Highlander Undone (Highland Bound Book 5) (16 page)

“Really?”

Moira’s expression was thoughtful. “Home is where ye make it. Right? Home is with your people.”

“That is true. But ye’re one of my people. My constant companion, my very best friend.”

Moira smiled sadly. “And now that position falls to your husband.”

“Aye, he is my companion and best friend, too. But he could never replace the bond we have. That’s different. We shared a womb. We shared a life.”

“I don’t think I can stay here,” Moira’s voice cracked. “I’m sorry.”

Shona shook her head, reaching for her sister, and stepping over the downed arsehole in order to get to her. They clung to each other, tears of gratitude, relief, and fear, causing a maelstrom of sobs between the two of them.

“Ye dinna have to be sorry for wanting to go back to the place ye call home.”

“But I am!” Moira sobbed. “I might never see ye again!”

Shona didn’t have the heart to tell her sister that she’d been here in this time for six years before Fate felt the need to call her back, and for less than twenty-four hours at that. There was no telling when Moira would return to present day, if she’d stay here, or be whisked back another hundred years. Neither of them had the answers, and right now, all Shona could be grateful for was the fact that her sister
did
finally believe her. Now they could really begin the healing process before figuring out where the hell they were supposed to be in history’s timeline.

“What’s happened?” Ewan burst through the trees, his tone urgent, followed by Rory’s, “Bloody hell!”

Shona wiped at her tears, smiling at her sister, before reassuring Ewan. “We’re fine, I promise. He didn’t hurt us.”

“We didn’t give him the chance.” Moira nodded to the thick log beside the ogre’s head.

“I’m impressed.” Rory nudged the man with his foot.

Ewan grabbed Shona’s shoulders. “Are ye certain ye’re all right?”

“Positive.”

But that didn’t stop him from looking her body over, checking for wounds.

“Enough,” she said with a laugh, brushing his exploring hands aside. “Did ye get the horses?”

“Aye, but we left them tied a few dozen yards away. We came running as soon as we heard the struggle.” Ewan kissed her softly. “I was scared to death.”

“I admit to a small amount of fear myself.” She bobbed her head toward the man. “But ye and Rory both taught me well. And I have Moira to thank for the blow that finally knocked him out.”

Ewan chuckled and kissed her again. “All in one piece.”

“Aye.”

“I hate to interrupt,” Rory said. “But if we dinna ride soon, we’ll not make it to Castle Gealach before dark.”

“I dinna want my wife on the road after dark,” Ewan said. Then he swung her up into his arms and started walking toward where they’d hidden the horses.

“Put me down! I’m perfectly capable of walking.”

He winked at her. “I know ye are. I just like to hold ye, especially after a scare like that.”

Shona snuggled against her husband and peered over his shoulder, watching the way Moira smiled softly, glancing at the ground and then at Rory from the sides of her eyes, almost shy. Rory was doing the same sort of thing in his own way—holding his breath after speaking, waiting for her answer, blowing it out when she finally did. They were acting as though they didn’t know each other. Which was funny, because the two of them had been hot and heavy before Rory left. Shona could see in their exchanges that they still loved each other. If only the two of them could say it. Or maybe they didn’t quite realize it yet.

Perhaps a little more time, which she wasn’t certain they had, would be all it took to push them back together.

“I love ye, Ewan,” she whispered against her husband’s ear and then laid her head on his shoulder.

“I love ye, too.”

For Shona, it didn’t matter where she was, as long as Ewan was by her side.

Chapter Thirteen

The sun was just beginning its descent to the horizon when they crested the ridge overlooking the castle below. Rory breathed out a sigh of relief that they’d made it back to the castle with all of the MacDonald horses, and not a single incident to waylay them.

While they’d stopped to water the horses some miles back, they’d all changed into the clothing Hildie had supplied them. The plaids were Grant colors, not surprising, and clean. The ladies ended up with gowns that were rather more innocent than Rory would have thought possible coming from a tavern full of willing wenches.

“Wow.” Moira gasped with pleasure.

Rory glanced at Moira, wanting to take in the exact expression of awe on her face.

“I’ve seen this place, but it’s so different. So incredibly majestic. I can’t believe it! I’ve only ever seen it with walls crumbling, no roof…” Wonderment brightened her features.

“Aye. Isn’t it amazing what five hundred years can do to a place?” Rory chuckled and jutted his chin toward the castle. “I remember the first time I journeyed to your time, I could have been whisked off of Earth, taken to the moon for all I knew.”

“Ye jest,” Moira said, “but they are already talking about setting up bases on the moon and other planets.”

“Other planets?” Rory raised a brow, his gaze setting on the sky above, imagining a sky full of places like this. “Are they like ours?”

“There are thousands, maybe millions of other planets in all the galaxies. But so far they’ve not found any exactly like ours. Maybe a couple close to it. Who knows what they’ll find. If time travel is possible, why not other planets?”

“Lass, ye’ve just blown my mind.”

Moira laughed, and so did Ewan and Shona. In the group of four, Rory was the only one originally from the 1500’s. What did that say about their group? What could it mean? Though their customs, cultures, entire ways of life were infinitely different in the various time periods, that didn’t matter, because at the root of it all, people were people.

Rory turned his attention back to Gealach, the spires on the gates sparkling. “One of these days, I will pick your brain more about that.”

“If I’m still here.” Moira said it so casually, as though she were saying that it may rain tomorrow, but the words themselves, they cut deep.

Rory grunted, unable to form a true response.
If she was still here.
He didn’t want to think about a world without her in it. He wanted her with him always. Somehow, he had to make her see that they were meant to be together. This was Fate’s act, now he had to prove it. But ultimately, she had to make that decision herself—he didn’t want her any other way but willing.

He urged his horse forward, following Ewan and Shona who would speak to the Master of the Gate.

“Remember, dinna say ye are Rory MacLeod to anyone, save the laird,” Ewan said. “If Logan is at home, I’ll request a meeting and see what we can get sorted. Logan can offer ye protection while ye’re here.”

Rory would be lying if he didn’t admit that the offer of protection from a laird stung two ways. One, he didn’t want to cower behind the boots of another man, and two, the last laird he’d sworn to protect had ended up dead. If Logan Grant offered him protection, in turn, Rory would kneel before him and pledge his own loyalty and protection, an oath he wasn’t certain he could commit to, given his past.

He cleared his throat, and offered his thanks anyway.

They reached the front of the gate, the portcullis closed tight, with the dimming light of gloaming giving their surroundings a dusky gray aura.

“Who goes there?” shouted the man at the top of the gate.

Ewan raised his arm. “Taig! ’Tis Ewan.”

There was silence for a breath, and then the man leaned over the ramparts staring down, a mischievous grin on his face. “Ewan? Ewan who?”

“Ewan Fraser, ye jackanapes!”

“My wife must have poisoned my whisky, for surely I’m dead!” the man shouted down. “Ye’ve been gone for months! Thought the MacDonald had fed ye to his pack of demons.”

“’Tis I, in the flesh. I assure ye, ye’re not dead, though I canna tell ye if your wife is poisoning ye. If I were the lass, I’d have done it long ago.”

Taig laughed. “It is ye, captain! Open the gates!”

The portcullis was raised, the gates opened, and before they could cross under, a rush of men-at-arms crowded through the opening, surrounding them.

They lifted Ewan from his horse, and Shona, too, chanting and carrying them through the throng. Rory nodded to the men who took his and Moira’s reins. She looked at him fearfully and he smiled, winked, hoping it would be reassuring enough.

“Where the hell have ye been?” Taig asked Ewan.

“Bloody
Sassenachs
,” Ewan answered, the menace in his voice so convincing Rory almost believed it, too.

“And your friends?”

“Moira is Shona’s sister, twins can ye not tell?”

“Aye, the spitting image, save for the hair. And the man?”

“I’m—” Rory started, but was cut off by Shona.

“My sister’s husband.”

Nobody asked his name, and when Rory thought he might have panicked at being so quickly married, he did not. In fact, the idea of being Moira’s husband sat very well with him. He flicked his gaze toward Moira to gauge her reaction. Stock still, her expression was blank. Rory felt conflicting feelings of being both impressed at her ability to hide any shock she might be feeling, and sadness that the thought of being married to him hadn’t brought a smile to her face. Well, what could he expect?

“Come inside, we’ll get ye something to eat.”

“Ewan! Shona!” A woman, dressed in a fine gown, her hair swept up in a knot of fiery curls upon her head, rushed down the wide stone stairs of the keep. “I can’t believe it’s you!”

A
Sassenach
? Rory had not known the mistress of Gealach, married to the Guardian of Scotland, was English.

A formidable warrior stepped from inside the castle onto the landing, staring down the stairs at them, his expression unreadable, his stance rigid.

“We’ve searched all of Scotland for ye. They said ye were abducted. Simply vanished.” Logan’s expression was guarded, his mouth set in a firm line.

There was a brief exchange of glances between Emma and Shona, a clear question and answer.

Emma was a time-traveler. She must have guessed that was what happened.

Rory was a little worried about how they’d be received by Logan Grant. He didn’t appear as pleased as Ewan had led Rory to believe he would be.

The Lady of Gealach broke the tension. “And ye’ve brought guests,” Emma said wrapping her arms around Shona’s shoulders.

“Please allow them to stay, my lady,” Shona murmured. “My sister and her husband.”

Moira kept her gaze shifting from the ground to Shona’s face and back again. Nervous, her hands were tightly clutched in front of her hips. Rory wanted to pick her up and whisk her away from all this, back to a world where she didn’t have to be scared, or worried. A world where he could protect her more easily. Then again, her world had its dangers, too.

Emma graced them all with an enchanting smile. “Of course they can stay.”

“Maybe they canna,” Logan said from the top of the stairs. “Ewan. Glad ye’ve returned. A word? And with your new friend.”

Not a good sign. Rory’s gut twisted.

“Aye, my laird.” Ewan jerked his head at Rory.

Rory followed behind, eager to get his conversation with the Guardian finished. The inside of the castle was dark and gloomy; a contrast to their lady’s welcome, though he did smell fresh flowers and rushes. Logan led them up a circular stone stair and down another dimly lit corridor corridor to a room he opened with a key. Once inside, Logan walked to a sideboard and poured whisky in three metal cups, but before he offered them, he downed his own and then refilled.

“What happened, Ewan? Emma was worried for ye. We all were. I had our armies searching the entire damned country. Accused MacDonald of taking ye. Even got the regent involved. He’ll be cross to know I falsely accused the man.”

“If I could have stopped the chain of events, my laird, I would have. Ye know that. I hope ye can find it possible to forgive me, to pardon my wife and her family.” Ewan came forward, smacked Logan on the back and said jovially, obviously trying to lighten the mood, “Did ye miss me?”

Logan glowered a full five seconds. “Dammit, I thought the MacDonalds had gotten hold of ye.” The two men quickly embraced amid much backslapping, and then Logan gave them each their cups. “Who are ye?” he demanded of Rory.

Rory stood straighter. “I’m Rory MacLeod.”

The shift in the laird’s demeanor was not subtle. A storm filled his face. “Ewan. Explain.”

“I’d rather do so myself, my laird,” Rory said, bracing for the backlash of having spoken when not addressed.

Logan grunted, but there was no other response, and Rory took that as an affirmative to keep going.

“I’ve not heard the rumors about myself, other than what Ewan has told me. I am no murderer. But I have betrayed my clan.”

Logan said nothing, simply glowered in Rory’s direction. The cup in Rory’s hand remained there, though he desperately would have preferred a deep sip to take the edge off. Aye, the man was about his own size, and their skills could have been matched for all he knew, but to take on the Guardian of Scotland would be paramount to naming himself a traitor to his country, and that he certainly was not.