Chapter 6 #2
“Aye, well, I’m not one to deny a daft wench her little requests, ” he said gruffly, putting his arm around her shoulders.
“We’ll fetch my horse and ride so when we’re attacked by scores of those pesky MacLeods, I’ll nudge you off the back into their arms and be on my merry way.
Though I’m not quite sure why I can’t just take you to the keep. ”
“Because they won’t know me,” she said quietly.
He grunted, but said nothing else as he pulled her along with him. Daft wench. Beautiful, enchanting, daft wench.
And there he was, being swept into her madness.
He ignored the fact that her house hadn’t been empty when he’d fetched her, or that her clothing had been like nothing he’d ever touched before, or that the way she’d stitched up his brother had been more expert than any healer he’d ever seen.
He picked her up in his arms at one point because, though she didn’t complain, ’twas obvious that things were hurting her feet. She didn’t protest. She merely put her arms around his neck and rested her cheek against his hair.
He quickened his pace. He had to get her out of his life before she drove him mad and his madness wasn’t going to include any bloody time gates.
It would include finding a secluded spot and bedding her repeatedly whilst he suggested to her that, no matter his station or hers, handfasting with him would be a good idea.
He was damned sure he wouldn’t last all the way home to find a priest if she blew in his ear much longer.
“I don’t blame you for not believing me,” she said at one point.
He latched on to the distraction gratefully. “I’m just sorry that a lass so lovely is obviously missing so many wits. But I’ll take you where you want to go just the same, to prove you wrong. Then I’ll take you home and lock you in my dungeon where you can’t hurt yourself.”
“How thoughtful of you.”
“Altruistic to the last,” he agreed.
She might have laughed, he supposed, but it was only a hint of one. He put her up on his horse, then swung up behind her. He knew very well where the MacLeod keep was, but he followed her directions just the same to test her. He was faintly surprised to find that she did indeed know her way about.
“Tell me again why we don’t want to just ride up to Malcolm’s front door?”
“Because he won’t know me.”
“Because you’re not from the Year of Our Lord’s Grace 1375.”
“Exactly.”
A chill went down his spine. He crossed himself surreptitiously, but he had to use her body since she was sitting in front of him, so he supposed it hadn’t been all that subtle.
“Warding off evil, my laird?”
He grunted. “My laird, indeed. Finally, the wench accords me the respect due me and it takes an event of this import to wring it from her. I’ll have you know, Sunshine, most fall to their knees and beg for mercy when I frown at them. You’ve shown me a distinct lack of respect.”
She patted his arm around her waist. “You’re not my laird.”
But he would have gladly been so, he realized.
He closed his eyes briefly and prayed for strength.
He had to wed Gilly. He had to raise up his brother’s children as his own, simply because if he didn’t, Giric would and then the clan would go to hell.
He wouldn’t have been surprised to find Gilly’s children disappearing on some long night and Giric returning home with blood on his hands.
But even if he wasn’t doomed to wed Gilly, he couldn’t wed a MacLeod witch, no matter how tempting the thought suddenly was.
His clan would never accept her, and he couldn’t subject her to a lifetime of that sort of misery.
There came a point in the forest where Sunshine wanted to stop.
He hopped down, then held up his arms for her.
He held her away as he set her down, simply because he was so damned tempted to pull her against him and kiss her yet again.
The farther away she was from him, the better for the remains of his self-control.
She looked at him for a moment, then leaned up and kissed his cheek.
“Thank you.”
She was gone so quickly that his hands clutched nothing but air as he tried to reach for her. He settled instead for holding on to his horse’s reins with one hand and loosening his sword in the sheath on his back with the other. No sense in not being prepared.
He watched Sunny go stand on several likely spots. He wasn’t surprised to find that nothing happened.
The wench was beautiful, but completely muddled.
She shooed him away at one point. Cameron went, because she demanded it.
He led his horse deeper into the shadows, put his hand on its withers, then waited.
His horse was silent as the tomb. He was just as silent.
Even Sunny was quiet, standing there for several minutes with her arms wrapped around herself.
And then came the sounds of a twig crunching under a boot and a soft curse. Cameron watched a very large man—Malcolm MacLeod’s nephew Walter, as it happened—step out of the shadows and go stand directly behind Sunny.
“Lost, missy?” Walter asked politely.
She whirled around in surprise, then backed away. “I might be.”
Walter rubbed his hands together purposefully. “Then let me help you find your way, lass, right into my bed—”
Cameron didn’t dare wait to see if there were any more MacLeod clansmen loitering uselessly about with the same thing on their minds. He leapt out of the shadows and jerked Sunny out of the way, pulling his sword free of its scabbard with a hiss.
“Horse,” he barked at her. He heard her run, then turned to face his foe. “I’ve no quarrel with you,” he said quietly. “Let us go and you’ll live to see sunrise.”
Walter snorted. “Are ye daft, man? The Cameron himself right here in my hands? I’m not about to let ye go. Or the wench. She’s a pretty thing, isn’t she?”
“Do you know her?” Cameron asked, because he couldn’t help himself.
“I don’t,” Walter said with a grin, “but I’d surely like to. Now, my laird, come along quietly so I can get to that.”
Cameron knocked Walter’s sword out of his hands, then struck him in the face. Walter went sprawling. Cameron ran across the glade and pulled himself up behind Sunny.
“Go,” he shouted.
His horse took off like a shot. Sunny lost the reins and almost fell off leaning forward to recapture them.
Cameron leaned over quickly to catch her—and fortunately so as he heard something whiz over their heads.
He bent over Sunny, pressing her against his horse’s neck, until he decided they were out of range of any well-flung knives or rocks.
He resheathed his sword behind his head, then took the reins from Sunny.
He wrapped his arm around her waist and rode like the wind, grateful for the speed and endurance of his mount.
They easily could have fallen into MacLeod hands, but luck was thankfully on their side.
Either that or the MacLeods weren’t interested in coming after them.
He turned that over in his mind for quite a while. Walter hadn’t known her—but he certainly should have, shouldn’t he? A clan’s healer was a very important person, one generally treated with respect.
Well, except on his land.
Aye, Walter should have known her, but he hadn’t. She should have felt very comfortable and secure going to Malcolm’s front door and knocking, but she didn’t. She should have opened her door and found the house she’d left behind waiting for her.
But she hadn’t.
He began to wonder if she were telling the truth.
He slowed once he was half an hour from his own village, just to give himself time to decide what to do. He couldn’t keep her in his bedchamber; his clan would think he was bedding her. He supposed that if he had to look at her much longer, he would give into the impulse and do just that.
Unfortunately, even if he wasn’t bedding her, the moment anyone thought he was, he would be branded a witch as well and both he and Sunny would meet their end in the loch. As Giric had so kindly pointed out, a man’s skill with a blade only went so far when that man was hopelessly outnumbered.
Perhaps James and Elizabeth MacLeod had found themselves in those exact straits. Overpowered. Slain. Spoken of in hushed tones for years after their deaths.
He didn’t want the same fate for either Sunny or himself. He had to protect her somehow. If he left her alone in the village, though, she wouldn’t last a night before someone broke through her door and either ravished her or slit her throat.
Damn it, what to do now?
He considered it all the way to the village, then decided all he could do was see that she stayed as far away from the keep as possible.
Giric had, over the past handful of years, been working quite diligently to turn his men against him one by one.
It hadn’t mattered so much in the past because he’d had his brothers behind him and the three of them had made a formidable group.
But now that he was alone, the keep would be a dodgy place indeed.
Nay, ’twas best he keep Sunshine somewhere else. Even if he couldn’t provide her with many comforts, he could at least keep her alive. He owed her that, because she had tried to save his brother and because he was the reason she found herself in his time.
He could scarce believe he was taking her seriously, but it had been that sort of se’nnight so far, apparently.
He stopped before a hut at the far eastern edge of the village. A stream ran not far away from the little house, and the woods were but a short way away. She would have water and fuel. Perhaps she could ask for no more than that.
He slid down to the ground, then held up his arms for her. Her expression was very grave as he set her on her feet. He pulled a knife from his boot and put it into her hands.
“Kill first,” he said simply.
“And if it’s you?”
“I’ll knock.”
“Well, you have before.”
He smiled before he could stop himself, then sobered.
He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her safely there.
He wanted to haul her against him and ravage her mouth until he lost track of where he ended and she began.
He had the most ridiculous impulse to go down on one knee and beg her to be his.
Perhaps she was a witch and had bewitched him with sparkling green eyes and a hesitant smile.
He pushed past her inside the deserted hut before he lost what few wits remained him. He cursed silently. There was nothing there but a stool. Not even a bed to lie on.
He struck his knife against flint to spark the pile of wood in the middle of the floor. He could build her a bed and a chair, at least. That and a sturdy door with a bar across it.
He fed the small fire he’d started until he thought it actually might serve her, then took the two strides that separated him from the door. He stepped outside and looked at her.
“This is the best I can do,” he offered quietly.
“Thank you. It’s very generous. Whose was it?”
“My healer.”
“She’s not here anymore?”
“Dead.”
She pursed her lips. “Unsurprising.”
He smiled faintly and tapped his temple. “Gather your wits together, wench. This is a far sight more comfortable than my dungeon. ”
“I imagine so.” She took a deep breath, let it out, then looked up at him. “What are you going to do now?”
“With you, or with my future?” he asked, stumbling a bit over the last word.
“Both.”
He chewed on his words for a moment, then spewed them out as brusquely as he could.
Any other way would leave him showing much more emotion than he cared to.
“I will wed my brother’s widow,” he ground out, “raise his children as my own, and sire more children on her. I suppose that answers the first as well, doesn’t it? ”
She flinched, though she covered it quickly enough. She looked up at him and put on a smile that might have been convincing had it not been apparently so difficult for her to maintain. “Of course. It’s your duty.”
He cursed under his breath, then took off his plaid and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I’ll find blankets for you tomorrow. ”
"You don’t have to—”
“I must,” he interrupted sharply. He took a deep breath. “And I wish to,” he said in a gentler tone. “I’m sorry I cannot do more, Sunshine.”
“I’ll be fine.”
It bothered him that she would make do with so little, yet accept it so readily. Unfortunately, there was nothing more he could do. His duty to his clan came first, before what he might have wanted, before what Sunshine might have been willing to have from him.
He stepped back. “Sleep well, Sunshine.”
She nodded, then went inside and shut the door. He realized then that she hadn’t eaten in days and he hadn’t fed her that day. He was actually a bit surprised she was still on her feet. It said much about her stamina.
He swung up onto his horse and headed back toward the keep. He would fetch food and drink and bring it back to her.
But he would knock.
And after what he’d just said to her, and the way in which he’d said it, he wouldn’t have blamed her at all if she didn’t open to him.