CHAPTER 5
Malcolm MacLeod sat in his bedchamber with his arm cradled against his midsection, brooding.
He’d come out of the battle with the MacDonalds mostly unscathed, save for one cut on his upper arm.
Dougal had wrapped it as soon as he and his brother, Jamie, staggered back into the keep after the fighting was all over.
That was nearly a week ago.
He recalled the end to the battle with clarity.
Frustration had edged through him when he had stood on the bloodied field and watched Rory MacDonald and his men ride away in defeat into the night, leaving behind the aftermath of their skirmish.
Dead men and dead horses had littered the ground.
Men he had recruited from Clan Sinclair to fight against their rival clan. Good men. Men who were now dead.
But they had no choice, did they? They had had to rally the banners to fight the thousand-strong army MacDonald had brought with him. They hadn’t had the numbers to fight and both he and his older brother, Callum, knew it.
The only thing that had saved them was his brother’s new bride, Evie Sinclair. She had used the piece of the keystone as a weapon, a weapon that had killed many men and stopped the onslaught. If it hadn’t been for her, they would have all been slaughtered.
The fire blazed in the hearth as he stared at it, a restless feeling sweeping through him. He was not one to sit around and do nothing, especially after a battle like that.
He hadn’t slept all night and now that morning was upon him, there was no reason to go to bed. In a fit of frustration, he stood, leaving the warmth of the fire and his bedchamber behind.
He had to do something or he’d go mad.
He needed vengeance for the death of his da. He needed to kill Rory MacDonald.
He headed to the great hall where Jamie, his younger brother, was breaking his fast. He had a stack of oatcakes in front of him and a pint of ale.
“Angus Sinclair is leaving today,” he announced as though that were the most pressing news of the day.
Malcolm took the seat opposite him and poured himself an ale. Then he stole one of Jamie’s oatcakes. His brother scowled at him about the theft but said nothing.
“And this concerns me how?”
“I thought ye’d like to know since ye brought him and his men,” he said. He guzzled the rest of his ale and thumped the tankard on the wooden table.
Malcolm broke the oatcake in half and popped it into his mouth. “It doesna matter to me.”
“Och,” his brother said and shook his head. “Fine then. Be that way. Callum was hoping ye’d escort them back to their home.”
He lifted a brow. “Callum wouldna ask that of me without a good reason.”
“Aye, ye have the right of it, brother,” Callum said as he made his way into the great hall. Under his tunic, the bandage was still visible. During the battle with MacDonald, he had been stabbed in the shoulder.
“And why do ye wish me to go with them?”
“I want ye to scout the area,” Callum said.
“Och, so I’m no banished anymore, is that right?” Malcolm couldn’t help the sarcasm lacing his words. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his thick forearms over his chest, staring up at his brother.
After their da was killed by Rory MacDonald, Malcolm had taken it upon himself to retaliate by raiding one of the MacDonald’s villages and burning it to the ground.
He had made sure there were no injuries or deaths when he did it—all were ushered out of their beds that early morning and forced from their homes.
He’d merely wanted to put the fear into MacDonald and let him know what the MacLeods were capable of.
When Callum had learned of his night raid, he punished him by sending him away from Dundale.
He understood why he had done it. It was his right as laird. It hadn’t lessened the sting of fury, though.
However, when he had ridden away from the keep with no destination in mind, he had seen the MacDonald clan heading toward Dundale with his army. It was then Malcolm had made the decision to ride to the Sinclairs, knowing he would answer the call for help because he thought Evie was one of his kin.
Mayhap the lass was, but it was hard to know for certain since she was from the future.
“Ye’ve been brooding around here for a week. I ken yer restless,” Callum said. “So, I’m giving ye this task.”
“Why?” Malcolm asked. “Aren’t ye afraid I’ll burn down another village?”
Fire flashed in Callum’s eyes. “If ye do, then expect a harsher punishment than banishing.”
His brother’s piercing blue eyes settled on him with a look that said he wanted no argument and he meant what he said. The threat was real.
If that’s the way his brother wanted to do things, then he would pack up his horse and escort the Sinclair clan back to their keep as well as scout the area.
“When do we leave?”
***
Malcolm rode in solemn silence next to Angus Sinclair as they headed back to his keep.
He hadn’t had much to say along the way and wasn’t interested in conversation.
Sinclair wasn’t interested in conversation, either.
He’d lost men at the battle. He rode stiff and tall in the saddle.
Despite the silence, Malcolm felt as though he should say something.
“Did my brother thank ye for coming to his aid?” Malcolm asked.
Angus gripped the reins tighter in his hands, his eyes forward. “Aye.”
He didn’t seem to want to elaborate, which made it difficult for Malcolm to continue on. Still, he tried. “Good. I want to thank ye, too.”
“’Twas a strange thing to see,” Angus said, as if he hadn’t spoken.
Confused, he drew his brows together. “What was a strange thing?”
“The lass.” Angus turned to him and gave him a pointed look.
He didn’t have to explain for Malcolm to know what he meant.
He referred to Evie. He thought back to the way she had stood on the battlefield with her hand glowing, that feral look in her deep brown eyes, and her fiery red hair whipping around her face in the wind, the way she knelt on the ground with her fisted hand and how it had rumbled. There was something mystical about it.
He, of course, understood what it was. She had held the keystone in her hand, the stone they were prophesized to protect. He didn’t know if Sinclair would understand that.
“Is she a witch?” Angus asked.
Malcolm managed to suppress the chortle that wanted to erupt. “She is no witch.”
“Then what is she?” Angus gave him a glance that was full of curiosity tinged with fear.
“She’s no to be feared,” he replied.
But Angus had more questions. “What did she have in her hand that MacDonald wanted? What trickery did she use to subdue the men? There was a flash of light and—”
“Aye, there was a flash of light,” Malcolm agreed with a nod. “But it was nothing more than lightning.”
Angus gave him a sour look. “Och, laddie, do ye think me daft? Dinnae tell me falsehoods for I ken the truth of it. There was no lightning that night. What was it the lass did? Tell me truly.”
He cut him a glance and saw the man was not going to leave the subject alone. He wanted answers and he wanted the truth. Dare Malcolm tell him the truth? Would he believe in the prophecy as he and his brothers did? Or would he think he was the daft one?
He took a deep, cleansing breath. “There’s an old story about a keystone. One that was split into three pieces by the Goddess of the Present herself. One that controls all of Time. It’s powerful and dangerous.”
Angus stared at him a long moment as they rode on, then he threw his head back and laughed. “Ah, lad, that’s the best story I’ve heard all day.”
“No, Da, he tells ye the story true.” Duncan Sinclair rode up next to them, slowing his mount to a trot as he did so.
Duncan was the spitting image of his father. Red hair kissed by the sun, a full, thick beard covering his face, and cool gray-blue eyes that missed nothing.
Angus glanced over at his son and shook his head. “Dinnae tell me ye believe in this falsehood of a story?”
“Have ye never heard the story?” Duncan asked, as he peered around Malcolm to look at his father. “The story of the goddess who shattered time to save it.”
“Och, ’tis nothing but a myth.” Angus dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand.
But Malcolm knew it was no myth. It was the truth. And Evie held one piece of the ancient and fabled keystone. One piece that belonged to a larger piece. One piece that MacDonald would kill to get his hands on.
“No a myth,” Duncan said. “It is said the Triple Goddess shattered the Chronos Stone into three pieces to keep it safe from those who would use it for evil.”
His father lifted a faded red brow. “The Triple Goddess?”
“Past, Present, Future,” Duncan said, sounding as though he was sure of his answer.
Malcolm nodded, though, because he knew the younger Sinclair was right.
“And what happened then, lad?” Angus asked, the light of amusement flickering through his eyes.
“They sent the three pieces to the far reaches of Scotland,” he said. “Only to be found when it was needed once again.”
This was a part of the story Malcolm had not heard. He listened in rapt fascination.
“Then, when the time came, the Goddess of the Present would find a way to give it to the one clan who would be able to protect it,” Duncan continued.
“And what clan is that?” Angus asked.
“Clan MacLeod.” The younger man gave Malcolm a pointed look.
Angus snapped his head in his direction. “Clan MacLeod.”
“Aye,” Malcolm said, nodding agreement. “But I’ve heard it as two bloodlines, one destiny. The Sinclairs’ and the MacLeods’ destinies are intertwined. The lass is a Sinclair.”
There was a long silence and then Angus burst into laughter. “Aye, then, the lass is the protector of this magical stone?”
“Aye,” Malcolm and Duncan said in unison.
That stopped Angus’s laughter. He clenched his jaw, the muscles flexing there and turned his attention back to the road ahead.
His mannerisms indicated he didn’t believe the prophecy.
Callum hadn’t either for the longest time until Evie convinced him that she was the one to bring the keystone back in time to protect it from the MacDonalds.
“We best make haste, boy,” Angus said. “Yer mam will be waiting for our return.”
Then he kicked his horse into a gallop, putting distance between Malcolm and Duncan and the rest of the men. The younger Sinclair cut a glance at Malcolm.
“He doesna believe,” he said.
Malcolm took in a deep breath, exhaled it. “Then mayhap it’s up to ye to convince him.”
In the distance, billowing smoke caught his eye. The gray-and-white column curled into the sky. Ahead of them, Angus halted his horse, his gaze on the smoke ahead.
“Da, what is it?” Duncan called.
He cut a glance back to his son. “The village.”
Then he kicked his horse into a gallop in the direction of the smoke. Malcolm and Duncan exchanged a glance before doing the same. Behind them, the men followed. It didn’t take them long to come upon the village.
It was burned to the ground.