by Mariah Stone
She took one long stride into the room and stood right before him. She handed him the crutch. He took it and slowly looked up her body to her face. She was like a Highland queen from ancient legends, with her big, green eyes against her pale skin. Her cheeks were rosy from the exercise, and her lips were round and red. He itched to trace his knuckles against the side of her face. She didn’t wear makeup—and she didn’t need any. Long, thick eyelashes framed her eyes, and her lips were so kissable.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said without thinking.
She froze, and her eyes widened in shock. Her cheeks blazed instantly, as red as a sunset over the ocean. She stepped back, and… Was it fear that crossed her face? One hand clutched at her neck, and she stared at him in horror.
What the hell did I say?
She blinked, and her hand went to the sword on her belt. “If ye touch me, or any woman here, I swear to God, ye will need a crutch forever, because ye’ll be missing a leg. Or something else that ye’re thinking with right now.”
Seeing her reaction was like running into a cold, hard wall. He’d seen that very look on his mother’s face. The look of a hurt, baited animal. There was fear and helplessness in her eyes that he’d felt as a young boy, too.
His mother had dated Jerry for a few months, and eight-year-old Konnor had accepted the man who bought him toys and made a great sloppy joe. Konnor had been ready to protect his mother, just like his father had asked him to before he died in the hospital two years before that, but there hadn’t seemed to be anything to protect her from with Jerry.
One night, she’d come home with bright, shiny eyes and a ring on her finger.
“Sweetheart,” she said to him as she tucked him in that night. “Jerry asked me to marry him, but I said I wouldn’t say yes unless you agree, too.”
“What does that mean?” Konnor asked. “If you marry him, how will our life change?”
“Well…” She took his hand in both of hers and kissed it. “For one, we’d move into his house. He has a big pool and a giant backyard, and he’s promised to buy you a car that you can drive there and even a big tractor.”
She meant a battery-charged car and the toy tractor he’d been begging her to buy. Konnor’s chest lightened with excitement. “Really?”
“Yeah.” She smiled that excited, slightly exaggerated mom-smile of hers. “Really. It also means we can go on vacations, and I can quit my job and stay at home to help you with your homework more and make you really great dinners every night.”
Konnor didn’t think there was anything wrong with microwave dinners and his mom coming home and telling him excitedly of her day working as a manager of their local supermarket. She liked organizing things and liked talking to people every day. After his dad died, it seemed like that helped her get through everything.
But Konnor wanted to make her happy, and so he said, “Yeah, Mom. You should say yes to him.”
A couple of weeks later, Konnor and his mom moved into Jerry’s house. Soon after, Konnor woke up one night from loud yelling and screaming coming from downstairs. He walked out of his new room, still empty of the posters and pictures he wanted to put up, and stepped barefoot on the softest carpet he’d ever stepped on, his heart beating fast and furious.
He froze on the stairwell, clutching at the polished wooden railing with both his hands.
“Don’t you dare question my authority,” came Jerry’s booming voice. Standing at the bottom of the stairs on the first floor, Konnor couldn’t see them both in the living room on the ground floor, only their feet. The lights reflected off the hardwood floor next to Jerry’s huge feet in black socks. “Especially not in front of your son. He should learn to listen to me. He should do as I say. I’m his new father.”
“You’re not his father, Jerry. He loves his dad—”
Slap.
The sound of Jerry hitting his mother rang out loudly through the opened doors. She fell on the beige couch—and her face came into Konnor’s view, full of surprise and shock. That wasn’t the look he’d seen on Marjorie’s face though. The hopeless, helpless look that Marjorie and his mother shared had come later. Konnor stood still, in shock, unable to understand what had just happened, not knowing how to react.
“Jerry—” His mother held a hand to her cheek.
Jerry didn’t let her finish. He sank to his knees in front of her and took her hands in both of his. “I’m so sorry, hon. I didn’t mean to. I had a couple of scotches, and when I drink, I can’t control my emotions. It’s just that Konnor makes me angry when he’s so cold towards me.”
Konnor wasn’t exactly cold. Yeah, there was this distance between them, but Konnor couldn’t just replace his dad with Jerry. He didn’t want to do things like kick around a soccer ball with him, because that was something he and his dad had done together.
His mom had forgiven Jerry. They kissed, and Konnor returned to his room, still unable to sleep.
“Take care of your mom, son,” His father’s last words to him kept spinning in his head. But he hadn’t taken care of her. He’d just let Jerry hit her. His father would never have done that.
It had taken a month for him to start seeing Marjorie’s expression on his mother’s face. A fleeting panic, a tension and withdrawal, as though expecting a hit. His mom had never been the same. Even after Jerry died, she never fully recovered, and that’s why Konnor had to go back to L.A. as planned.
Damn it! Marjorie had been hurt. Something bad had happened to her. Something bad that he was too familiar with. He itched to find the guy that had dared to put that look in her eyes and beat the living shit out of him. But the best way to deal with victims of violence wasn’t to press. It was to make sure they knew they were safe.
“I’m sorry.” He put his hands up. “You have nothing to fear from me. I only meant it as a compliment.”
She swallowed and breathed deeply. Her eyes were like two dark-malachite gemstones.
“Dinna ever look at me like that again,” she said.
Konnor’s jaw ticked. He hated that she could even assume he was anything like Jerry. “All right.” A cold shiver went through him. “Is someone bothering you in the castle?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Here? Nae! ’Tis my home. ’Tis my clan. They’ll all die before they let harm come to me or another woman here. As I will for them.”
He liked that, the Highland code of honor. He’d been ready to die for the men in his unit, was still ready to die for Andy. So maybe he and Marjorie weren’t that different.
“Okay, okay. But if you suspect anything or anyone, you tell me, okay?”
“I dinna need any protection from ye,” she said, although there wasn’t any of the previous spirit in her tone. “My brothers and father have trained me to be a warrior. I’m capable of defending myself. In fact, I am the one who supervises the training of the men while my father and brothers are not here.”
Konnor blinked. A warrior? She did look athletic and wore her sword confidently, as though it had always belonged to her.
Wow.
He couldn’t help being more attracted to her with each passing moment, despite her threats. He ran his hand through his hair. “Great. I’m sure you’re more than capable of defending yourself. You look like you know what you’re doing.”
“Aye.”
Konnor used the crutch to pull himself to a standing position. “I’m going to look around,” he said.
Marjorie threw him a hard look and shook her head. “I still dinna ken if I believe ye or nae. If ye’re with the MacDougalls and are here to spy for them—”
“I’m not with the MacDougalls. I’m not with anyone. Just my buddy Andy.”
She sighed. “I may regret this, but ye have my permission to leave yer room. Every man in the castle has been warned about ye. One wrong move, and they are allowed to render ye harmless by whatever means necessary.” She looked at his ankle. “Ye canna get far on one leg anyway.”
If they’d met in another t
ime and place, he would’ve asked her out on a date. Banter with her and enjoy a little playful flirtation. And if the chemistry between them was there, which he was sure it was, he might even get to take her on a very long and delicious climb towards a mind-blowing orgasm. He’d like to show her that not all men caused women pain. That if she would let him, he would only ever bring her pleasure.
The thought surprised him. He didn’t date. He didn’t want a woman in his life.
Maybe just for one night.
But he couldn’t sleep with and then abandon someone like Marjorie. It was best he didn’t think about her that away.
“Deal,” he said and cleared his throat, trying to chase the images of her naked body out of his head.
“Ah, yer strange words again.” She turned and went to the door, leaving the scent of wild flowers and leather in the air. “I must continue training the warriors. Forgive me if I dinna give ye a tour.”
She left, and Konnor stood there for a moment, inhaling her scent again. Why was he so attracted to her? She was exquisite, strong and fragile at the same time, but she’d made it clear she wasn’t interested.
He shook his head. Best just stop thinking of her.
Using the crutch, he slowly made his way towards the door. The crutch was a little short for him, but it was better than nothing. It would just take some getting used to. The way down the round stairs was challenging, that was for sure. The crutch slipped several times on the smooth stone, but by some miracle, and after several close calls, he made his way down. He stepped out of the tower and into the dirt-packed courtyard.
The chaotic sound of metal against metal rang out through the yard. Thirty or so people fought with swords against each other in pairs. They were all dressed like Medieval warriors with long, belted tunics or quilted coats, breeches or trousers, pointy leather shoes. All were men, save one.
Marjorie.
Konnor’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. She was graceful and strong. She cut and stabbed with precision and elegance. When her partner thrust his sword at her, his giant muscles bulging, she twisted out of his reach like a spinning top and slashed her sword at him, stopping right before it reached the man’s side.
She stole Konnor’s ability to breathe. Not only was she gorgeous, but she was strong, and kind, and brave. She was like Joan of Arc on the front lines, fighting for others. He’d never seen anyone quite like her. Something boiled inside Konnor’s chest, trembling and vibrating.
And that was bad.
He should get out of here, get far away from her as soon as he could. He didn’t need more mess in his life than he had already. There was no woman in his future because he would never be a good husband or father after what he’d seen growing up. All he could offer a woman was a good fuck and a brooding face. He was done hurting women emotionally.
Chapter 8
In a downward stroke, Marjorie pummeled Muir’s raised sword like a blacksmith. Her shoulders and arms were on fire from the exercise. Sweat covered her whole body. And through it all, she felt Konnor’s gaze on her skin like the caress of a cool breeze.
“You’re so beautiful.” His words rang in her head again and again. She was flattered. No one had told her anything like that since she’d come back from Dunollie. She didn’t think he’d meant to offend her. But even the reminder that she was a woman and he was a man who might want her triggered memories of that week with Alasdair.
Aye, she’d reacted too harshly. All he’d done was compliment her and look at her like a man looked at a woman he wanted. She’d seen it between husbands and wives, between lovers, between her brother Craig and his new wife, Amy, when she and Colin had gone to Inverlochy about two sennights ago.
Konnor’s look hadn’t been malicious. It would ignite desire in a regular, undamaged woman. Especially from a man like Konnor.
Malcolm brought his blade down and from the side. Marjorie barely managed to deflect his sword.
“Stay in the fight.” Owen’s words rang out in her head. Her half-brother had told her that over and over again in the first year of her training after Colin was born. “Stay in the fight. Dinna slip back into that dark, dangerous place ye’ve just crawled out of.”
Owen was four years younger than her. He was a rebel and a rake and made their father frustrated enough to pull out his hair, but Owen had always been there for her. He and Isbeil were the two people who’d gotten her out of the bottomless pit of desperation she’d been trapped in.
He’d distracted her with tall tales and even made her laugh once in a while. During her whole pregnancy, she’d refused to believe there was a part of that monster inside of her. She hadn’t wanted anything to do with the baby, and she’d even considered asking Isbeil to give the bairn to a good family in one of the Cambel villages.
But she hadn’t. The moment the baby was placed on her chest, she’d known there was not a drop of Alasdair in him. He was pure and beautiful and hers. Her son. Hers alone. He was a Cambel through and through. And that had been the start of her healing. In a way, her son had saved her.
She stepped forward, stopping just short of smashing the pommel of her sword into Malcolm’s face.
“Aye. Good, lass,” Malcolm said, breathing heavily, his wrinkled forehead glistening with sweat. “In a real battle, that unexpected move might be why ye win.”
Marjorie panted, too. She leaned forwards and put her hands on her knees.
Real battle… A chill ran through her.
“I’ll ken what a real battle is sooner rather than later,” she said.
Aye, she’d know whether she wanted to or not.
Marjorie glanced at the entrance of the tower where Konnor had stood watching her, but he was gone now. Her stomach dropped in disappointment. She was very conflicted about him. On the one hand, she was being careful. He was a stranger who’d lied to her to get into the castle. A stranger who was talking about things she’d never heard of, demanding her to call some numbers. He wanted a phone. What the hell was all that about?
A spy wouldn’t draw attention to himself like that. A spy would blend in and be unnoticeable. So chances were Konnor wasn’t a MacDougall spy. He really must be a man in trouble, and mayhap he was more injured than he thought he was.
At the same time, he was handsome. So handsome, that for the first time since Dunollie, Marjorie had noticed a man. For the first time in twelve years, someone had stirred feelings in her, feelings she’d never thought she would have. Excitement bubbled in her stomach playfully and clouded her head like a strong ale.
Nae. She didn’t need this. Whoever Konnor was, he was a distraction. She should take this sudden attraction to him as a sign she was mending. One wee step at a time, she was healing. But nothing more than that. Even if she was getting better, she would still never take a lover or a husband. Her decision in that regard wouldn’t change. She would never act on her feelings towards a man like Konnor. He was handsome, powerful, and made her heart beat faster.
“Mistress, while ye’re taking yer rest, may I have a word?” a male voice said from the side.
She turned, and saw Tamhas standing there with his dark hair tied in a partial ponytail wet from sweat.
“Thanks for the practice, Malcolm,” she said and turned to Tamhas. “Aye, of course.”
Tamhas had taken her kidnapping personally since they were the same age and had grown up together. He’d been one of the guards on duty in the castle the day she disappeared. When she’d begun training as the way to release her anger and the darkness that had gathered within her, he’d been against it.
“A lass shouldna bother herself with swords and archery. Especially when she has a bairn to think of. Ye should take care.”
But Marjorie had started learning combat anyway, so Tamhas had helped her and sparred with her. After years of daily exercise, he was more skilled than Marjorie because he was more experienced in a real battle.`
Marjorie went to the round well made of rough stone in the center
of the courtyard. Using the rope, she pulled up the bucket of water, her biceps burning from strain. She took a big, wooden ladle and drank from it thirstily. The water was cool and refreshing against her lips. She drew more water and handed the ladle to Tamhas, who muttered a thanks and downed it like it were uisge.
“So,” Marjorie said, leaning against the wall of the well with her hip. “What is it?”
“’Tis about the new man, Konnor.” He dipped his hands into the bucket, drew some water, and splashed it on his face with a small grunt.
“Have ye met him?” she asked.
“Nae. But I’ve heard about him from Malcolm. And I’ve seen him wobbling around.”
Marjorie’s heart lurched at the mention of Konnor’s name. She shifted her weight. “And?”
Tamhas wiped his mouth and shook his head once. “I dinna like him. Malcolm is also suspicious of him.”
Marjorie chuckled. “What do ye want me to do about it?”
He stared straight at her. “I want ye to send him on his way.”
She drew in some air. She’d considered it, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do that to an injured person. Besides, there was still a chance he could be a spy for the MacDougalls. And she was intrigued by him. Something about him made her want to keep him— No, she shouldn’t even think like that, let alone say it out loud to Tamhas.
“He’s still hurt. I canna do that,” she said.
“He’s already hopping about. He can manage.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him again. “’Tis unlike ye, Tamhas. Ye’re usually more soft-hearted than that. What ails ye?”
Tamhas sighed, the jaw muscles under his dark stubble working. “I dinna like how he looks at ye,” he said quietly. There was a threating tone she’d never heard from him before. Something about it was blood chilling.
“How does he look at me?”
“In a way that makes me want to break his neck.”
What did that mean? Did he look at her like he wanted her? That was what Marjorie had seen, too, right? Or was there more than just desire? Was there something else in his eyes? Did he look at her like Alasdair had?
