She cleared her throat. “He said they were after Claire. He told me to pretend to be her.” She looked at Grunt, who had gone eerily still. “He said they’d kill me if I told them I wasn’t Claire. They’ve been watching you for a while. That one”—she pointed at Reynard—“is being paid to take Claire to his boss. I don’t know who the boss is, though.”
Grunt stood slowly and seemed to morph into someone even bigger than his usual colossal size. He loomed over the men who’d attacked them, and Megan got the distinct impression he was a hair trigger away from turning their bodies into Swiss cheese.
Dimitri’s eyes were on Grunt. He wasn’t amused now. “I’ll tell you everything. Just as soon as I can stand. Buffy’s right—I’m one of the good guys.”
“We’ll see,” Grunt said. It was a clear threat. If Grunt didn’t like what he heard, Dimitri wouldn’t like the consequences.
Lake stood with a sigh. “Everyone back to the castle. Then we’ll sort this mess out.” He picked up the discarded weapons. Megan expected him to ask for the one she held, and was surprised when he didn’t.
“Just in case you need it, hotshot,” he told her.
Grunt bent over, lifted Reynard and tossed him over his shoulder as though he weighed nothing. He pointed at Dimitri. “You’re walking. Don’t try anything funny.”
Dimitri struggled to his feet. “Trust me, the last thing on my mind is anything funny. All I can think about is getting to an icepack.” Dimitri glared at Megan.
“Stop whining,” Megan said. “If you want ice, lie down and press your balls into the snow. You totally deserve the pain. I’d kick you again for caving after two seconds with Grunt, when I asked you questions for hours.”
“Face it, Buffy, the big guy is scary. You’re just amusing.”
Megan narrowed her eyes. “Now I really want to hurt you.”
Dimitri moved closer to Lake. “Keep her away from me,” he said as he limped towards the castle.
26
* Rainne and Alastair *
Alastair wasn’t out more than a few seconds. He came to, lying on the floor in the castle hallway as Joe was taking Rainne from his arms.
“Help, we need help,” Caroline shouted.
“She won’t wake up.” Alastair gasped for air. It was so damn hard to breathe. “She—”
“I got her, don’t worry. We need to warm her up.” Joe turned as more women rushed into the hallway. “Someone light the fire in the office. We need to warm them up. Caroline? Hot water bottles?”
“Of course. I’ll have to fill them from the hot water tap, but it’s better than nothing.” She rushed off.
Someone thudded to his knees at Alastair’s side.
“I’ll get blankets,” Kirsty shouted as she ran after Caroline.
Alastair panted through shallow, painful breaths as he looked up to find Ryan. “She.” Gasp. “Hit.” Gasp. “Her.” Gasp. “Head.”
“We’re on it.” Ryan pulled at Alastair’s shirt. “Looks like broken ribs. Probable punctured lung. He’s turning blue.”
“Rainne.” Pain made Alastair’s eyes close. His lungs flexed and he coughed, making it worse. His vision blurred.
Someone else came to his side. Alastair panted as he turned his head. Flynn. When did Flynn get here?
“I’ve got a comm line to Callum,” Flynn told Ryan. “Callum was a medic in the SAS. He’s digging a bullet out of some guy’s leg right now. He can tell me what to do.” He touched his ear. “Callum, we’ve got a problem here. Broken rib. Punctured lung, we think. We’re not sure.”
Alastair fought the urge to cough. Panic bit at him. He couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t enough air. Damn it, he was going to suffocate when he hadn’t sorted things with Rainbow.
He wrapped his fingers around Ryan’s arm, uncaring that his grip was tight.
“Rainne?”
“Don’t worry about her,” Ryan said.
“No.” Alastair coughed hard, but never let go of Ryan. “Rainne?”
“We’ve got her,” Margaret Campbell said from behind Ryan. “We’re warming her up. We think she’s still unconscious because she got too cold. Don’t worry about her. She’s going to be fine.”
Alastair relaxed slightly, and then lost consciousness for a few seconds as agony spiked through him.
“Blue around the mouth,” Flynn was saying when Alastair was able to focus again. Flynn was looking at his wife. “I need a scalpel and a sanitised tube.”
“I heard,” Caroline said as she appeared in Alastair’s view. “I’ll get you something.”
“What?” Alastair said. It hurt to talk. Hurt to breathe. He was drowning. It felt like someone was sitting on his chest and every short breath was pure agony.
“You’re going to be okay,” Flynn told him. “You’ll be breathing fine in a minute. Try not to panic.”
Aye, that was exactly what he’d do. Right after he punched Flynn for the stupid advice. His chest spasmed as the urge to cough hit him and he fought it.
“What are you going to do?” Abby sounded shaken.
“I need to insert a tube into his chest cavity, near his ribs. It will let the air out and take the pressure off his lung. Right now the air he’s sucking in is seeping out into his chest cavity and it has nowhere to go. The more air in the cavity, the less can get into the lung. That’s why he’s going blue, baby—he isn’t getting enough air. We need to relieve the pressure.” Alastair stared at Flynn as he smiled at his wife. “Callum is going to talk me through it. But it seems simple enough. It’s good practice for the future.”
“Flynn.” Abby rested her forehead against his for a second. “You’re going to be a vet.”
“Horses, people, same difference,” Flynn said.
“Not.” Gasp. “Reassuring.” The words sent Alastair into another hacking cough.
“Stop talking,” Flynn ordered. “Nothing you say is going to be helpful anyway.”
Alastair made a mental note to hurt Flynn Boyle once this was over. The ex-football player had it coming.
“Rainne is doing great,” Joe said as he crouched beside Alastair. “The head injury was small. Once she warms up, she’ll wake up.”
He sounded sure. Alastair wanted to believe him. Rainne had to be okay.
“Here.” Caroline rushed back into the hallway. She thrust a thick plastic drinking straw and a paring knife at Flynn. “That’s the best I can do.”
Flynn told Callum what they had then nodded to Caroline. “It’s good. I need antiseptic wipes and bandages.” He looked at Alastair. “I’m not going to mess with you. This will hurt. You can’t move. I’m going to get Ryan and Joe to hold you down. Don’t panic, okay? I can’t risk you jerking when I use the knife and causing more damage.”
“Do.” Gasp. “It.”
Joe secured Alastair’s legs while Ryan held his arms. He was trapped. Gasping for air. In agony. Trapped. He clenched his teeth hard and fought the instinct to struggle free.
“Now,” Ryan said to Flynn.
With no word of warning and no hesitation, Flynn put his hand on Alastair’s bruised ribs and came at him with the knife.
The pain was searing. Alastair tensed against the men holding him. His neck arched upwards. His teeth clenched hard enough to break, and a low growl came out of his mouth.
“I’ve made a small cut,” Flynn said. “The worst is over. Honest. I’m feeding the tube into the space. Nearly done.”
Although he knew the whole thing happened in a matter of seconds, it felt like a millennium. Abby handed Flynn the wipes, bandage and tape. Alastair felt the straw being secured to his side.
Alastair gasped in a breath and didn’t cough. His second breath was easier. The pain began to subside.
“Better,” he rasped.
And it felt like everyone in the room was breathing alongside him.
“You did good,” Abby said before kissing her husband.
“What. About. Me?” Alastair said, feeling lightheaded.
“You did good too.” Abby smiled down at him.
Alastair felt Joe and Ryan release his limbs. He didn’t move. He couldn’t move.
Flynn was talking to Callum through his headset. “The blue is fading. The rasp has gone, but we need a doctor and a hospital. He’s breathing better. And talking. No more coughing.” He grinned down at Alastair. “You’re going to be okay.”
Alastair couldn’t say anything. Once this was over he was going to punch the guy, then shake his hand for saving his life.
Flynn paused while he listened to Callum. He looked up at the women around them. Alastair hadn’t realised the hall was crowded. Most of the women from the hen night were staring down at them.
“Callum said he heard from Lake. They’ve got Megan. She’s fine. She’d freed herself before they got there.” He paused and grinned widely. “She shot her kidnapper in the backside.”
“That’s my girl!” Heather shouted, and then burst into tears. Caroline wrapped her arms around the woman and cooed to her.
“He also says that there are a couple of snowmobiles parked at the west entrance.” Flynn pressed another button and spoke again. “Lake, we have Rainne and Alastair in here. Collapsed lung. Broken ribs. Possible concussion. We need a doctor.” He waited, then nodded. “I’ll tell him.” Flynn turned to Ryan. “Can you go get a snowmobile and run into town to fetch the doc?”
“I’m on it.” Ryan ran from the room.
“You okay?” Joe said to Alastair.
He started to nod, but it hurt too much to move. “Aye. How’s Rainne, really?”
“You can ask me yourself,” said the voice he loved.
Alastair turned his head slightly to see Rainne rushing towards him. She was wrapped in a duvet and wasn’t steady on her feet. Jena was running after her, slowly, in her platform heels.
“She escaped,” Jena said. “She insisted on seeing Alastair, and when I turned my back she was gone.”
Rainne collapsed to her knees on Alastair’s left side. One hand poked out of her wrapping. She moved to touch him and then jerked back as though remembering her touch would be unwelcome. The pain of watching her uncertainty made Alastair ache more than all of his broken bones. Biting back a moan, he lifted his hand, took hers in his and wound their fingers together. Her eyes went wide as she watched him do it, then they went glassy with unshed tears. But she held him tight.
“I was unconscious,” she said softly. “When I woke up, you weren’t there.” Her eyes scanned down his body and she trembled. “There’s a pink plastic drinking straw sticking out of your side.”
“It’s Flynn’s fault,” Alastair said, pleased it no longer hurt to talk.
“Hey,” Flynn said. “I saved your ungrateful backside with that straw.”
“I’m grateful,” Rainne said. “I’m glad you saved him, Flynn.” A tear ran down her cheek and Alastair lifted his other hand to brush it away. Pain stopped him and he winced.
“Your wrist!” Rainne looked over at Joe. “Check his wrist. It was badly sprained before the blasts sent us flying.”
Alastair felt Joe gently pull back his sleeve.
“Yeah, it’s broken now.” Joe glared at Alastair. “Why didn’t you mention it?”
“I forgot,” Alastair said his eyes on Rainne.
Joe started muttering something about insane Scottish men, while he went to fetch something to splint Alastair’s wrist.
“This just goes to prove what I’ve been saying all along,” Margaret said. “There are no tougher men in the world than the Scots.”
“Aye,” Shona said. “The proof is in the wearing of kilts in winter. Takes a real man to do that.”
Rainne started to giggle, and Alastair felt his heart melt. He held on tight to his woman.
“Are you really okay?” he asked Rainne.
She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand. “I might have a teeny, tiny concussion. I feel a little bit nauseous. Apart from that, I just feel weak. I want to get warm and stay warm for the next sixty years.”
Alastair was grateful when the deep breath he took didn’t send him into agony. “I can help with that,” he said.
Rainne’s eyes shot to his and he watched her swallow several times. Everyone around them fell silent. Alastair hated being the centre of attention, but he didn’t want to break eye contact with Rainbow long enough to demand privacy.
“Alastair,” she whispered. “You’re injured. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
Joe knelt at Alastair’s other side and started bandaging up his wrist.
“This will hold it ‘til the doc gets here,” Joe said.
“Joe,” Margaret said. “Shut up, they’re being romantic.”
Alastair couldn’t help but smile. He was lying on his back, in the middle of a torn-up castle, with a plastic straw sticking out of his side, and Margaret was worried about romance. Now he knew where Kirsty got her flair for the dramatic.
“We’ll talk about this when you’re better.” Rainne’s cheeks flushed under the attention.
“I think we should talk about it now.” Alastair bit back a curse as Joe was less than gentle with his wrist.
“Aye, now is a good time,” Margaret said.
Rainne glanced at the woman before shaking her head.
“Later,” she told Alastair. “We’ll talk when you know what you’re saying.”
Alastair wanted to object, but he held his tongue. What he wanted to say to Rainne was better said in private. In a room with a bed. A nice, big, soft bed. He smiled at his girl as his eyes slowly closed.
27
* Lake *
The castle was in chaos. There were people everywhere. Lake was pleased to note that his friends had taken Matt’s orders to heart and hadn’t inflicted any life-threatening injuries on the fools who’d assaulted them. That didn’t mean the guys weren’t suffering. He almost smiled when he realised the women of Knit Or Die had forgone their usual caring attitudes and were administering first aid without dealing out pain meds.
“I know it hurts,” he heard Shona say as he passed her in the kitchen. “But that’s what you get for attacking my friends. You’re a big tough guy, right? If you’re tough enough to attack a bunch of unarmed women, you’re tough enough to deal with this.”
He scanned the dining room as he moved through it, making sure every captive was secured. There was nothing to do but guard the men until the police from Fort William took them off their hands.
“This is why there should be more cops in town,” Matt grumbled at his side. “Things like this keep happening. This town is too much for one man.” He glared at Lake. “Although it never used to be until you foreigners started turning up. I blame you for all this. You started the trend.”
“As Shona said, you’re a big tough guy, suck it up.” Lake almost smiled at Matt’s silent, one-fingered reply.
Jena squealed when she walked into the kitchen and spotted Matt. She ran in her stripper shoes and threw herself into his arms.
“You didn’t get shot,” she told him. “I’m so proud.”
Matt grinned at his crazy wife, picked her up until she’d wrapped her legs around his waist and left the room with her.
Lake wandered through the house until he found Kirsty in the grand room. She was standing alone, and dejected, in the middle of what was supposed to be their wedding venue. To his shame, Lake hadn’t seen any of the plans for their ceremony. And now he was seeing it for the first time in the aftermath of a battle. Bullet holes gouged the cream and gold wallpaper. The bay windows were shattered. Tattered purple material was strewn about the floor. There was snow and mud on the cream carpet. The white material covering the chairs was torn and filthy, and some of the chairs were broken.
“This is a sign,” Kirsty said, letting him know she’d heard him come in. “The last in a long line of signs.” She turned to him. Her eyes were glassy with tears. “We shouldn’t have organised this wedding. We shouldn’t be getting married at all.”
>
To hell with that.
Lake closed the distance between them in three long strides. He wrapped his arms around his woman and his mouth covered hers. She was alive. She was fine. She was his. Lake kissed her for every minute they’d been apart these past few months. He kissed her for every second he’d feared he would never see her again. He kissed her with everything he had, body, mind and soul. Letting her know, by touch, by taste, that he was hers. Always hers.
With a low moan in the back of her throat, Kirsty wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight. Their kiss was brutal. Tongues, lips, teeth clashing in a desperate tango of need. Lake swallowed each sound she made with pride.
He backed her through the debris until she was pressed against the inner wall. Snow swirled through the destroyed windows behind him. The temperature of the air plummeted with each minute the room was exposed to the elements. Lake didn’t care about any of it. He was on fire for the woman he loved.
“I need you,” he said against her lips. “Now.”
“I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”
Her words were an arrow to his heart. “Daft woman. I leave you alone for five minutes and your imagination goes wild.”
“Not five minutes, three months. Three months of you absent in every way except bodily.”
The pain in her eyes said everything she didn’t put into words. He’d hurt her. Neglected her. Let something else become more important than the woman he loved. Never again. He tugged on her hair to arch her neck, nuzzling in the curve of her throat, breathing her scent and revelling in it.
“I’ve missed you,” Kirsty said on a moan.
“I’m here now.” He nipped the tight muscle at the top of her shoulder, making her weaken in his arms.
“We haven’t made love in three months,” she whispered. “I thought you didn’t want me.”
Want her? What he felt went beyond want, beyond need into the realm of desperation. He wound his fingers through the russet-coloured curls that swept over her shoulder. He’d met her when her hair had been pixie short and she had been the most beautiful woman on the planet. Now, she was devastating. All long limbs, glorious curves and flowing red locks that made him weak at the knees.
Here Comes the Rainne Again Page 17
