CHAPTER SIXTEEN #3
“Ian,” she whispered, carefully wiggling down so she was lying on her side. She spooned against him. As most of her body made contact with his—she was careful to avoid the head of the pike—she started to cry again.
What was wrong with her?
Images flashed, of the monk on that tower laughing down at them, of Ian impaled against the wall.
More images came, of her mother. As clearly as if it were happening in the moment, she saw her being raped. When she began to strike the demon with a stick of wood, he had thrown her aside, getting up and laughing at her before walking away.
She had seen her mother raped. She was stunned, paralyzed.
Ian cried out.
She returned to the present. “What is it? Am I hurting you?” Had she pushed on him too hard by mistake? Even brushing that pike would cause acute pain.
Breathing hard, he said, “Try the cuffs.”
She understood. Sam moved her arms and the cuffs fell free. Instantly she knelt over him, removing her T-shirt and ripping it in two. The wound at his back wasn’t bleeding, and she pressed half of her shirt to his chest.
He gasped and said, “Remove the pike.”
Now was not a good time for a debate, but she said, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“My father is a Master. I heal quickly. Remove it.”
Sam hesitated, whipped off her belt and said, “The moment I do, do not move. I’m going to use my belt to keep pressure on both wounds.”
“Give me the belt,” he said.
And she knew why he wanted it. She pressed the tip to his lips and he bit down hard on the leather. Sam repositioned herself behind him and pulled.
Because she was exceptionally strong, she tore the pike free in one motion. Two horrible seconds felt like a hundred. Ian choked on the leather but didn’t scream.
She threw the pike aside, wadded up each piece of her shirt against both wounds, and wrapped her belt around his chest to keep the pads in place. “You need to lie on your back so I can put more pressure on your chest,” she said harshly.
He instantly did so, eyes closed. He wasn’t white now. He was green.
“This would be a good time to pass out,” she said, using both her hands to press down on the compress.
He didn’t answer her. She hadn’t expected him to.
Sam looked down at his beautiful face, now etched in pain and strain.
More tears came. No one deserved the kind of life he’d been destined for, and no one deserved what he was going through now.
The pain, the torment, it had to stop. Ian needed—deserved—peace.
Not death, but a life with happiness. “You deserve a break, damn it,” she whispered. “I will always have your back, Ian.”
His lashes fluttered.
She blinked rapidly as the tears dripped. She couldn’t lose him. It was too soon. They were just getting to know each other. God, this wasn’t fair. She loved him.
She went still, shocked.
Then she looked at him and he was looking up at her intently.
She prayed this wasn’t one of those few times when he could read minds. She looked at her T-shirt, which had been light blue, and was relieved to see that it wasn’t soaked with his blood. “I think the bleeding is slowing. Don’t move. I’m going to keep the pressure on.”
His mouth curved. “That’s a nice bra…I like what’s inside it…even better.”
“A Maclean comeback. You must be on the mend.” She looked at him carefully. Was his color better? He certainly wasn’t green now. She looked at the T-shirt between her hands. The bleeding had stopped, she was almost certain, but she kept the pressure on.
“Where are we?”
Sam glanced around. “I don’t know. But we’re not in medieval times. I’d say we were in the twentieth century, or even our time.” Then she looked down at him. “Rather, my time.”
“I guess ye won’t let me off…that hook.”
“Why should I?”
His smile was odd. “Yer mascara’s run all over yer face.”
She made a sound. “So much for waterproof. I told you, the chemicals in here are problematic.”
“Let me up.” He started to sit.
“Like hell!” She was actually alarmed.
“I can sit. I can also get us out of here, if the door has locks.”
Sam went still. “Yeah, I guess you can.” She would never let him leap in his condition.
Sam released the pressure on his chest and he sat up. To her relief, he grunted but did not pale. They both looked at his chest and the wadded T-shirt there, under her belt. There was blood, but half her shirt remained blue. Sam went behind him. The exit point was even better.
She started to stand. He seized her hand, pulling her back down to her knees. They were eye to eye, mouth to mouth. His gaze was steady and unwavering. “Thank ye.”
She wet her lips. She wanted to throw her arms around him and hold him, hard. Of course, she’d never do such a thing. “For what?”
His gaze became searching. A moment passed. In the silence, Sam became aware of the sound of cars outside. She thought she heard a horn, distantly. She thought she could barely hear a subway rumbling, too. “For having my back.”
She searched his eyes. “It’s no big deal,” she lied.
“Yer the bravest human being I have ever met,” he said.
She became still. This wasn’t the time for jokes. He was being serious. He’d commented on her courage before, and she wasn’t sure where he wanted to go with this now. “There isn’t really another choice.” But, she recalled her sudden memory of her mother’s rape and murder.
“There’s always another choice,” he said. His hand suddenly cupped her jaw. “And yer so beautiful, so hot. I want ye, Sam.”
“Now?” She was disbelieving.
He grunted in pain but he smiled. “I wanted ye in Oban. I decided that day to find ye, have ye. I still want ye, like it was that day.” He hesitated.
“What?”
He shook his head, not answering.
She smiled, trying not to think about the shocking revelation she’d just had about her own past. “Well, it’s mutual.”
His face changed. “I’m a coward,” he said, as he stood up.
Sam stood up, as well. “That is unfair.”
“It’s the truth. I look at a demon, any demon, and I get sick with fear.” He shrugged, avoiding her eyes now. “The monk terrifies me.”
“You may be frightened when you face evil, but you fight it anyway—and that makes you as brave as me, or even braver.”
“Don’t turn me into yer hero,” he said softly.
And Sam had a terrible feeling that he’d heard her silent declaration of love. “Jet-setting playboys who become dirty rich by stealing from their even wealthier friends can’t be heroes, not even on their best day, and not even with white power in their back pockets.”
He smiled. “So we cleared that up.”
“Oh, yeah,” she said.
He was staring. Her heart did a funny flip-flop. He was so intense, so thoughtful. His gaze moved to her mouth.
He’d kissed her last night like there would not be a tomorrow.
Hell, maybe he’d seen the future—their future.
She was shaken. Did they have a future? He was Ian Maclean, a rich, selfish playboy, and even if he saw the light and joined the good guys, he belonged in the sixteenth century! “Let’s blow this joint.”
He had a funny look on his face. He reached for her chin and winced. But he pushed it up with two forefingers. Sam’s heart exploded in excitement.
As if he knew, he smiled and it was arrogant, satisfied. Then the expression vanished. He leaned close; his mouth brushed hers. She trembled.
She needed to be with him again. This time, it would be different. Because her heart was bursting with love.
He plied her mouth gently, pulled back, and their gazes met.
“Are you two ready to barter?” the monk of Carlisle said.