by Diane Darcy
He glanced around, watched his men’s eyes slide away. It wasn’t necessarily bad that they feared him. He was bigger, stronger, and a more experienced fighter than any here, and he knew that earned him a sort of awed respect. When he found his betrayer, he’d gut the worm as an example. Ian was laird. He was The MacGregor. It was time his clan let go of their disappointment and acknowledge it with more than lip service.
The clouds finally veiled the moon, and Ian gave a soft whistle and started his horse forward. “Look sharp.” He led them toward the cattle and, unexpectedly, the Campbells attacked with bloodcurdling shrieks.
Ian smile was genuine as, dagger in hand, he jumped from his horse onto a Campbell, his weight crumpling the wretch as Ian crushed his wrist, divested him of his knife, and slammed the hilt into his temple. Without a sound, the man was out.
The noises of battle commenced all around him, the quiet night quickly turning into a mass brawl as wails, screams, and bellows rang out in the darkness.
He quickly dispatched another, his blade ripping through the screaming man’s arm before he kicked him hard in the chest and off his feet, leaving the bleeding male gagging and winded. Ian looked around for more.
“’Tis him.”
Ian faced two men, one of whom pushed his companion. “Go. He is but a man.”
“You go.”
One Campbell took a breath and surged forward as his companion waited. He timidly slashed the air with his dagger, such a pathetic effort that Ian took pity, grabbed his wrist, divulged him of his knife, and plowed a fist into his stomach, robbing him of breath and will. As the man slumped to the ground, Ian looked at the man’s companion and smiled.
Crossing himself, he turned and ran.
Ian rushed into a group of Campbells and fought them all, efficiently assaulting them one by one, not killing anyone, but disarming and injuring all who crossed him.
With a yell, one man took him on and Ian hit him thrice in the face, knocking him cold and swinging away before the man hit the ground.
Next, three men attacked as one and Ian slashed one with a sword, another with a dagger, and broke the third’s nose.
A Campbell came up behind him, slashing a blade, and Ian turned, tripped over a tree root and fell hard. As the man lifted his knife high, Ian readied to kick the weapon away, but Brecken came out of nowhere and shoved the man back, slashing, whooping, bellowing, and grinning the entire time.
Ian slowly stood and watched the younger man hack, pummel, and finally trip and kick the wretch.
Brecken had saved him rather than let him be killed? Why?
Brecken grinned, unaware of Ian’s thoughts. “He almost had you there, cousin. Mayhap you make too big a target?”
Ian gripped his sword. “Mayhap.” Why hadn’t his cousin taken the chance to rid himself of the one blocking his way to leadership and land?
Brecken strutted away and, with a mighty war cry, ran for a group of fighters, yelling, laughing, and having a good time of it.
Ian stared after him. He’d eliminated one suspect, anyway. Now he only need eliminate one hundred or so more in his clan, and then he could rest easy at night.
No time to think of that now. With a yell, he raised his sword and took on two men rushing him, slashing with lethal efficiency, crashing his left fist into a jaw, and when a third man turned and ran—joining the other Campbells now scrambling away, running down the hill toward safety—Ian roared after them. He wiped his brow and turned to see his men staring, fear and awe in their expressions. “What? You questioned my abilities?”
Ian looked around and assessed the damage. A few of his men were down; one clutched a slashed arm while another tended to it. One held his head in his hands. A third attempted to rise, and fell back. “Gather the men and start the cattle moving. See if you can catch any horses.”
They rushed to do his bidding, capturing horses, helping the injured. They appeared happy, excited, and looked to him for direction. “What are you waiting for? Let’s take them home before the Campbells come back wi’ reinforcements.”
In high spirits, they did just that, handily and efficiently.
Ian mounted his horse and led the way. He sighed heavily. He hated it when his schemes didn’t conclude to his satisfaction. All this and he still had to figure out who was trying to kill him.
Chapter Two
New York, Present Day:
“...and since my esteemed colleague, Dr. Yakima, assured me that ending my speech with a joke was a good idea, here it is. What did Richard III say when a planning proposal was submitted for building a car park?”
“What?” a few people in the audience shouted.
“Over my dead body.” She glanced up from her notes, smiled at the groans and chuckles in the audience, and was pleased that at least some in the crowd understood the reference. They might not be belly laughing, but she hoped the polite tittering was enough to please her boss. “Thank you for coming tonight. We here at Hudson River University appreciate your interest and your continued support.”
Applause broke out as Samantha stepped away from the podium and Dr. Yakima took her place to thank her and the others who’d spoken. She encouraged everyone to mingle and enjoy the drinks, desserts, and displays.
Samantha noticed Declan Jones—black, good-looking, confident—standing off to one side. His hands were clasped in front of him, and he puffed up like a mother hen, glowing and proud. She knew it had nothing to do with her speech, and everything to do with the way she looked. She sucked in a breath and headed down the two steps toward the impudent stylist—who’d insisted on attending.
Esme recommended the popular stylist to make Samantha look good in front of the alumni and sponsors. His idea of good meant plucked, waxed, and wearing twice as much make-up as a teen going to a concert. Earlier tonight he’d stuffed her into a long black dress with flowing sleeves. When they’d picked it out, she’d argued that black made her look pale; Declan insisted it made her skin glow like porcelain. Just what she’d always wanted—to look like an old kitchen sink.
But she had to admit she loved the dress. Slightly medieval in style, it fit snugly at the bustline, but was still modest and comfortable. Considering that she was headed for Scotland later to find an artifact, it also felt like she wore a secret that only she was in on.
Earlier in the week he’d taken her thick red hair out of its customary braid, gone into raptures, and colored it a supposedly subtle shade of red. Ha. Try flames of the Serengeti red. Then today, he’d forced her to wear it curled down her back. He wouldn’t budge on the hair. He claimed he was making a statement. From what she gathered during the grueling hair-coloring, then the later curling session, the statement he was going for was: I inflict pain and misery wherever I go. Still, she had to admit, sometime during the last four days, the guy had sort of grown on her. And, okay, she did look stunning.
Declan intercepted her, enveloping her in his arms and the fabulous scent he wore. “You did a wonderful job. You looked fantastic. Your hair caught in the light like fire. Just brilliant.” He released and cupped her elbows. “Now admit it. Because you looked so wonderful, you felt fabulous and confident, and that’s why your speech went so well.”
She reached up and touched one of the pretty butterfly clips. “Nothing to do with my degrees and experience, huh? It’s all about the clothes and hair?”
He laughed. “If only you knew how true that is.”
She smiled at him. “Go ahead and have your moment.” She tugged on a lock of her hair. “Just tell me how long it takes for this color to fade?”
“A couple of months.”
“Months?”
“And by the time it washes out, my dear, you’ll have gotten so many compliments you’ll be begging for me to color it again. Just you wait and see.”
She chuckled. She doubted she’d even have time to look in a mirror in the next couple of months. In the meantime, she had a plane to catch. “I’m sure you’re right. Thank you for
your help, Declan. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
She weaved through the crowd, shaking hands and accepting congratulations. The room was at full capacity so it took her a while to push toward the door at the far end and, just when she thought she was home free, a neon red laser light skittered across the floor, attracting her attention. She glanced around to see Jerry Callahan, her colleague and nemesis, holding up a small laser attached to his key chain, moving it back and forth so it skittered across the floor like a mad glowing insect. She rolled her eyes. “Must you be such a child?”
Jerry Callahan, major irritant and effortless charmer of old ladies, smiled slyly. “I suppose you think you’re all that now, don’t you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean, just because they’ve taken a sow’s ear and turned it into a silk purse for one night doesn’t make you Cinderella, now does it, darlin?’”
“Your professional jealousy is ridiculous and pathetic. If you want to give a talk to a group of our peers and sponsors, then maybe you need to have something to say. Right, darlin’?”
He gave her a tight smile. “Esme is searching for you. She probably wants to talk to you about that class you took. What was it? Oh, yes. How to Win Friends and Influence People. Slept through class, did you? Or did you even attend? All work and no play makes Sammi a dull, hard-to-get-along-with, coworker.”
She shot him a dirty look. “You know she hates you calling her anything but Dr. Yakima. So why do you persist? She’s going to fire you one of these days, you know.”
“Not likely. I have all the right degrees, say all the right things, and have exactly the right look.”
“Too bad all you can do is look pretty.”
“You think I’m pretty? Thank you, Dr. Ryan.” He ignored her snort, and studied her a long moment. “So, while I have your undivided attention, what are you working on? I know you’re up to something. I can tell. You always get that excited tone, and the look that on most women says they’re falling in love.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
He grinned and she hated that he really was good looking. Tall, dark-haired, green-eyed, and a nice smile. His GQ face was like his superpower or something. Luckily, she was now immune. He wasn’t as intelligent as Samantha, they both knew it, and it made his mask falter around her. She was the only one who could see through him.
“Your hair looks gorgeous, by the way.” Jerry lifted a hand, stopping short of touching the strands. “It’s a shame the way you usually scrape it back into a braid. It’s the one thing about you I absolutely love. It’s nice to see it down for a change. I’d like to see it all spread out. On a bed. Over me.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Yuck. Have you ever heard of sexual harassment? It looks like you should be the one to take a class.”
“What have you found, Samantha?” His tone hardened. “I know you’re onto something.”
“Whatever it is, I found it by doing intense research instead of schmoozing philanthropists.”
“You have found something. You just admitted it.”
She couldn’t help the smug smile. “You’re good at coming up with money? Well, I’m good at digging up truly significant historical finds. Which is more important, do you think?”
Jerry shot her a glare of sheer hatred.
Esme Yakima walked over, elegant in a short green dress and heels that showcased spectacular legs. “Children, I couldn’t help but overhear. You know the reputation of this fine institution is everything to me. I’ll not have you squabbling like spoiled brats in front of the guests. Now, if you don’t want to be sent home, permanently, then I suggest you learn to play nice.”
Samantha was indignant. “I didn’t start this, but I have a right to defend myself, don’t I?”
“You do.” Esme nodded once. “You certainly do. But do I really need to put up with this kind of behavior at the most important fundraiser of the year?”
Jerry smiled, charming, ingratiating, and managed to pull off an aw, shucks expression. “No, Ms. Yakima. I’m very sorry.”
Not about to be outdone, Samantha inserted, “I’m sorry too.”
“Thank you. Now Jerry, go see if you can charm Mrs. Ford out of a few more dollars for the University, will you? And Samantha, you need to go and mingle. You did a great job on your speech. Many of the sponsors want to talk with you, and you need to charm the folks reviewing your grant application. It’s time to put those classes to good work.”
Samantha tried to school her expression to one of reason and calm. “My expertise and abilities are the reasons you hired me. My ability to schmooze and charm have absolutely no bearing on my ability to do my job. I have to leave. I have somewhere to go.”
Jerry’s eyes narrowed again. He glanced at the door she’d been headed toward, the one that led to their offices. With a slight bow he wandered off to join a group of men and women who quickly made room for him, smiles all around.
Esme cleared her throat and, when she had Samantha’s full attention, leaned closer. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to stay here and do your part.”
“I already did my part tonight.” Samantha tried for forceful, but worried she sounded whiny instead.
“No. You only did half your job. Make no mistake, you have two distinct functions.” Esme smiled at a passing guest, then turned to look up at Samantha, her brown eyes direct and serious, all hint of a smile gone. “I’ve warned you repeatedly. You need to play the game better, or we might have to give you up.”
Samantha’s mouth slackened and her eyes widened. “I can’t believe you keep threatening to fire me over this.”
Esme glanced around. “I don’t want to, but if you can’t accept your responsibilities, we’ll find someone who can.”
Samantha’s stomach clenched and she glanced away.
“I need you to mingle with the guests and get us some donations. Talk to someone from the Van Werner Foundation about the grant you’ve applied for. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you aren’t replaceable. Everyone is expendable.”
Again, Samantha tried to stay calm and reasonable. “I’ve had more findings and more papers published than anyone else here.”
“So you have. But if you didn’t have the University’s resources how would you fly all over the world? Where would you present your findings? Think about it. We need you, but you need us too.”
“These threats are based on my inability to wear the right clothes? To say the right thing? Results don’t matter?”
Esme sighed. “Of course they do. But it’s more than that and you know it. We don’t want to lose you, but you don’t try to play well with others. This university runs on the old school premise that you rub my back and I’ll rub yours. Rich people like to be in the know. Smart people like to have rich people give them money. You’ve got to play the game, Samantha. What if you didn’t have our resources? And where do we get those funds?” Esme held out a hand, indicating the room.
“What about my vacation?”
“That doesn’t start until tomorrow so, luckily, you’ll have plenty of time to rest up if this evening takes too much out of you. Where are you going again?”
“Just taking a break,” Samantha mumbled.
Esme studied her face.
Samantha tried not to squirm. Esme didn’t know she was headed to Scotland and Samantha’s secrecy was coming back to bite her. She glanced at the clock on the wall. She had three hours until her flight and her suitcases waited in the car. She could change at the airport if she had to. “Fine. I’ll stay.”
Esme smiled and clapped her hands twice. “Okay, that’s the attitude. Now go and play nice and get us some money.”
“If I were a man you wouldn’t be saying these things,” Samantha said darkly. “You’d place an Indiana Jones hat on my head, shove me in some khakis, and let me be on my way.”
“Don’t be so sure. Even Indiana Jones cleaned up nicely for his university j
ob. Dress and act how you want on-site. Here, I want better.” Esme pointed across the room to where Jerry Callahan charmed an older couple. “Or do you like the fact that Jerry always wins at this?”
Samantha’s lips tightened. She knew Esme was manipulating her, but the challenge had the desired effect anyway. She could and would learn how to play the game. And if doing so upset Jerry, so much the better.
~~~
Socializing was exhausting.
Shoes in hand, Samantha headed down the hall toward her office. Her feet hurt, her mouth ached from smiling, and even her throat was sore from talking too much. She glanced over her shoulder at the deserted hallway, relieved to see no one followed. She was determined to pick up her laptop and head to the airport before anyone else waylaid her.
How did people do it? Why did people do it? Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves, and once she’d joined in a few conversations, they’d all wanted to talk to her, shake her hand, and ask what she was working on next.
As if she’d confide in any of them.
Then there’d been the guys propositioning her. That had been fun. One guy about her own age, with sweaty hands, and an insistence that he had some fossils to show her. In his bedroom. At his mom’s house. Yeah.
And the older gentleman who’d winked at her all night and promised to fund a future expedition had been a ton of laughs too. Ugh.
She just wanted to change her shoes, get out of the dress, and head to the airport. The thought gave her a spurt of energy and excitement. She looked at her watch and realized the redeye had been a brilliant choice. With Esme watching her throughout the night, judging her performance, forcing her to stay, an earlier flight time would have been a disaster.
As she walked down the darkened hallway and approached her office, she could see a line of light underneath the door. She was so methodical in her routine when leaving the office that she’d never left the lights on before. But what with this trip to Scotland coming up, she supposed she might have forgotten.
