Chapter Fifty
Sheona
Sheona and Merryn were thrown onto a large ship by two men, not Roger or Clyde, and found themselves seated next to three other lasses.
To Sheona’s surprise, their captors removed their bindings, but then again, their only chance of escape with nearly a score of men nearby was diving over the tall side of the boat into the frigid water.
“How old are you?” Sheona asked one as soon as the men left.
“I’m ten and three.”
“And I’m ten and four. Where are we going?”
“And I’m ten and five. Be quiet, Jeanie. They’ll come back and hit you again.”
“Where did you come from?” Merryn asked.
“They stole us away from home when Papa went to market. Mama died last year. Where are they taking us? I want to go home,” Jeanie wailed.
“Shut your mouths or we’ll gag you,” Roger stopped to yell, but then went on his way, loading items into the lower part of the ship where the rowers sat.
Other men worked the sails, but most ignored the lasses.
“What are we going to do?” Merryn asked.
“I know,” Sheona said in a low whisper. Then she said to the sisters, “Keep an eye out for horses coming or for any men watching us.”
The eldest lass nodded. “I will.”
“What are you planning, Sheona?”
“Didn’t you notice? When they’re not looking, peek at the sack at the end. I saw two bows at least. And I think I see fletchings sticking out. If we can get them, we can shoot our way out of here.”
“How are we going to get them?”
“I’ll do it. Give me a moment. Do you have any daggers?”
“Nay,” Merryn said. “You?”
“I have one, but I’m saving it for Clyde. When he tries to touch me, he’s a dead man. I need you to be able to hit someone with an arrow. Can you do it, Merryn? I doubt I’ll be efficient at all. I just started.”
“But you can scare them.”
Jeanie whispered, “I hear horses.”
Sheona said, “If it’s true, then as soon as the men notice the horses, I’m running for the bows. Listen.”
The five quieted and sure enough, the very distant sound of pounding hooves could be heard. How she prayed they were coming for her and Merryn. “Merryn, when they all look that way, we run. Ready?”
“I’m ready.”
They waited, and within moments, one of the men shouted, “Horses coming! Ready yourselves!”
The men scurried and shoved, grabbed weapons, hid crates, and threw stuff everywhere, just enough confusion for Sheona to hurry over to the sack and lift it, pleased to see three bows and probably a dozen arrows.
She tossed one to Merryn, who took a stance and aimed at the men, now off the boat and preparing for battle.
Sheona moved next to her and said, “You shoot that way and I’ll aim in the opposite direction.”
A man yelled, “The lasses grabbed the bows. Get them!”
Clyde yelled, “They can’t shoot those. I’d worry about the dozen men coming up on us with their swords unsheathed already. Forget the lasses.”
And they did.
Sheona fired, missing everyone, but enough for one man to move away from her.
Merryn shot next and hit Roger in his arm.
“Bitch!” he yelled, coming at her. But Merryn was faster. She fired again and hit him in the leg. He fell to the ground, yanking at the arrows.
Sheona took another shot and hit a different man in the leg. At this point, the horses were close enough to attack, and she nearly shed tears of relief.
“Merryn, I see Broc!” And then she saw Taskill right in front, his sword arm ready and taking out two men immediately.
“Tristan, be careful,” Merryn yelled. “Broc, kill the bastards!”
Sheona laughed because she felt the same way. She wanted to tell her father to be careful, but to tell Taskill to kill the bastards too.
The clash of metal rang out, screams echoing around them as men were pierced by the Highlanders’ sharp blades. The men around the boat fought for a bit, but many ran off, one crying out, “I didn’t sign up to die!”
Those who stayed didn’t last long before a sword ended their fight, and for a few, even their lives.
The battle finished quickly. Merryn went to free the three lasses just as a man they didn’t know came along and shouted, “My lassies?”
The girls ran to their father, while Merryn ran to Broc. Sheona stood on the edge of the boat because she could see better from the higher vantage point.
Taskill shouted, “I love you, Sheona. Are you not going to come down?”
Her gaze scanned the area, not seeing the one she wished to see. She had to see him. The bastard was going to harm her. Do what her brother did to that poor girl.
Her father yelled, “Sheona, get your arse down here now.”
But she couldn’t. Frozen, she searched frantically for his body, finally seeing him hiding behind a boulder. “Come out of there, you piece of shite.” She nocked her arrow and waited.
Clyde stood up, grinning, arms outstretched. “You think you can hit me? Go ahead and try.”
So she did, catching him low enough in his belly that it was nearly in his private area, his hands going to cover them. He cursed, so she came down from the boat, Sloan going after him. “I’ll finish him, Sheona.”
“Don’t you dare, Sloan.”
She strode toward Clyde, then kicked him in his bollocks, smiling when he screamed in pain. Then she looked at her father and brother and said, “Now he’s yours.”
And she ran straight into Taskill’s arms.
He caught her, solid and warm and real, his arms closing around her so tightly she could barely breathe. But she didn’t care. She wound her arms around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him—leather and sweat and steel and something uniquely Taskill.
“You’re safe,” he whispered against her hair, his voice rough and broken. “Thank God, you’re safe.”
“You came.” Her voice cracked. “I knew you would. I knew—”
He pulled back just enough to frame her face with his hands, his blue eyes blazing with an intensity that stole her breath. “Did you think I wouldn’t? Did you think anything in this world could have stopped me from coming for you?”
Before she could answer, his mouth was on hers.
The kiss was nothing careful or restrained.
This was desperate and fierce and filled with five years of longing, weeks of fear, and the overwhelming relief of finding each other whole.
His lips moved against hers with a hunger that made her knees weak, and she kissed him back with equal fervor, pouring every ounce of love and terror and joy into the connection between them.
When they finally broke apart, both gasping for air, Taskill pressed his forehead to hers. “I love you,” he said, his voice raw. “God help me, Sheona, I love you so much I can’t breathe when you’re not near me. I love you, and I’m done pretending I don’t. I’m done running from it.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Say it again.”
“I love you.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you.” Her temple. “I love you.” The corner of her mouth. “I’ll say it every day for the rest of our lives if you’ll let me.”
“I love you too.” The words came out on a sob. “I’ve loved you since I was nine years old, and I never stopped. Not for a single day. Even when I hated you, I loved you. Even when it hurt, I loved you.”
His thumb traced the line of her jaw, gentle despite the calluses on his hands. “I was so afraid for you.”
She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down for another kiss, softer this time but no less intense. “You’re mine, Taskill MacVey. You’ve always been mine. And I’m done letting you decide what I deserve.”
A sound that was half-laugh, half-groan escaped him. “Fierce lass. Mine,” he agreed, and kissed her again.
This kiss was different—slower, deeper, a promise of everything to come.
His hands slid from her face down her neck, his touch reverent, as if he were memorizing the feel of her.
She shivered when his fingers traced the line of her collarbone, then gripped his shoulders when his lips left hers to trail along her jaw.
“Taskill,” she breathed.
“Hmm?” His hands had moved to her waist, pulling her impossibly closer.
“Everyone’s watching.”
That got his attention. He lifted his head, and sure enough, her father, Sloan, Broc, Tristan, and at least a dozen guards were all staring at them with expressions ranging from amusement to exasperation.
Dermot crossed his arms. “About damn time.”
Sloan grinned. “I believe there was a betrothal agreement, wasn’t there, Da?”
“Aye, there was. And I expect MacVey here to honor it.” But Dermot was smiling—really smiling—for the first time since Mama’s death.
Taskill’s arms tightened around Sheona’s waist. “I’ll marry her right now if she’ll have me.”
“Now?” Sheona pulled back to look at him. “That’s a bit rushed, don’t you think?”
“I’ve waited five years for you.” His eyes were soft, vulnerable in a way she’d never seen. “I’m done waiting. But if you need time—”
“I don’t.” She cupped his face in her hands, marveling at the freedom to touch him like this. To look at him without hiding. To love him without fear. “I don’t need time. I just need you.”
“Then you have me.” He caught one of her hands and pressed a kiss to her palm. “All of me. For as long as you’ll keep me.”
“Forever, then.”
“Forever,” he agreed, and pulled her close again.
This time when he kissed her, it was tender and slow, a seal on the promise they’d just made. His hand cradled the back of her head, fingers threading through her loosened braid, while his other arm wrapped around her waist as if he’d never let go.
Sheona melted into him, into the warmth and strength and love of him. She’d dreamed of this moment—of being held by Taskill MacVey, of hearing him say he loved her, of kissing him without reservation or fear—but the reality was so much better than any dream.
Because it was real. He was real. This love between them—this fierce, impossible, beautiful love—was real.
When they finally parted, both breathless and smiling, Taskill rested his forehead against hers once more. “No more running.”
“No more hiding.”
“No more distance.”
“Just us.” She smiled up at him. “You and me, together.”
“You and me,” he echoed. Then his expression turned serious. “I meant what I said, Sheona. I want to marry you as soon as possible. I want everyone to know you’re mine and I’m yours. I want—” He stopped, swallowing hard. “I want to spend the rest of my life proving that I’m worthy of you.”
“You already have.” She rose on her toes to kiss him softly. “You came for me. You fought for me. You loved me even when you thought you shouldn’t. That’s all I ever needed.”
“Marry me now.” It wasn’t a question this time, but a plea. “Please. Let me stand before God and everyone and claim you as mine. Let me give you my name, my vows, my whole heart.”
“Yes.” The word came out choked with tears. “Yes, I’ll marry you. On the morrow, next week, whenever you want. Just don’t let go.”
“Never.” He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her lips. “Never again.”
Around them, their clan and family cheered, but Sheona barely heard them. All she could feel was Taskill’s arms around her, his heart beating against hers, his love wrapping around her like the warmest plaid.
They’d fought so hard to get here—through misunderstanding and fear, through years of distance and weeks of danger. But they’d made it. Together.
And now, finally, they could stop fighting and just be.
“Take me home,” she whispered against his lips.
“Home,” he repeated, and kissed her once more. “Wherever you are, that’s home.”