by Gill, Tamara
Abby clasped his hand and caught his attention. “Why is it you’ve never asked me what I know of your history? I’m from the future. I know, should our roles be reversed, I wouldn’t hesitate to ask.” If she’d had the ability to know and change David’s future, know of his impending death, she would’ve done all she could to stop it.
He shrugged. “’Tis probably best that I don’t know, wouldn’t ye agree?”
“But what I could tell you could possibly help with your decision. It could help your clan and save you from making a mistake. Or save your life.”
“And is this one of those mistakes?”
Abby bit her lip, not sure if she should say anything or not. “You know that I was on vacation in the area before your sister brought me back here. I know a little about what happened to the family, the clan. You may not want to hear, after all.”
His face paled, and she worried that she was crossing some mysterious line of time travel etiquette.
“What do you know?”
It was the most bizarre conversation she’d ever had in her life. Abby said a little prayer that the future would remain as is even after she opened her mouth. “If it’s the battle I’m thinking of, the one you’re about to embark on, it’s known as the last clan battle between you and the O’Cains in Scotland. The history books state it took place in 1601 and was called Coire na Creiche. Both clans suffered heavy losses and the battle was one of the bloodiest ever told, but I cannot remember anything more particular than that.”
“And does my home fall to the O’Cains?” His voice was hard, cold, and for the first time the calculating mask of a Highland warrior settled on his features.
“This castle still stands today, and there is a laird, but I’m not certain if he’s a direct descendant of yours. I know there are massive casualties on both sides, Aedan. Something you can stop now, if you don’t go ahead with this.” Abby cringed. Telling Aedan this could possibly change the future. Who knew what disasters she’d wrought already?
He stood, leaving her to stand at the desk. “War is a risk.” He paced the length of the room, his stance one of thrumming tension. “But I canna let this go. The O’Cains will pay.”
She frowned. “And if you die, they win. Why fight, Aedan? Just stay here, enjoy your life, and the wonder of your Highland home.”
“What’s to stop them from doing this again? What if it’s a woman not as strong as Jinny? What if they kill the next woman they claim and not just maim her beyond repair? Our life is not as simple as enjoying the magnificence of Scotland and nothing else. I will not let this go.”
His voice brooked no argument, and she slumped down in his chair. Abby wasn’t sure if she should be horrified or pleased by his words. And the thought that she could lose Aedan in a similar fashion to how she’d lost David was too horrific to contemplate. “No one wins in war, and Gwen seems to think Jinny wouldn’t want this.”
“Don’t ye think I know that?” He paced the room, running a hand through his unbound hair. “But I cannot forget the fact that Jinny left here, hale and whole, and returned a broken woman with one eye missing.” He cursed. “What horrors did they inflict on her that she would lose her vision? It makes me sick to my stomach to imagine.”
Abby cringed, having not known her injuries were so bad. She had no family, so to worry, to care so much for a sibling was something Abby had never experienced. But seeing the pain etched on Aedan’s face she understood the love he had for Jinny and Gwen a little more. “I understand your anger, and I can see why you’d seek revenge. But what of everything you hold dear? You could lose everything. Your home and family. The wife you’re so determined to find. What’s the point of these Highland Games, if you’re only going to go off and fight a war?” He glared at her and she returned the gesture. “Don’t you think the O’Cains may be baiting you for a war? Perhaps they used your sister to spark your ire? I know you love your sisters, but I don’t think you should do it. I’m sorry, but that’s my opinion.”
“Well, ’tis good then that I didn’t ask for your opinion on the matter, isn’t it?”
Abby walked over to him, clasping his hand to stop his pacing. “You have a good life here, Aedan. Jinny is happy where she is. You should think of Gwen, of your people, and yourself. It’s time to let go of this hatred. Forget the O’Cains. I don’t want to leave and be worrying about you back here.” The anger she sensed thrumming through him abated a little and she smiled.
He shook his head. “So ye’d worry about me, lass? Perhaps I ought to declare war just so I know you’re thinking of me.”
Abby laughed at his teasing that edged toward real feelings. Something she couldn’t let happen. Aedan needed to be kept locked away in the “holiday fling” box, and nothing more. “I think you know I’ll never forget you, or my time here, and of course, I’ll worry about you when I leave. But your future is about to start, and it’s a future that although it doesn’t involve me, also shouldn’t involve war.”
Her reply caught his attention like she knew it would.
“I find my need for a wife has waned and certainly a wife who’s biddable—who is seen and not heard—is no longer what I desire.”
A warm glow spread within her. “You’re not allowed to fall for me, Aedan. It’s against the rules.”
“How can I not?” He clasped her jaw, tilting her face up to meet his. “The thought of ye leaving me rips my soul in two. I cannot imagine not seeing you next to me in the morn, to watch as you walk around the grounds, taking pleasure in my home as much as I adore you.”
Tears burned her eyes, and she blinked to clear her vision. “Don’t say that.” She pulled away, needing space from the man who consumed her every thought. Damn it. I’m never going to be able to keep him in a box. “Getting back to what’s important, I don’t think you should declare war on the O’Cains. I think it’s a mistake you’ll live to regret.”
He pulled her close to him again and nodded. “I’ll think on yer advice and I promise I’ll not act hasty or without thought.”
He kissed her softly, the barest touch that left her longing for more. He was saying what she wanted to hear, placating her.
“Come, we must join the games,” he said, walking toward the door. “A good sword fight is just what I need.”
She smiled, sensing his troubles were far from over. “Actually, now that you mention that, I need to ask something of you.”
“What is it?” he asked, walking over to where he kept his swords and a varied amount of knives.
“I need you to lose if you happen to face Clan Scot.”
Aedan slowly turned toward her, confusion marring his brow. “And why is that?”
“I haven’t told you this, but Mae Scot’s brother wants her to marry into Clan Kirk, some laird named Rory. Well, apparently, he’s horrid and she’s in love with someone else. The prize today is money, isn’t it?”
“Aye.” He crossed his arms, giving her his full attention.
Abby tore her gaze away from his magnificent pecs and back to his eyes. “If they win some money, it may grant her a little time. She’s petrified she’ll be left at Clan Kirk’s estate on their travels home.”
“I can understand her concern.” Aedan turned back to his swords and picked up the two he wished to use. “I’ll see what I can do. I canna promise ye I’ll lose, though, lass. It’s not in my nature to do so.”
“Well, there are some large men lined up for this competition today. You may not even make it past the first round.” Abby grinned at his glower. “Are you sure you’re up to it? You do seem a little older than the other men. I’d hate for you to get hurt.”
He scoffed at her words, but Abby could see the laughter in his eyes. “Ye worry is for naught. Come on,” he said, gesturing for her to join him at the door.
Abby took in his muscular shoulders, large hands that were strong and able. You’d be an idiot, indeed, to dismiss the might of a Scotsman with a steel blade in his hands. It made her feel a
little sorry for the men going up against him today, as it was obvious Aedan had a lot of pent up tension he needed to expel. But still, she hoped he would listen to her thoughts about the war. Even if only a little bit.
...
Aedan had fought through two opponents already, but the third, the eldest son of Clan Scot, was as large as a bear and strong. Sweat dripped off his forehead, his muscles burned blocking strike after brutal strike. He was supposed to lose this battle of his own accord, and yet the way he was faring, he’d lose, anyway.
The crowd swore and yelled for both of them, and Aedan knew the only way he’d win would be to keep moving, make the larger man exert more energy, and hopefully, make him more vulnerable.
But as the bout went on, it became apparent the warrior was desperate for the purse of money the event would wield. Aedan thought of the sweet lass Mae, who didn’t deserve to be married off to the brute, Rory Kirk. He shuddered at the thought of anyone being handfasted to such a man, who liked to use his fists more than his mouth.
Distracted by his thoughts, he didn’t see the strike that slipped along his sword and struck his arm. He tried to avoid the blade, but knew it was too late when he looked down and noted his arm gushing with blood.
He held up his hand to stop the bout. “Enough,” he said, clapping Alec on the shoulder and congratulating him. “You’ve won this day. Congratulations.”
Aedan smiled as the young man’s clan surrounded him, offering ale and congratulations of their own. He caught the worried attention of Abigail and watched as she stood as if to come to him.
He clasped the cut on his arm and headed toward the tents, needing it tended to. He sat on a wooden stool, pulled back his bloodied shirtsleeve, and cringed at the mess. He needed to concentrate more. Being distracted would kill him and he couldn’t let it happen again. Foolish mistake.
“Oh my God, look at your arm!”
He looked up as Abigail joined him, her brow puckered in worry. She swiped up a tunic that was lying on a nearby table, ripped it in two, and wrapped it about his wound.
“’Tis nothing a little stitching will not fix.”
“Your sister is coming.” She clasped his hand, stroking it in comfort. “What?” she asked when he chuckled at her ministrations.
“I’m fine, lass. Stop worrying so.” She frowned, and he had the overwhelming urge to kiss her scowl away, to make her forget his blasted wound, and to look after him in other ways. More pleasurable ways they’d both enjoy.
“It’s already bleeding through the bandage.” She looked outside, searching for Gwen.
“Abigail, I will not die from this cut.”
“Where is Gwen? She saw what happened to you. She should be here by now.”
Aedan grabbed her as she paced by and pulled her down to sit beside him. Not caring where they were, he slid a flyaway curl behind her ear. “Ye look beautiful when you’re worried. Did ye know that?”
She relaxed a little and threw him a lopsided grin. “I didn’t, no.” She applied pressure to his wound, the worry lines still marking her beautiful features. “If I had a cut like that I’d be flat on my back out cold.”
“Do ye mean ye would’ve fainted?”
“Absolutely.”
At that moment, Gwen strode in and busied herself preparing the bandages and stitching equipment. Aedan spied a bottle of whisky and asked Abigail to fetch it for him. She did, grabbing it quickly before seating herself next to him again.
Gwen grinned and he inwardly groaned. The last thing he needed was his sister starting to meddle in his private affairs. She’d meddled enough already.
“Do you think it’s a bad cut?” Abigail looked to Gwen, gasping as the makeshift bandage was removed.
“Nay. Aedan’s had worse and no doubt will again.”
He downed a large sip of whisky and prepared himself for the sting of the needle.
“You know, Gwen, if you pour alcohol over the wound it can help clean it and sterilize it at the same time,” Abigail said, while hovering over him like a worried wife. His sweet lass was a welcome distraction. She looked beautiful today, her gown of green velvet against her perfect creamy flesh made him want to slide it from her body and bask in the glory hidden beneath.
He swore when Gwen took Abigail’s advice. “For the love of all things Scottish, why did ye do that, woman?”
Gwen shushed him. “I trust what Abigail says, now do keep still.”
He met Abigail’s gaze. There was something innocently sweet about her. A kind soul, who although she had faced her own troubles and heartbreak, still remained true to herself. Only when they were alone did the sinful siren that lurked beneath her charm come out of hibernation.
The thought of her kiss, of how she pulled him against her, took her pleasure from his body, made him burn to taste her once more. To be alone and in private.
Black Ben stormed into the tent, sweat covered his brow and his hand sat atop his sword. The hairs on the back of Aedan’s neck rose. “What is it?” he asked.
“The men on the southern lookout have spotted Clan Kirk.”
“On their way to Druiminn? Why would they come here?” Aedan stood and his sister swore, pulling him back down. “Are ye nearly done, lass?”
“Nearly,” she said. “Just one more stitch.”
“The men have ye horse ready to ride out.”
“What about the ladies archery contest? Do ye still want to hold it today with ye leaving?” Gwen asked.
“Nay. We’ll postpone.” Aedan nodded toward his arm, hurrying Gwen as she quickly tied a bandage around his wound. He grabbed a tunic lying on the ground and threw it on before following Ben. Unable to help himself, he looked back at Abigail and saw the worry etched on her face. He hoped it wouldn’t be the last time he’d see the lass. Clan Kirk were as bad as the O’Cains, perhaps worse, because you never knew if the knife would be forward facing or in your back.
Chapter Fourteen
Abby paced the great hall, tonight’s meal a somber affair as Aedan and Black Ben, along with Braxton, hadn’t yet returned, which made Gwen quiet and withdrawn. They had taken approximately twenty armed clansmen with them. Surely, with such precautions, they would return to the castle without injury.
From what Abby could gather, the clan and laird coming from the south were the very epitome of cruel. To think the even-tempered Mae might be handfasted to such a man, made dread churn in her gut. Why her family thought it was a good idea to marry her off to a man who’d mysteriously lost his last fiancée was beyond her. They obviously had bats in their heads.
The castle doors flew open and slammed against the stone wall. The sounds of men bombarded the hall and everyone turned to see who’d entered. Aedan strode in, Black Ben beside him. They looked relaxed and happy and yet, something in Aedan’s eyes gave her pause.
It was an act.
The clansmen had long since eaten, and so she was warming herself in front of the fire when Aedan joined them behind the dais. He bowed and turned to introduce her to their newest guests.
“This is Rory Kirk, laird of Clan Kirk from the Lowlands,” he said, before stating her name.
Abby nodded in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you, my lord.”
Rory Kirk stared at her with an intensity that left her cold, and she shifted closer to Aedan.
“Is that what yer calling yourself these days, lass?” Laird Kirk laughed and some of his men joined in with his mirth.
Abby swallowed, unsure what he meant by that. “I beg your pardon. I don’t understand.”
“I hadn’t thought the rumors could be true, but it seems they are. Come, Coira, do not play me the fool. How is it you’re here?” The underlying tremble of anger she could hear in his voice told her he was angry, no matter how benign he was speaking outwardly.
But surely he didn’t think… “I’m not Coira. I’m Abigail Cross, as Aedan said.”
“I would’ve thought better of ye, Aedan. To house the very woman who dishonored a fe
llow Scotsman is treachery.”
“Ye mistaken, Rory. This woman is not your missing betrothed.”
Whispered gasps sounded and in Abigail’s peripheral vision she noted Aedan place his hand on his sword hilt.
“I’m sorry for your loss, but you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I’m not this Coira you speak of,” she said, not liking the tension that radiated around them.
“How can ye not be when you’re the very image of the lass who went missing from my lands six months past? Mayhap ye hair is different, and ye skin seems to have improved, but ye certainly look like her to me.” He too clasped his sword and fear spiked through her gut.
“I don’t know what else to say, sir, other than you’re wrong.” Silence ensued and Abby wondered how she could get herself into so much trouble with very little effort. She wracked her brain, trying to think of an ancestor who could possibly be this woman Coira, but having lost her parents at a young age, and then fostered out, her study of her family had been minimal.
“She isn’t who ye say, Rory, and I’d suggest ye stop stating such tales, less I take offense.”
Aedan pulled her behind him, and she went willingly. The other laird seemed to think about Aedan’s words and stepped back, laughing. “An honest mistake then.” He bowed toward her. “Please accept my apologies, Mistress Cross.”
She nodded, not willing to speak to the man again. He was well-built, with arms the circumference of both of hers put together. His face had a large, deep cut that had healed across his cheek, the corner of one eye a little droopy, probably resulting from nerve damage. The thought of anyone betrothed or married to this man left her chilled. There was nothing comforting about him. He was all hard angles, menace, and strength.
Brutal strength that she imagined had been one blow too many for his bride-to-be and he’d killed her. Making a scene tonight in front of all these people could well be a way to take care of the murder rumors that were following him all over Scotland.
And after meeting him, seeing him even now, glaring at her while speaking politely to those around him, as if nothing untoward had happened, she had no doubt his fiancée was dead.
