and Hugh heard hooves pounding.
Dubh.
Another scream sounded—this time a feminine one—then a shouted curse in Irish Gaelic.
Then—blessedly—nothing.
Hugh sucked in air as the weight lifted off his chest and he could breathe again. But he couldn’t move.
His stallion snorted and hooves came into his line of sight.
“Dubh,” Hugh croaked.
Dubh snorted again, his wide nostrils flaring as Hugh managed to squint up at him. The stallion lowered his great head and nudged his side.
“Give me a minute, lad.” Hugh relaxed into the sand and took another breath—then two more, both deeper than the one before it.
His horse pranced backwards as if he sensed Hugh needed some space.
He pushed to his knees. His head reeled but he fought through it and planted his hands into the sand. Hugh was slow to gain his feet—and his bearings.
Dubh shot forward and Hugh threw an arm over his neck, grateful for his horse’s assistance in his remaining upright. Once again, it was if the stallion knew he needed the help.
Hugh scanned the area. The lass lay a few feet away, sprawled on the sand. She appeared to be unconscious—or dead.
Blood pooled on the right side of her head.
He scrambled free of Dubh and stumbled to the lass. When Hugh prodded her side with a boot, she didn’t respond. He knelt at her side and watched the rise and fall of her chest. He tilted her head to one side. There was a long gash behind her right ear. It was deep and disappeared into her hairline.
So she’d hit her head on a rock when she’d fallen. Passing out had cut off her chanting, which must’ve released the magic.
Dubh saved my life.
Hugh swallowed hard as his stomach dropped. If he was a lesser man he’d give in to the fear and relief mixing in his gut. He cleared his throat.
He’d known about magic and heard about every Fae legend known to man his whole life. That didn’t mean he’d bought into any of it.
Even the day he’d rescued Lachlan MacLeod and this lass had thrown something to the ground to disappear, Hugh had rationalized it could’ve been a mixture of herbs.
He’d met Alex MacLeod’s wife and her cousin, and believed them to be Fae. Hell, he’d believed his Juliette from the moment she’d told him she was from the future and magic had brought her to his time.
But magic had not impacted him until today.
When it’d almost stolen his life.
Words.
Words had almost killed him.
Hugh blew out a breath as tremors chased each other down his spine. He glanced up at Dubh when his horse neighed, as if to ask if he was all right. “I’m fine, laddie.”
The stallion trotted to him, pushing at his shoulder with his soft nose.
He managed a small smile and reached to pat Dubh’s neck.
Hugh stood and dug into the pack he’d been smart to grab when he’d left Armadale. He’d intended to stay gone a few days—he’d not wanted to hear another word Mab had to say about Juliette. He was glad he’d grabbed rope he’d not anticipated needing, and quickly bound the lass’s hands and feet.
Running his hands over her body, he felt for a belt-pouch or any pockets. His aunt had always sewn pockets into her garments, saying a woman needed a place to put her secrets.
The lass’ skirt had none, but there was a strap of leather around her neck. He couldn’t see what was hanging from it; it was buried in the neckline of her leine.
Hugh tugged until it snapped, catching the prize in one hand.
A leather pouch.
“Wha’ have we here?” Hugh turned it over, squeezing. Something small and hard was enclosed inside it. He stared at the unconscious lass, but she didn’t stir. He needed to work quickly, he had no idea how long she would be out.
He opened the pouch and dumped its contents onto his flat palm. Two crystals gleamed in the fading light, one black and one clear. There was also a piece of gold. Uncut, a nugget that would be worth a great deal, even in its current condition.
“Hmmm….”
The three stones were covered in a dark powdery substance.
Hugh shook the pouch and more dark grains fell to the sand at his feet. He didn’t know what it was, but something made a shudder rack his frame.
It felt bad.
Dark.
Evil.
He shoved the crystals and gold back into the pouch, tugging the drawstring tight and knotting it twice—just in case.
Swallowing hard, Hugh shoved the magic tools into his bag on Dubh’s back. He’d no desire to have them near his body, so he didn’t want them in the pocket of his trews.
He hefted the lass up, and again tremors threatened moving up his arms and settling in his chest. Hugh really didn’t want to touch her. A sense of foreboding hovered, flipping his stomach, but he wouldn’t have the lass with him long.
She was destined for justice.
The halfling needed to pay for her crime, even though the lad had come to no harm.
Dubh snorted and tossed his head, darting away when Hugh approached with the lass in his arms.
“Come to me, Dubh.” He kept his voice low, using his most cajoling tone.
The stallion obeyed, but danced backwards when Hugh tried to drape the unconscious lass across his wide back.
“I’m sorry. T’won’ be long. I find her unbearable as well.”
His horse grunted and flared his nostrils, hoofing the rocks. But he stood still so Hugh could approach again and accomplish his task.
He laid her face down, swinging himself astride his horse and placing a hand on her back so she wouldn’t tumble off Dubh.
Even that small touch made his skin crawl.
“Come, laddie. Let’s hie to Dunvegan and get rid of this wretch!”
Dubh shot down the beach without a physical command, as if he wholeheartedly agreed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Getting the MacLeods to let him in the gate wasn’t a problem this time, despite it being full dark when he’d ridden in. The three oversized guards had taken one look at the Irish lass and stepped aside so he could ride right into the bailey.
Then they closed the outer gates—for the night.
Hugh arched a brow at Cormac MacLeod.
Was he invited to stay the night?
He shrugged. It worked for him. Assisted nicely in his quest to avoid his aunt, too. Although him leaving for a day or two was nothing new, Mab would likely think him dead—or at least worry that harm had come to him if he didn’t go home on the morrow. He’d planned to go home, telling himself he was done licking his wounds.
Juliette may still be here.
His heart thundered. It mattered not. They’d parted ways three days ago, after the most perfect week and half of his life.
Again, Mab’s voice pounded into his head. Ye love tha’ lass. So swallow yer pride and hie ta the MacLeods. Get her back. Ferget about the Fae, magic, and the distant future. Bare yer heart and wed tha’ lass.
It had nothing to do with pride, did it?
He was here now, should he not see if she remained?
The pounding of boots sounded and his eyes darted to the sound—which was accompanied by torches blinking in and out as they came toward him.
Duncan and Alex MacLeod, as well as their father and the Fae man surrounded Hugh and Dubh.
“Why is it I’m always bringin’ ye somethin’ ye lost?” Hugh tried to tease, but his smirk faded when he saw the murderous expression on Duncan MacLeod’s face. It wasn’t aimed at him.
“Ye found the halfling,” the man breathed.
“Aye. She…almost killed me.” Four sets of eyes snapped to his face.
“Your aura is clouded by a dark spell. Come, my cousin can cleanse you.” The white-blond man stepped forward, gesturing with the lit torch.
“Ye’d have me inside?” Hugh asked.
“Aye, ye saved m
y son. Ye brought me tha halfling. I’ve no ill words fer ye, MacDonald.” Duncan met his eye when Hugh dismounted.
Duncan took the Irish lass from his stallion’s back, but didn’t hold her long. The Fae man took her, holding her high against his chest.
The laird shouted for a lad to take Dubh. “Besides, we’ve things ta discuss,” Alex said.
The Fae man muttered something under his breath. When Hugh looked at him again, his eyes were closed, and he was chanting words that sounded Gaelic, but were off somehow.
Hugh could make nothing out. Alarm washed over him, and he tensed.
“Relax,” Alex MacLeod said. “He’s makin’ it so she willna wake.”
“She really almos’ killed ye?” Duncan asked.
Hugh forced a nod. Admitting what happened on the beach should’ve made him feel weak but it didn’t.
“Come, I’ll have my wife fix ye.” The MacLeod laird gestured.
“I’ll take her to the dungeon myself, and seal the locks with a spell,” the Fae man said. “I shall meet you when I’ve finished.” He disappeared in the darkness of the bailey.
“We’ll be in my ledger room,” Alex called.
Hugh looked around the vast great hall as he followed the MacLeod twins and their father inside Dunvegan. His heart sped up and he cursed it. He couldn’t muster the bollocks to ask about Juliette.
* * * *
The door was wrenched open and Jules popped up, her heart running a mile a minute in the borrowed bed. She’d not been sleeping just yet, but Claire had still startled her. “Jesus! What’s wrong?”
One look at her sister told her there was nothing wrong. Not if the grin she was wearing was any indication. “Hugh’s here!”
Her stomach fluttered and she schooled her expression to mask the plummeting feeling seizing her gut. Instinct made her want to shout ‘so what?’ but she bit it back. It was bad enough she’d been stuck at Dunvegan for three days. She didn’t need to hear his name when she was finally getting somewhere on convincing herself to forget him.
Yeah, that’s working.
It wasn’t like she could get mad at Janet. The brunette beauty had finally delivered a healthy boy, and she and Xander had named him Liam. The birth had been difficult; everyone was exhausted but okay now.
Jules hadn’t had the heart to be a pest begging to get out of Dodge. Seeing the little guy made it worth it, too. Beautiful baby. Dark-haired like his mom, violet eyes like his dad, and no wings after all.
“You scared the shit out of me for that?” Jules barked.
Claire arched one fair eyebrow, resting her hands on her hips. “Right. Like you don’t care.”
“I don’t.” Jules averted her gaze, plucking invisible fuzz off the MacLeod tartan covering her.
The plaid’s the wrong color.
Oh, shut the hell up.
“Bull. Shit.” Her sister crossed the room, her expression about the sternest Jules had ever seen it.
“Oh, hold on to that expression. You’re gonna need it when Lach gets older. Great mommy face.”
“Juliette.”
Jules winced, ignoring her baby sister when Claire climbed on the high bed and plopped down. She relaxed into the pillows behind her, resting her head on the carved wooden headboard.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
She cast her eyes to the wide ceiling. “I’m not going through this with you again. Let me get some sleep so I can mentally prepare for the journey tomorrow. In case you don’t remember, traveling through time is a bitch.”
“Hugh. Is. Here.” Claire pinned her with a pointed stare.
“I heard you twice the first time.”
“It’s a sign.”
“A sign of what? That he lives on the island?”
“Jules. Please—”
She growled and met Claire’s green eyes. “Please, what?”
“Hugh brought Bridei to us. He told Duncan that she almost killed him with a spell. Alana says it was a spell meant to break every bone in his body.”
“What?” The word was a croak, and Jules shot up in the bed, her pulse pounding in her ears. “Is he okay?” She had to swallow hard—twice.
“You do care,” Claire breathed.
“Of course I care,” Jules snapped. “I love him.” She winced at her first-class blurt.
Claire grabbed her hand and squeezed.
“Is he okay?” It sounded like a demand, but her sister beamed.
“He’s fine. Alana washed the residual magic away with a spell of her own. She said he’s not in harm’s way. She and Xander bound Bridei’s magic and Duncan threw her in the dungeon.”
“Dungeon? Like a real one? Y’all have a dungeon?”
Her sister giggled and nodded. “Aye. It’s dark and smelly and has bars like jail. Only three cells and I don’t venture down there.”
“Jesus.”
Claire laughed again. “You sound like Duncan. Except, of course, for the sexy brogue.”
Jules couldn’t hold back her smile. “Yeah, yeah. Hugh says it all the time. Has that sexy brogue thing going on, too.”
“Actually, he has sexy going on all over. He’s kinda hot, big sis.”
“Claire Grace! You’re a married woman.”
Her sister laughed. “I still have eyes. And I’d never mack on my sister’s man even if I wasn’t married. Just sayin’.”
Jules’ smile faded. “He’s not my man.”
Claire sobered. “Don’t lose him just because you’re stubborn. Don’t go back if you really want to stay.”
“Did he ask about me?” When her sister didn’t answer, Jules crushed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw until her teeth smarted. “That pretty much says it all right there, Claire-bear.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
When she finally had the guts to meet her sister’s eyes, she wanted to cry even more. All she read was concern. Jules couldn’t stand it. She needed anger. It was better. But mustering it was a failure. “Yes, it really does.”
Claire shook her head, and her smile was kind. “He’s a Highlander, Jules. Remember that. Stubborn is engrained. As strong as he is physically. Not to mention what he’s been through. Whether he loved her or not, he lost his wife and child. These men protect what is theirs. Always. He didn’t have the control to do so.”
“All you’re doing is highlighting our differences. Everything definitely in the con column.”
“Love is the only important pro.”
Jules shook her head and swallowed against the lump in her throat. “It would never work. I love my job. I can’t do that here. Being a woman is a con in this century.”
“Doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would,” Claire said softly.
“You have Duncan.”
“You have Hugh.”
She frowned at how fast her sister had countered. “I don’t.”
“You could.”
“You’re killin’ me.”
Claire’s mouth was a hard line. “I won’t apologize. Stop being a dumbass. What do you have to go back to? Need I remind you we have no family there? You don’t like your partner even if you love your job. You don’t like your boss all that much either, and you haven’t been in a relationship that mattered since I was a kid. Brent was a dick and you never should’ve married him, so he doesn’t count. You want to walk away from the man you actually fell in love with just because he wasn’t born in the same century you were?”
“Fuck,” Jules whispered.
“I totally could be right now, actually. But I’m sitting here with you.”
She laughed. “Claire. Really?”
Claire smirked. “You just hate that I make sense.”
“I do.”
“Finally. Something that happens to be the truth.”
“Bite me.”
Her sister shook her head, long flaxen locks dancing over her shoulders. “No thanks, not my thing. Look, he’s here. You’re here. Why don’t you at least talk to him? Tell him how
you feel. Find out how he feels and if it’s not what you want to hear—which has like nil chance of happening, in my opinion—you can still go in the morning.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. You just won’t. I never knew you to be a runner. That was always my game, not yours. You always faced the giant alone.”
She closed her eyes again as Claire’s words had sting her sister probably didn’t intend. “I never faced the giant alone. You were always there, no matter what shitty foster family we were living with.”
“But I hid behind you, clinging to your hand.”
Emotion that had nothing to do with her broken heart rolled over Jules and a tear trailed down her cheek. “You were little. You were supposed to.” She forced words out.
Claire threw her arms around her. “You always saved me. Now let him save you. He loves you, big sister. I just know it. You don’t always have to be the strong one.”
Her voice evaporated as her sister pulled away. Tears coursed down and Jules couldn’t even make her hand move so she could wipe them away.
“Just think about what I said. Oh, and down the hall, toward the stairs. Third door on the right.” Claire popped off the bed, grin back in place.
“Wh-h-hat?” Jules cleared her throat.
“Hugh’s room.”
Her sister was gone before she could shout, “So what?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“What the hell am I doing?” She winced at the disgust in her tone as she paced the corridor. Claire would have a freaking field day if she knew where Jules was.
Thanks for the tip, lil’ sis.
Not even two minutes had passed after Claire had left her guestroom before Jules had shoved her legs into pants and her arms into a shirt and hurried to the room Hugh had been shown to.
Can you spell pathetic?
Yeah.
It’s five letters and starts with a J.
Her heart rebounded against her ribs, making fun of her as it went for the lay-up. It was bouncing around so much it might as well kick her in the gut on the way, too. Her mouth was a desert with no hope of an oasis.
If she ever got the balls to form a fist and knock, it wouldn’t matter. She wouldn’t be able to speak to him.
