by Bess McBride
I looked down at Mrs. Mackay’s hands behind her back. She pointed with her index finger, repeatedly jabbing it in the direction of the door. Without hesitation, I lifted the latch, pulled open the door, grabbed Igrid by the arm, and we tumbled out the door and onto the ground. I heard Mrs. Mackay screech, and I screamed for Iskair.
“Iskair!”
Igrid and I struggled to our feet when the men at the gate turned. I screamed again. Iskair stood up, took aim and raised his other hand to signal that Igrid and I should drop. I pulled her down, covered her head with my body and heard the gunfire report.
Someone cried out, and I looked up to see Angus falling. Two more shots rang out, and the men with Angus fell on top of him. I jumped up and ran back inside to see Mrs. Mackay pushing herself up to a sitting position.
“Are you hurt?” I asked, kneeling beside her.
She ran a hand to her cap to straighten it. “Nay, lass. They only pushed past me. What has happened?”
I rose again and looked out. Iskair and John ran across the courtyard. Torq and Andrew continued firing down from the gate, though the returning pistol shots dwindled.
Given Iskair’s hobbling, John reached Angus first and rolled the men off him. He turned Angus’s lifeless body over and poked it with the tip of his sword. I heard a cessation of firing and looked up to see Torq and Andrew patting each other on the shoulders, as if the battle was over. Other Morrison men raised their pistols and swords in victorious gestures.
“He is dead,” John said in a bemused voice. “Angus Macleod is dead.”
Chapter Eighteen
Iskair reached us and scanned me from head to foot before turning to the two Macleods on the ground. He knelt down and shook each one, but both had been shot through the heart.
“Yer shot was true,” John said to Iskair. Iskair looked over at Angus. “I thank ye,” John continued. “I was reloading, else I would have killed the man myself.”
“Aye, I ken his death was yer right,” Iskair replied.
John looked up and surveyed the courtyard wordlessly. He then turned to eye the tower behind us. Torq and Andrew approached.
“It is over,” John murmured. “Ardmore is ours once again. Now we must go find the women and bairns.”
Iskair rose, and the group of men embraced. The rest of the Morrison men made their way to the courtyard, still cheering. I looked over my shoulder to see Mrs. Mackay coming out the front door. She stopped beside Igrid and me, staring down at the bodies with a satisfied nod.
Iskair pulled away from the men and approached us. “Were any of ye harmed?”
I shook my head, as did Igrid.
“Angus Macleod will no harm anyone again, that is certain!” Mrs. Mackay said with pursed lips.
John said something in Gaelic, and some of the men moved forward to pick the bodies up, carrying them in the direction of the stables.
“I must find cook and dig her out of wherever she has hidden,” Mrs. Mackay said. “Igrid, if ye still wish to keep yer position, come help in the kitchen. We have men to feed.”
Iskair and I watched the women leave. Suddenly shy, I could hardly look at him, instead staring down at my clasped hands. Iskair’s broad hands closed around mine, and I lifted my head.
“I expect we will leave as soon as the men have eaten,” he said.
“Without rest? You must be exhausted!” I exclaimed.
“I am,” he said with a nod. “As are we all, including ye.”
“I want to go with you,” I said spontaneously.
“Nay, lass. Ye must stay here.”
“Why? Why can’t I come?”
John, Torq and Andrew were on the point of passing us to enter the tower. John paused.
“Bring the lass, Iskair. I am sure she frets about Dylan. If there is to be a battle, ye can set her aside somewhere.”
Iskair dropped his hands, and his face tightened. John either didn’t see his expression or ignored him, and he entered the tower followed by Torq and Andrew. The other men joined them.
“Dylan,” Iskair muttered. “Do ye fret about Dylan?”
“I’m worried about everyone, Iskair! Everyone! And yes, I’m worried about Dylan. What if they killed him? Why would they keep a male alive, a potential combatant?”
Iskair turned from me. “As ye wish. Ye will want to tell the laird that yer ‘brother’ is no such. Else ye are lying to him, and I am certain he would no care for that.”
“You know what, Iskair?” I stared. He turned back to look at me, his brown eyes dark as coal. “John already knows that Dylan isn’t my brother. He’s known about us, about time travelers, for a long time. Either Ann or Cynthia told John and Torq about Dylan over the past year.”
A muscle in Iskair’s jaw ticked. “But Ann and Cynthia did no share a bed wi the man, did they?”
I gasped at his forthrightness. “Iskair!”
But I protested to his back as he swung away and strode into the tower. Aghast and at a loss for words, I hugged myself, stared up at the sky and wished myself gone. I thought Iskair and I had come so far, had dealt with the differences between the sixteenth century and the twenty-first century, but it seemed we had not. He still judged me, and there was nothing I could do about it.
Igrid appeared at my side.
“The laird says that ye are to accompany them. Ye must eat if ye are to ride out wi the men. Will you no come inside?”
She looked up at my face. “Auch, mistress. Ye are crying. I see the anger on Iskair’s face. He sits alone and eats his food.”
I hunched my shoulders but couldn’t hide my tears.
“We are so different, so very different,” I mumbled.
“I dinna ken that ye are, no from what I have seen. He is unhappy. Ye are unhappy. I have seen the love between ye. I am certain this is just a misunderstanding.”
I turned to look at her, still wondering how the mousy maid had hidden the spunky and wise woman within.
“Have you?” I asked.
“Mistress?”
“Seen love?”
“Aye, that I have. I dinna ken Iskair verra well at all, no to speak to, but I have watched him for many years. He always seemed different than the Macleod men, than the Macaulays. I have never seen him wi a woman and never seen him look at a woman the way he looks at ye.”
I blinked, and redness flooded my cheeks. Igrid’s words touched my heart.
“Oh, goodness!” was all I could say.
“Will ye come and eat?”
She tugged at my arm, our recent experiences allowing us some familiarities, and I allowed her to lead me into the great hall.
Mrs. Mackay bustled around, serving hungry Morrisons. I looked over at Iskair, sitting at a table by himself.
“Sit wi him,” Igrid urged. “I will bring ye a plate.”
She moved away, and I hesitated. Iskair kept his head down. With a pounding heart, I walked toward his table and sat down, not across from him, but next to him. He looked up, startled.
“Look—I don’t know how you feel about me. Sometimes I think it’s not too good, but...” I took a deep breath. “I love you. I have never loved anyone the way I love you, Iskair.”
Iskair dropped his fork in his plate with a clatter. He swung his leg over the bench, turning to face me. With a glance over my shoulder at the rest of the room, he took my hands in his and brought them to his lips.
“This is no the time nor the place, but I love ye too, Debra. I have been so jealous of yer time wi yer ‘brother’ that I have judged ye unfairly. I ken customs are different in yer time, but it disna appease my green heart. Still, I would rather have ye wi me than lost to me because I am a foolish, envious man. I love ye too, wi all my heart.”
He kissed my folded hands again and released them just as Igrid arrived with a plate of food. The maid beamed but said nothing as she left.
“Will ye no consider staying behind?” Iskair asked, eyeing me with unreserved warmth.
“I thought you want
ed me to be with you,” I teased.
“Aye, I did say so.” He chuckled. “Then ye shall come wi me.”
I grinned and tried eating my food, but my stomach was too keyed up to handle more than a few bites. From under my lashes, I peeped at the man to whom I had declared my love. Ruggedly handsome with great winged eyebrows, thick chocolate curls and a matching silky beard, I wondered how I’d managed to fall in love with a sixteenth-century Scot.
If I hadn’t known before as an archaeologist how hard life was in the sixteenth century, I certainly knew now. Hadn’t I seen it for myself? Hadn’t I seen the violence, bloodshed and general lawlessness, not to mention the lack of clean water and modern medicine? Was I prepared to spend the rest of my life in the medieval era?
Iskair turned one of his bright even-toothed smiles on me, and I melted. The warrior who often terrified me warmed my heart when he gazed at me with tenderness. My world had grown much more complicated than I’d ever expected, and I hoped I had the strength of character to cope with it. Traveling through time wasn’t for the fainthearted; falling in love with a historical man wasn’t going to be for the fragile soul.
I returned Iskair’s smile with a trembling one of my own, and he took my hand again and kissed it discreetly before returning it to my lap.
We finished our meal in silence, and I wondered if Iskair was as bemused as I. As we rose to leave, Mrs. Mackay and Igrid reappeared in the hall with a pile of clothing. I noticed that Igrid had changed her dress.
“Some of ye canna continue on as ye are, those of ye who misused the latrine. I have found some trews and shirts for the men—ye ken who ye are. As time is short, ye may change here in the hall this once. Igrid, take the mistress to a bedroom.”
I chuckled to see Mrs. Mackay handing out clothing to John, Torq, Andrew and a few other men. Igrid came to our table and set down some clothing for Iskair to change into.
With a last look at a smiling Iskair, I followed Igrid up the stairs to the room I had been locked into. She had laid out a shift, plain blue skirt and a beige bodice. She helped me undress and tossed my discarded clothes in a pile on the floor.
“I’d kill for a bath,” I said, running over to the dresser and washing my hands and face with the now cold water and soap. I remembered seeing a chamber pot under the bed and verified it was still there. I could have used the latrine, I supposed, but I had no intention of ever going into that room again.
“Ye may have a bath, but it would take time to heat water,” Igrid said. “There are several tubs in the castle.”
“No, I can’t wait. They’re not going to wait for me, and I don’t blame them. This will have to do. Do you mind if I use the chamber pot? Could you turn around?”
Igrid turned her back, and I availed myself of the chamber pot, then pushed it back under the bed. I missed indoor plumbing already.
Igrid helped me dress, the clothing loose and fulsome. She couldn’t tighten the bodice properly.
“Is this Mrs. Mackay’s clothing?” I asked.
“Aye, I dinna have any spare skirts, and I ken I must be smaller than ye.”
I looked at Igrid’s petite frame. I was definitely more full figured than her, but quite a bit smaller than Mrs. Mackay. Still, the clothing would have to do.
“Okay! I’d better go!” I said, my skirts dragging the ground. I rolled up the too-long sleeves of the shift and hurried after Igrid.
Upon arrival in the hall, I saw most of the men had finished changing, but a few still buttoned trews and shirts. Iskair was just at the point of buttoning the front of his trews and had not yet donned his shirt.
My jaw dropped at the scars on his chest, arms and back. The dark curls on his broad chest and muscled stomach couldn’t hide the obvious evidence of continued warfare, and I was reminded once again of the violence inherent in the sixteenth century, of seeing Iskair kill a man with his sword.
I banished the thoughts and approached him. He noted my presence and quickly slipped the shirt over his head, tucking it into his trousers. He looked just as handsome in pants as he did in a kilt.
“Ye look bonny,” he said with a smile.
“Mrs. Mackay was kind enough to share her clothing with me.” I pretended not to notice the bagginess of the garments.
“That would explain why I canna see yer braw figure any longer.”
I blushed and dropped my eyes to watch him buckle his belt and the strap that held his sword. He stuck his pistol inside the front of his belt.
Before we filed out of the great hall, Mrs. Mackay handed out several cloth-covered baskets to the men with instructions to save the food for the women and children.
Once out in the courtyard, John issued instructions to the men in Gaelic. I watched as some of the men replaced those on guard in the barracks. Others headed for the stables to bring out horses. Iskair took my hand and led me to a horse, helping me to mount. I insisted on sitting astride, and he didn’t argue but favored me with another wide smile.
“I don’t really have much experience riding horses,” I said warily.
The horse’s ears flicked as if he heard me and would be happy enough to throw me at the first opportunity.
“We dinna have spare horses. My horse can ride no more today, so we will take this one. I will ride behind ye.”
Iskair pulled himself up with a wince and wrapped his arms around me to take the reins. Unlike my horrid ride with the vile Dugald, I luxuriated in Iskair’s arms, especially now that we both wore clean clothing. He laid his head against the top of my hair.
“Aye, yer scent. Did I tell ye how lovely ye smell?” he whispered in his deep baritone.
He nuzzled the top of my head, and I wondered if I would faint from the heady sensation. I pressed back against him and felt his heart beat against my back as we moved out. John and Torq led the men and set a slow pace.
I didn’t expect that we would gallop, but I did wonder at the walk.
“Where are we going exactly?”
“John and Torq spoke of returning to Knockbost Castle and tracking the party from there. We dinna ken where they are or could have got to.”
“But you think they’re still prisoners of some of the Macleods?”
“Well, I dinna think the women likely subdued their captors.”
Chapter Nineteen
We traveled for hours without stopping, and I fell asleep in Iskair’s arms—something I never thought I could do. The sensation of resting against his broad chest was anything but sleep provoking, but despite my keyed-up state, my eyes closed.
“Lass.”
I heard a delightful whisper against my ear. Eyes closed, I turned toward his mouth. His lips caressed my cheek.
“We approach Knockbost Castle,” he said.
I blinked and opened my eyes wide. Indeed, I could see the top of the castle’s garret in the distance above a tree line. To our left lay the bay. John appeared to be leading us into the forest. We followed, and once there, the men dismounted to chat in Gaelic.
Iskair helped me slide down off the horse before joining the group. They spoke for a few moments in hushed voices.
He turned back to me. “Ye must stay here. I will no task ye to watch the horses, but they remain here wi ye. We are few and have need of Andrew.” He grinned and caressed my cheek with his hand.
I could have purred...had I not been so worried.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Andrew tying the horses up to trees.
“You want me to stay here alone?”
“Ye will be safer here than wi us. I have to have my wits about me, and I canna think straight when ye are near.” He flashed me another bright smile and touched my lips with his fingers. “But more importantly, I need to have ye safe. Stay here.”
I nodded dumbly, my lips still tingling.
Iskair joined the men and Andrew, who moved stealthily through the forest toward the castle ruins. I looked at the horses, casually snacking on whatever grass they could find, and tried to relax.
If the horses weren’t spooked, then I wasn’t...shouldn’t be.
I found a tree a few feet away from the horses, and I settled down at the base of it. I crossed my arms, hugged myself and listened carefully for the sound of gunfire, shouts or screams. At the first sign of any, I was running toward the castle.
All I heard though was the leaves rustling overhead. A horse snorted. My stomach growled. It was eerily quiet, and I remembered the last time I’d hidden in a forest—Dugald had grabbed me.
I pressed my back against the wide tree trunk and scanned the forest. Nothing. I bit my lip, a sense of foreboding creeping over me.
When a hand slid across my face, I should have been ready for it, but I wasn’t. I clawed at the hand covering my eyes, my mouth, and struggled to rise.
“Shhhh, Debra!” a voice hissed. I stilled. Who knew my name? I pulled the hand away to see Dylan crouched at my side, looking not at me but at the horses.
“Whose horses are those?”
“Dylan!” I cried out.
The horses startled and sidestepped.
“Shhhh! Quiet! Where did you go? Whose horses are those?”
“The Morrisons! Dylan! Where have you been?”
I threw myself at him, awkwardly bowling him over. We fell together in a tangled mess.
“Where have you been?” he exclaimed.
“I dinna ken what to think about the pair of ye,” a voice growled nearby.
I scrambled to my feet, as did Dylan. Iskair approached, his face set in disapproving lines. He came to my side and pulled me to him, though not roughly.
Dylan’s eyes widened as he looked at us.
“Where did ye come from?” Iskair asked Dylan. “Dinna tell me ye abandoned the women and children?”
“I did no such thing,” Dylan said, straightening to his full height. He was as tall as Iskair, but nowhere near as sturdy. “What is going on here?” He nodded toward Iskair’s arm around my waist.
“Matters that no longer concern ye,” Iskair said. “Where are the women and bairns?”
