CHAPTER THIRTEEN #2
He did not want to go to war against her. He had brought her back in time to protect her—and of course, to share his bed.
What was he supposed to do now?
Macleod paused before the hearth, staring into the flames but not seeing them. He could not believe he had asked himself such a question. He was a decisive man, and he had two choices. Stop her or punish her.
He recalled her striking him, not once, but twice. Not only had he not hit her back, it hadn’t even crossed his mind to do so. He did not want to ever put his hands upon her in an act of violence. He had no desire to hurt her.
If she crossed him this way, he would have no choice but to punish her.
It did not matter that Tabitha was no ordinary mistress.
She was from a future time, one so very different from his own time that he could barely comprehend it.
And he was not thinking of horseless automobiles and underground tunnels and subways; he was not thinking of museums filled with history.
He was thinking about women who lived alone, without men to protect them.
These modern women provided for themselves, thought for themselves, obeyed no one but their government, and were proud of it.
Tabitha was just such a woman. She was soft and gentle, kind and caring, more so than almost any woman he knew—but these were traits a woman was expected to have. He liked that womanly side of her. But he also liked her courage, determination and independence. In fact, he admired her greatly.
But he still hated her judgments, accusations and condemnations.
His head began to ache, an unfamiliar sensation. His mind was going round and round uselessly. If she became his enemy, he would have to deal with her as he did all of his enemies—ruthlessly, without mercy. But how could he do that to the woman he wanted in his bed?
He already knew he cared about her Fate; otherwise, he would have left her behind in New York City, an easy prey for the evil hunting her.
Now, he started to wonder if he cared about her.
He had never had any concern for a woman before, not in any way.
They had come and gone quickly, a parade of nameless women sharing his bed.
But Tabitha had a name, her own thoughts and feelings, and she had grave concerns for him as well as for others.
He wasn’t sure what to make of this newfound discovery that he might be fond of her.
But she wasn’t fond of him. Women did not betray the men they cared for.
Could she really betray him?
It almost hurt to think that she could.
Someone touched his shoulder. He was so deeply in thought, he hadn’t heard his approach. He flinched and met Rob’s intent gaze. “Ye let her speak against ye.”
He stiffened. “’Tis her way.”
“The men are whisperin’ she has ye bewitched.”
His tension soared. “They dinna ken the truth about her.”
“They ken ye want her so badly, ye let her rant an’ rave without respect or discipline.”
Rob was right.
“Will ye let her betray ye, as well?”
“Of course not,” he snapped. But he felt uncertain—and he was never uncertain.
“A woman should make a man strong, not weak.” Rob walked away.
He was incredulous again. Rob thought him weak? But if he let her plot against him, if he did not punish her, then he was very weak, indeed—and Blayde would eventually fall victim to his enemies.
He had to end this before she did the unthinkable.
His mind was made up. He strode to the front doors and flung them open.
She was still trying to put her magic on him.
She hoped to block him from her thoughts.
Every time he felt her magic pressing on him, pulling him into its vortex, he willed it far away.
He intended to be the victor in that contest.
He saw her on the ramparts, silhouetted against the clearing skies. If she cared about him, even a small bit, she would not be doing this.
He glanced at his prisoner. The MacDougall boy was cloaked in his red-and-black colors. He choked. Then he turned and shouted, “Rob, get my brat from the boy.”
“I wouldna wish to be her now,” Rob muttered, hurrying past him.
Macleod strode across the ward. He started swiftly up the stairs.
As he came up to the ramparts, he saw that she was in a deep trance, her eyes closed, her face lifted to the emerging sun.
Sweat shone on her skin, making it almost translucent.
Her arms were extended, palms up and oddly limp. She did not notice him.
For one moment he stared, aware of her beauty, her power and her grace.
In that moment, he thought about how she had wanted to offer him comfort, which he’d refused.
Her desire to somehow heal him and erase the past had annoyed him dangerously.
Now, he would dearly love to have her harping on him that way.
Then he glanced into the bailey. Rob had stripped the boy of the wool.
Macleod noted the pail. Tabitha had brought him water. His displeasure increased. So did his resolve. “Tabitha.”
She did not hear him.
“Tabitha.”
She started, her eyes flying open and, when lucidity appeared in her gaze, she paled.
“Will ye come inside an’ dine?” he asked flatly.
She was breathing hard, trembling, and the fine gown he’d given her clung to her lush curves. Even as angry as he was, his body stirred. She did not answer, starting to rise. He reached to help her, but she flinched at his touch and jerked away. “Don’t.”
He truly tried to check his anger. “Ye begged fer my touch this dawn.”
A flush appeared. “Yes, I did.”
He hadn’t expected such an answer. “I can make ye beg again—right now—right here.” She would not be his enemy when she was weeping in pleasure and release.
“No, you can’t,” she warned.
He was tempted to show her that the attraction which raged between them, the desire which made him insatiable, remained.
She breathed hard and said, as if reading his mind, “No, Macleod. Don’t think it. It’s over now.”
“’Tisna over, Tabitha. ’Tis only ended when I say so.” And he meant it.
“I cannot allow you to abuse Coinneach, and I will not let you execute him.”
Didn’t she know how provocative those words were? “Yer courage amazes me. Ye dinna give the commands here.”
“What you are doing is wrong,” she said. “In my time, there are rules which govern the treatment of prisoners. Do you want to hear them?”
He was actually interested, but he shook his head. “I willna war with ye, and I willna allow ye to war with me.”
“The reason there are rules is not to protect the enemy’s soldiers as much as to protect your own soldiers. Of course, in my time, we value all human life.”
He stared at her. Coinneach’s mother was a witch, but he was certain that Coinneach was not evil or inhuman.
“Has it ever occurred to you that if you showed mercy to a MacDougall, they would show mercy to a Macleod?”
“O’ course,” he said, suddenly angry. “But there wasna mercy in 1201. I dinna start this feud.”
She inhaled. “I know. It was awful. I am so sorry!”
He was stunned. She still wanted to help him! She thought to free Coinneach and help him with his pain. He softened his tone. “Come down and dine before ye get sickened. We can converse about yer rules—an’ about the massacre.”
Her eyes widened. It took her a moment, but she said, “Are you trying to distract me? Because it won’t work.”
“So ye refuse to come to the hall with me?”
She hesitated and, grimly, she nodded.
“I canna free him,” he exclaimed, all patience gone. “He will return, an’ next time, mayhap he’ll put his dagger in my back while I sleep! Do ye wish me dead?”
“Of course not. But someone has to take the high road and stop this insane war.”
His tension soared. “This war will go on forever.” It was actually a dismal thought. “I’ll war until I die. I owe my father that much. Why canna ye comprehend my world?”
“I do comprehend your world. It is a world of violence, where might makes right—only the strong survive. It is a jungle, with no value for human life! What will it take to end this bloody feud? How many boys and men must die first? Isn’t it enough that evil claims so many innocent lives?”
“My father made peace with the MacDougall, an’ it was a great mistake. While he slept, while we all slept, they came inside Blayde an’ murdered everyone except for me. Children died in their beds that day, Tabitha, Macleod children.”
“You have suffered terribly, Macleod. I wish you had been spared all that you have lived through. And your father was a great man, to attempt to make peace. Whatever you think you owe him, you’ve paid—overpaid! I have no doubt he would want you to be happy.”
He jerked. “Happy? What kind of word is that?”
“He’d want you to be at peace!”
“My duty is revenge.”
She shook her head, her color high now. “What happened here in 1201 was evil. Many innocent men, women and children died. But you’re not evil, and Coinneach is Innocent.”
“An’ now ye’ll harp on me?”
She nodded, her face strained. “I refuse to believe that you are not destined to be a Master. You were born to protect Innocence, not destroy it. I know that massacre made you hard and vengeful. I know you think it your duty to war on your mortal enemies. But you have a much higher calling in life. Why won’t you consider that? ”
“Ye sound like MacNeil!” he exclaimed.
She suddenly touched his arm and he felt her compassion flowing from her. “Have you ever considered forgiving the MacDougalls and starting over with them?”
He was disbelieving. “Ye ken naught o’ this world!”
“Others will suffer as you have, both Macleods and MacDougalls, if this does not end. Do you want your son to spend his lifetime beheading MacDougalls to avenge you?”
He trembled with absolute rage. The ramparts shuddered beneath them, around them. “Cease! I willna have a son!”
Her eyes widened. “Of course you won’t. You’re too smart. You would never wish this life on your child.”