Chapter Sixteen
Jamie lay awake long after Elise’s breathing had deepened into sleep, watching her as she slept. She was beautiful. Passionate. Powerful beyond anything he could have imagined.
And she was his.
How was that possible? How could this incredible woman, this MacFinnan spellweaver from the future, possibly feel the same things for him as he did for her? What had he done to warrant such a blessing?
He ran his thumb lightly along her cheek, careful not to wake her. She deserved rest. She deserved warmth and safety and a better life than the one he’d dragged her into.
He pulled his plaid that he’d thrown over them both tighter around her shoulders. The small movement made her groan and burrow closer.
Outside, the storm had settled in. Rain battered against the roof of the cottage, against the crumbling walls, and the wind howled like a banshee. That was good. Nothing, not even Phillip with his devilry, could track them in this weather. It bought them some time. But not much.
Phillip would expect him to go north, to rouse the clan and march on Dun Arach. He wanted to do just that, to ride in fury and vengeance against the man who’d betrayed him, betrayed Islay and the Kingdom of the Isles.
But that would bring only ruin.
By now the so-called pirates would have converged on Dun Arach and taken both the town and the keep.
Jamie was under no illusions that the keep would be able to hold out against such a concerted attack.
Phillip had the king’s warriors at his command.
Even if he roused the entire island and called in his loyal garrisons from along the coast, Jamie could not hope to retake the keep without it being a bloodbath, with the outcome anything but certain.
He would not lead his people to slaughter. But neither would he leave them at the mercy of King James and his puppet, Phillip MacClelland.
But how could he take back his island, keep his people safe, and protect Elise?
It was impossible. Every way he turned there seemed to be a yawning chasm at his feet, waiting to swallow him.
Jamie closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself.
He did not have the luxury of falling apart.
He might be bruised, angry, and mortified by his own blindness, but he couldn’t let it rule him now.
Think, man, he growled at himself. Think.
Elise shifted, her cold toes brushing his calf. He pressed a light kiss to her hair, breathing her in—the faintest hint of lavender beneath the smoke.
He would die for her. He had known that long before he admitted he loved her.
But he would live for her, too.
That meant being wiser. Shrewder. Stronger. It meant finding a way through the maze that his future had become, a path that brought them all safely out on the other side.
His thoughts spun like a ship caught in a whirlpool, and no solution presented itself. Finally, sleep dragged him under.
A log rolling out of the fire jolted him awake. He jerked, eliciting a muffled moan of complaint from Elise. The fire had burned down to embers, and light spilling from under the door told him that it was early morning. The storm had blown through overnight, and the silence was almost deafening.
He allowed himself to lie still and breathe deeply, taking in the stillness. Elise was warm and soft against his side. He could feel the gentle caress of her breath against his shoulder, hear the faint hiss of her breathing as she slept.
What more could he ever want than this moment? If he could have lived in it forever, he would have.
But this was no fairytale, and he knew that the world beyond the door was waiting. He shifted his weight, rolled onto his side. Elise muttered something in complaint but didn’t wake. She was most definitely not an early riser.
He pressed his lips against her forehead, and she stirred a little, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheek. He kissed her again—slow, warm, deliberate. This time her eyes opened, hazy with sleep. A faint smile curved her lips, and she lifted her chin so he could kiss her properly.
“We need to go,” he murmured.
She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I was afraid you were going to say that.” She sat up, shivering as the plaid fell away.
He pulled his scattered clothes over. They were still damp and felt wholly unpleasant as he pulled them on.
Elise made a face as she donned her damp dress. “Ugh. Don’t suppose the previous owner of this place left any spare clothes behind?”
“I’m afraid not. And even if he did, I’m not sure ratty old sailor’s trews would suit ye.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied. “I reckon I could pull it off. Hang on, I’ve got an idea.”
She closed her eyes, her brow furrowing in concentration. Jamie felt her power flare and warmth suddenly flowered around him, like a summer breeze caressing his skin. When it passed, both his clothes and Elise’s were dry.
“Well, would you look at that?” Elise said with a crooked smile. “It worked. And I didn’t burn us both to cinders.”
Jamie grinned. “I always knew ye were good for something.”
She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m multitalented. Spellweaver extraordinaire and clothes-dryer.” Then she sighed, all humor evaporating from her expression. “So what now?”
Jamie didn’t need to ask what she was referring to. “I’m not sure. We are blind. Phillip will have taken Dun Arach by now, but I need to know exactly what he’s up to and what he’s planning. Without knowing his movements, I canna strike back.”
Elise’s eyes narrowed. “There’s a way to fix that. Come outside.” She climbed to her feet and headed for the door.
Jamie followed her out into a crisp, bright morning. The rain had blown through, leaving the world glistening.
Elise strode a few paces from the cottage, scanning the ground until she found what she wanted—a shallow puddle collected in a dip between rocks.
She knelt and beckoned him. “Here. I can use this to scry him out.”
Jamie crouched beside her. “When Phillip spied on me, ye said he needed something of mine. A lock of hair, a scrap of cloth—something to anchor the magic. We’ve naught of his.”
She snorted in a most unladylike fashion.
“That’s because Phillip MacClelland is an amateur.
Whatever magic he has, he learned from books.
He mimics power, he doesn’t channel it. My power doesn’t work like that.
” She glanced at him and bit her lip, looking suddenly uncertain.
“Erm…although, if I’m being honest, I’m not very good at this.
It’s delicate work and you might have noticed that my power isn’t very delicate. You might want to stand back.”
Jamie shook his head. “I trust ye. And I’m not leaving yer side.”
Elise gave him a smile of gratitude. She held her right hand above the puddle, palm down.
Her eyes slid closed. Jamie waited. Slowly, the sky which was reflected in the puddle vanished.
It was replaced by a mist that swirled within the water, darkening, gathering substance.
Shapes formed. Jamie made out walls, stone. Smoke.
His breath caught. He was looking at Dun Arach. The place was crowded with armed men in the king’s colors. The courtyard teemed with movement—soldiers patrolling, shouting orders, dragging debris aside where fighting had clearly taken place.
“Bastard,” he breathed. “Look what he’s done to my home.”
Phillip was standing near the gate with Sir Ewan Bruce and an officer who he guessed was the captain of the king’s guard. The same guards that had been posing as pirates all these months.
Looking at him now, Phillip seemed different to Jamie’s eyes. He stood straighter, seemed taller, and his usual harried expression had been replaced by one of calm confidence. Was this the real Phillip MacClelland? This arrogant stranger who carried himself like a nobleman?
Elise hummed, and the image shifted, moving from the courtyard and down a staircase to the lower storage levels of the keep.
Torchlight flickered on the stones, casting shadows across the ground.
There was no dungeon in Dun Arach, but on the odd occasion when somebody had been causing trouble, these storerooms had served as a temporary lock-up.
One of the larger rooms had been cleared out, and Jamie made out a group of men sitting disconsolately within.
He recognized his most loyal clansmen. Close to the door, slumped against the wall with bruises covering his face and crusted blood around his nose, was Albie. He’d taken one hell of a beating.
“They fought back,” Elise said.
“Aye,” Jamie replied. “And were overwhelmed.” A strange mixture of pride and dismay rose in him at the sight. Pride that his men had fought valiantly against Phillip and his invaders, dismay that they had been hurt on his account. It was another debt he had to repay.
Phillip suddenly appeared again, descending the steps towards the makeshift jail with a guard at his back.
He stopped before Albie’s cell and spoke a few words Jamie couldn’t hear.
In response, Albie spat at his feet. Phillip’s only reaction was to smile, but it was nothing like the distracted, self-mocking smile Jamie was used to seeing on the old scholar’s face.
This smile was cold and cruel, full of malice.
Something inside Jamie twisted—black, cold, lethal. He would kill Phillip for what he’d done.
The image suddenly wavered, shimmered. Glancing at her, Jamie saw that Elise’s expression was tight with strain.
He laid a hand on her shoulder. “That’s enough, love. Let it go.”
The image evaporated and the puddle returned to simple water. Elise sagged and Jamie caught her, steadying her shoulders.
“What an asshole,” she muttered. “What an absolute asshole.”
“On that, we are in total agreement.”
He put his arm around her, pulled her close, and rested his chin on the top of her head. What was he going to do?