CHAPTER 6
It had taken some time to go through the village to count the dead.
There weren’t many, so it looked as though most of the inhabitants had made it out.
Once the men had buried the dead, they continued on to Angus Sinclair’s castle.
The men scattered and returned to their own homes, leaving Malcolm and the two Sinclair men.
Seeing the acrid smoke, the burned-out homes, and the dead made Malcolm think of his own raid on the MacDonald village. The one which had gotten him banished from Dundale. He, however, had made sure no one perished in the fire.
Angus’s face was hard, his jaw clenched and his lips in a thin line. It was clear he was angry about the raid and even angrier that people had perished. Malcolm followed him through the gatehouse into the bailey.
“I should return to Dundale to report this to Callum,” Malcolm said.
“Ye will stay,” Angus said, his eyes flashing.
He dismounted his horse and handed the reins off to his stable hand. Duncan did the same, not looking Malcolm in the eye. Since he didn’t seem to have a choice, he followed. The last thing he wanted was to witness Sinclair’s fury over the death of his people and the burning of their village.
When they arrived in the great hall, they found Lady Fiona Sinclair distraught, having already heard the news from a messenger who had arrived before them.
She clutched the rolled parchment in her hand until it crinkled.
Her bright emerald eyes were shiny with unshed tears and her thick auburn hair was plaited in a single braid that rested over one shoulder.
“They had no warning,” she said. “Thankfully, most of them made it out.”
Angus swiped a hand down his face, a look of exhaustion replacing his fury. He lowered himself into one of the chairs at the great hall table.
“Who would have done such a thing?” she asked.
Angus heaved a sigh, his gaze flickering to Malcolm, his expression grim. He understood in silent communication that they both knew who was responsible for such an atrocity. It was in retaliation for the battle they had lost at Dundale, the battle in which the Sinclair clan had lent their aid.
“There is only one clan who is responsible,” Angus said. “Do ye agree, laddie?”
The question was directed to Malcolm. Lady Fiona looked at him, her tawny brows drawn together as she waited for the answer.
“MacDonald, no doubt,” he finally said.
Her shoulders drooped as if in defeat. “Then I take it things did no go well for him.”
She referred to the battle they had endured to keep Evie and the keystone safe, though Lady Fiona didn’t know that. Angus said nothing. When she gave him another questioning glance, he nodded.
“Aye, to be sure. Rory MacDonald and his men were defeated at Dundale,” Malcolm said. “But it appears they dinnae rest for long.”
A range of emotions creased her face—worry, guilt, fear. She was the one who had encouraged them to fight against them. She tossed the parchment on the table and then took the seat next to her husband. She placed her hands into her lap as she sat straight, her face a map of regret.
“I shouldna have insisted ye go,” she said.
Angus’s bright gaze flickered back to her. His features softened as he reached a hand to her. She placed her fingers in his hand.
“Dinnae blame yerself, wife. Fighting with the MacLeods was the right thing to do. I dinnae regret it.” He squeezed her hand. “Ye would have been proud of the lass.”
A tingling of surprise went through Malcolm as he realized what Angus was about to say.
“Oh?” She tipped her head to one side.
“I’d no seen anything like it. She saved us all,” Duncan said before his father replied. Lady Fiona glanced his way, question lingering in her eyes. “She used the fabled keystone. Her hand lit up with the power of it.”
“Och, laddie, that’s no what she used.” Angus’s tone was full of disbelief.
“How can ye say that, Da, when ye saw it with yer own eyes. She was there with the keystone. I dinnae ken what else it would be,” Duncan said.
The lady’s gaze turned to Malcolm then, as though she were waiting for him to confirm or deny the story. He cleared his throat and shifted from one foot to another.
“Is the story true, then? Does the lass possess this keystone?”
Malcolm glanced at Angus, who still appeared as though he didn’t believe. “She does.”
“’Tis nothing more than a story.” Angus huffed and released his wife’s hand and pushed up from the table. He stalked off, leaving the great hall, the muffled steps of his boots on the rushes.
Silence descended. Lady Fiona slowly got to her feet and turned toward the two of them. She clasped her hands in front of her.
“Well,” she said at last, her voice quiet. “He doesna believe the story is true. But I do.”
Malcolm did his best to hide the shock rolling through him as he stared at the woman. “Ye ken the tale?”
“Of course I do. We’ve all heard the story. Even Duncan.” She nodded to her son. “We’ve heard the tale about the fabled keystone that can control time as well as the intertwining of the two bloodlines. Why do ye think I sent my husband to fight with ye?”
Two bloodlines. One destiny.
The words leapt to Malcolm’s mind. For the first time, he wondered if Evie was the only Sinclair who would arrive from the future.
“The hour is late,” she added. “Mayhap you’d like to dine with us and stay the night?”
Malcolm thought of the promise he had made Callum—that he would scout the area to see if MacDonald was making any moves to attack again.
“I best be making my way home, my lady, but I do thank ye for the offer.”
He bid her farewell and headed for the great hall door to exit into the bailey and retrieve his horse. Duncan followed.
“I’ll see ye off, then,” the lad said.
As they headed out of the great hall and toward the stable, Malcolm was surprised to see Angus there as though he had waited for him to arrive. He glanced at Duncan, wondering if he was surprised to see his da. He wasn’t. When he came to a halt outside the stable, Angus gave him a nod of greeting.
“Malcolm. Ye cannae be thinking of leaving already?” Angus crossed his forearms over his chest, his sharp eyes assessing him. As though he had something in mind for him to do.
“Aye, I am. I made Callum a promise to scout the area.”
“Och, by God’s blood, laddie, did ye no see what happened to the village? I think we ken Rory and his men are still out there marauding.” There was fire in his words.
“And what will ye have me do?” Malcolm spread his hands in question.
Angus looked to his son who stood rigid next to Malcolm. Silent communication passed between father and son. Then his gaze flickered back to him. “Come with us.”
A skittering of apprehension went through him.
He understood what Angus meant. He also understood if he participated in an event like that, it would raise the ire of his older brother, the laird of Dundale, once more.
He had forbidden him to do anything rash again, especially after the last time he had taken matters into his own hands.
“Ye mean to retaliate,” Malcolm said.
“What kind of a laird would I be if I dinnae?”
He raked a hand through his hair and heaved a sigh. “I cannae—”
“Ye must,” Angus insisted. “Are ye a MacLeod or are ye no? If what my son and my lady wife said, our clans are to unite to defeat our common enemy.”
So, despite his claim he didn’t believe in the prophecy of the keystone, he appeared to have embraced it all the same. Because now it meant something and he was out for blood.
“It’s the only way to make sure they understand we protect our people,” Duncan added. “No matter the cost.”
He understood that, too. He understood, more than anyone, especially after Rory MacDonald killed his da in cold blood.
He had felt he same as Angus and Duncan.
He wanted vengeance. His jaw clenched with his indecision as he glanced from father to son and back again.
There was a light of desperation mixed with fury in Angus’s eyes.
“When do we leave?”
***
It was a mistake. He knew it was a mistake and yet he went along with it. He had to show Sinclair that a MacLeod was not a coward.
The three of them headed out of the keep after sunset.
Darkness shrouded them in shadows. The plan was to raid the nearby MacDonald village.
The Sinclair laird wanted to take prisoners and ransom them back—retribution for killing his people and burning his village—but Malcolm was less than enthusiastic about that plan.
He tried to talk him out of it, but Angus held firm.
They approached the village in the dead of night.
All was quiet and still in the area. There was no candlelight in any of the windows, indicating all the inhabitants slept.
Angus motioned for them to stop at the edge of the tree line.
He dismounted. Duncan followed suit. He produced a torch.
The striking of a flint was heard and then it flared to life. Malcolm remained in his saddle.
“Come, laddie,” Angus whispered and motioned for him to follow.
Reluctantly, he dismounted and brought up the rear. Duncan held the torch aloft as they approached the village, closing the distance between the tree line and the first house. But as they did, a crack of what sounded like thunder sounded.
They halted, glancing up at the night sky.
But if there were clouds, the inky blackness concealed them.
Malcolm peered at the sky, his heart beating wildly.
He had heard this cracking boom once before.
The first time, he hadn’t realized what it was until his da came to fetch Callum to tell him about the lass who fell from the sky—Evie.
But hearing it now raised all the hairs on the back of his neck.
The boom sounded again and then the space in front of them split in two with a slash of light exploding in a bright flash, as though the air in front of them was sliced open to reveal another world.
For a moment, he was blinded by the light.
He lifted his hand to shield his eyes. A shadowy figure tumbled out of the light, plummeting to the ground in a violent fall.
To his surprise, it was a woman. She landed on the ground with a muffled oof, rolled to all fours and started to crawl away as if something or someone was following her.
Seconds later, another figure emerged. Malcolm saw right away a man followed her who was on her in an instant, as if crossing through the strange light was an everyday occurrence.
Just as quickly as the light exploded, it disappeared, leaving him blinking to clear away the glow burned into his eyes.
The man snatched her by the hair and jerked her upward.
She shrieked, her fisted hand waving in the air as she reached back for him with her other.
Angus and Duncan were frozen in place. Malcolm glanced between the two of them as they gaped at the woman struggling in the grasp of the much-stronger man.
She tried to fight him off, but he held firm and clawed at her fisted hand.
“No!” she shouted.
Something ignited within Malcolm, some force of will that pushed him into action. He bolted toward her, intending to take out the man. The stranger dragged her to her feet, one arm around her torso. His free hand wrapped around her wrist, pressing hard enough to make her cry out.
Malcolm reached the two of them. As he neared, he saw they were both dressed strangely. Instantly, he understood they were not of this time and the flash of light he saw was them coming through time.
Like Evie. His da had said the sky split in two and she fell through the light.
Malcolm reached the man and grabbed him with both hands, giving him a wild jerk. Startled, he released her. She stumbled away as Malcolm gave the stranger a shove backward. He placed himself between the two of them.
“Get away from her,” Malcolm snarled.
The man gaped back at him. He was dressed in a black tunic and trousers and stared at him with wide, unblinking blue eyes.
“She’s mine,” he said, his voice gravelly as he took a step toward her once again as if to reclaim her.
Behind him, she sucked in a breath. Malcolm unsheathed his claymore and held it pointed at the man’s throat.
“I dinnae think the lass will agree with ye,” he said, his tone one of warning.
The man’s gaze flickered to her, then back to him. By now, Angus and Duncan had joined him, forming an impenetrable wall between her and the stranger.
“She has something that belongs to me.” The stranger pointed to the lass, a fierce look on his face.
“It doesn’t belong to you.” Her voice was low and raspy. As if she’d screamed until she couldn’t scream anymore.
Malcolm turned and gave her a once over.
Color had drained from her cheeks. In the flickering light from Duncan’s torch, sweat gleamed on her brow.
Her auburn hair was wild about her face and her eyes were wide and glassy with fear.
She still had her hand clenched into a tight fist, clutching her wrist and holding her arm against her torso, as though she were in pain.
Her gaze met his and, in that instant, he understood she was on the run from the stranger.
In that one look, her gaze implored him for help.
He turned back to the stranger, still clutching his claymore and pointing it at the man’s throat.
“Ye best be on yer way, laddie,” Malcolm said.
“But she has—”
“Or shall I run ye through?” he interrupted.
He snapped his mouth closed and took two steps backward, his hands up in surrender. He looked from Malcolm to the lass cowering behind him.
“This isn’t over,” he said before he turned and ran into the darkness.
Malcolm sheathed his sword. It was only when he heard Angus do the same did he realize the man had wielded his own weapon. He turned to the lass, who blew out a breath of relief as she watched the stranger disappear into the thickening gloom. When he was gone, her legs gave out.
She tumbled to the ground so quickly he didn’t have a chance to catch her.
But he was there in an instant, scooping her slight weight into his arms and pulling her to him.
She looked up at him with wide, emerald eyes.
Eyes so dark green he had never seen the like.
A small smile formed on her quivering lips.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
And then she fainted in his arms.