Highlander Undone (Highland Bound Book 5) (17 page)

“Like Ewan, I was captain of the guard. There was a siege at our castle. The enemy broke through our defenses; they began to ravage the village. Tear the castle apart. The children were hurried into hiding, but my laird, and his mistress, they stood strong. They were taken when I was in the midst of combat.” Rory’s mouth had gone dry. “I called to the men left standing to come with me to get our laird and his wife back. But that left our people defenseless, and when the enemy saw us pursuing, they cut down my laird, and his wife. They fought us, left us for dead. It was carnage. When I woke, I was badly wounded. I tried to make it back, but… I couldn’t. By the time I was well enough, it was too late. So much time had passed. I… I ran. I couldn’t bear it. I was the cause of so much destruction.”

“Ye were not the cause.” Logan sipped his whisky. “Drink.”

“’Tis kind of ye to say such, but I was. If I’d—”

“Stop. Too many times we say,
if only
. There is no going back, only forward. I dinna believe the accusations of murder against ye. I’ve a skill for judging, and I can see ye’re innocent. Ye were going after your laird, his wife—to save them, not to harm them. Your sworn duty is to protect them, anyone should understand that. But, ye see, MacLeod’s son, Ranulf, the new laird, does not believe it. What reason would he have to consider that ye killed the MacLeod and his wife?”

This was a part of Rory’s life that was best left in the dark hole he’d buried it in. Rory raised his chin, not speaking.

“I canna help ye if ye dinna tell me everything.” Logan Grant was a formidable man and the way he spoke so calmly, and still managed to lace a bit of a threat into his words spoke volumes.

If Rory were less of a man, he might have been frightened. But he wasn’t.

Rory had heard many stories about Logan. About his domination on the fields of battle, how he’d risen to the top, even rumors that he was the rightful king. But all of those factors did not make Rory want to divulge his secrets.

“I’ll take my chances,” Rory said, straightening to his full height. “I appreciate your offer of help—”

“Dinna be a fool!” Ewan seethed. “Ye canna survive. There is a price on your head. Ranulf MacLeod will take ye dead or alive.”

Rory gritted his teeth. “I’m not a man to cower behind the power of another. I will fight this on my own.”

“Think of Moira,” Ewan continued. “What about her?”

“She is not your concern.” Rory fisted his hands, not liking the direction this conversation was taking.

Logan’s cool voice cut through the heat of Rory’s anger. “She will be if ye go off and get yourself killed.”

Give up his pride, or the woman he loved?

That was not a choice Rory wanted to make.

“She’d be safer without me.” The words were out of his mouth before the thought had fully formed. “I loved her once, I love her still, but perhaps ’tis best for us to part ways. She’ll be free to return to her… home.”

Ewan shook his head.

Logan sipped his whisky, thoughtful.

Rory downed his drink in one swill, not daring to ask for a refill, though Logan poured him one anyway.

“I had the same thoughts once,” Logan said. “Why bring danger to the ones we love? They’re safer outside of the realm of danger. But the truth is, they are not. Because we love them, they are in more danger. Your wife will be the victim of MacLeod, just as Shona could have been.”

Ewan jerked his gaze from Rory to Logan.

Logan continued. “Anyone with an association to ye is already compromised. Being that the four of ye are now under my roof, that means that the entirety of my clan is now at more risk of war from MacLeod, at the verra least a visit, which he’s been itching to do since I accused him anyhow. Your arrival is tantamount to an invitation.”

“I will leave at once.” Rory set down his cup on the sideboard and marched toward the door.

“Stop.” Logan’s voice had taken a turn for harsh. “I’ll lock ye in my dungeon if I have to. But we both know the easiest way to solve this dilemma is for ye to simply tell me why the young laird would think ye killed his parents. Then, I can help ye.”

Rory had stopped walking, but he couldn’t turn around. He stared hard at the door, needing more than anything to be on the other side of it.

“Come on, man,” Ewan said.

“What ye say will not leave the room,” Logan added. “Ye have my word.”

Rory swallowed hard around the barbs that seemed to have implanted in his throat. He’d never told anyone before, and he didn’t want to tell anyone now. A secret that should have been locked away, that was buried alongside the bodies of the laird and mistress of MacLeod.

Moira’s face flashed into his mind. Her smile. Her hesitant touch to his hand. She was slowly starting to trust him. He couldn’t put her in danger, even if it meant that she might find out the truth and choose never to be with him again.

“The laird wants me dead,” he admitted.

Logan crossed his arms over his chest. “Aye, we gathered that.”

“Because I…”

They waited patiently as Rory searched for the words. “Because I am his father, which means his right to be laird of the MacLeod clan could be questioned.” His throat burned from the admission.

“Ye’re his father?” Logan’s voice was steady, not even a hint of shock.

“Aye.”

“How?” Ewan asked, his surprise not as well hidden as his laird’s.

“When I was a lad, the laird, my uncle, took me under his wing. He’d just married a young lass about my age, I was fourteen or fifteen summers at the time. She was beautiful, and we ended up spending a lot of time together.” Rory paused, wishing he’d not gotten rid of his whisky cup.

“That does not make him your son.”

“Aye, but it does. Ye see, when she conceived, her husband was on campaign. We made love everyday for the two months that he was gone.”

“Ah. Did the old laird know?” Logan questioned, while Ewan remained silent, contemplative.

This was the hardest part. “Aye. He did. And he accepted it. He embraced the lad as his own, after all there is a blood connection, and he continued to promote me within the clan.”

“Did they have any other children?”

Rory shook his head. “Nay. In fact, one drunken night, the laird confessed to me he did not think he could have children, and that was why he paired me with his lady wife. He was hoping it would happen so he’d have a son to claim his place, and if there was a blood tie, all the better.”

“Why would he not simply name ye as laird?”

“He’d been married before, and they did not conceive, and I’d been his only heir, though I made it clear, in my hotheaded youth, I did not want the honor. I suppose he thought he was doing me a favor.”

“Would ye have accepted the position if the clan asked?”

Rory shrugged. “I’d not thought about it. ’Twas always the plan for Ranulf as heir.”

“Does Ranulf know?”

“Aye. His father confessed on his deathbed, and swore to Ranulf that no one knew.”

“Then why should the young laird want ye dead?”

“Because I am still a threat, and because he believes I dishonored his mother. If the truth were to come out his position would be in jeopardy, not to mention his mother’s reputation. We do not speak ill of the dead. He looks the spitting image of myself. Perhaps ’tis shame. And every time he looks at his own reflection, he is reminded that I am still alive. To erase the shame, he must kill me.” Rory shrugged. “It does not matter to him that his position is one I’d never take.”

“Why not? It is rightfully yours.”

“If I could not save my uncle, why should I take his place? ’Tis part of the reason I’ve never gone back. Perhaps I carry a bit of shame myself.”

“I am not going to question your reasons for making the choice ye did, but your uncle’s death does not mean ye’d have been a poor laird,” Logan said.

Ewan handed him another large dram of whisky. “Thank ye for trusting us with your secret.”

Rory locked eyes with Logan. “If something should happen to me, swear to keep Moira safe.”

“She will always have my protection.”

“Ye have my gratitude.” Rory bent to one knee placing his hand over his heart. “And my loyalty. I pledge ye my allegiance and my life.”

“Stand.” Logan reached out and Rory clasped his forearm. “I would not have required your pledge to keep her safe.”

“All the same, I am obligated to give it.”

“As one of us, I will help ye to clear your name,” Logan swore.

Rory nodded and shot the rest of his whisky down his throat. Facing his past, a son who wanted him dead, telling Moira the truth, that was going to require a lot more than a few shots of whisky.

Chapter Fourteen

“You traveled again didn’t you?” Lady Emma asked after clearing her solar of servants.

Moira and Shona stood before the window, glasses of wine in their hands. Moira was still in a state of awe. The castle was mesmerizing, the furniture ornate, the views spectacular, and Emma, she looked as though she belonged here in her green woolen long skirts with the Grant plaid embroidered at her cuffs. Her teeth were clean, quite unlike what Moira had thought of women in history, though since she’d time traveled, she’d likely brought her hygiene habits with her.

Moira looked down at her own gown, a ruddy red, with dark, brown leather lacings over the front, and a looped leather belt that matched. Moira thought it was like playing dress up when she was young, only she got to drink wine—which tasted so much different than what she bought at the liquor store back home. It was fresher, more vibrant. She took another sip, savoring the flavor on her tongue. French wine be damned, she’d take a 1544 Scottish merlot. That thought made her giggle.

But the somber gazes of Emma and Shona pulled her back to the conversation, and she stopped all at once.

“Yes,” Shona confessed. “Back to my time. It’s where we found Moira and Rory. As soon as we were all together, it happened again, bringing us back here.”

“Then this must be where you belong.” Emma slid her hands over the skirts of her gown, the roundness of her pregnant belly very pronounced. “I’ve only traveled the once, and never gone back.”

“And I’ve traveled here and back and here again,” Shona said.

“I’ve only done this once,” Moira offered, though she refused to believe this was where she belonged. Edinburgh and the twenty-first century beckoned.

There had to be a way to get back there. She wasn’t sure when it happened, perhaps with the feeling of hunger, or needing to pee—and using a leaf Shona gave her to wipe—but she’d finally come to terms with what had happened. She’d time traveled. A miracle or a curse?

“We are all together now,” Emma said, beaming a smile. “And Ewan… He…” She chewed her lip and then took a sip of her heavily watered down wine.

Moira glanced at Shona, what could Emma have wanted to say about Ewan? No one had told her that he was her brother yet? Shona shook her head, almost imperceptible in its slight motion. Wow. Someone should have told her. All this time he’d been right there with her.

Emma had lost so much in that plane crash—her parents and her brother, she deserved to know that he was still alive. But that wasn’t Moira’s call, or her right to reveal.

The lady of the castle cleared her throat delicately. “The men are talking, I’m certain, about where you’ve been. Did you all come up with a story?”

Moira nodded while Shona answered. “Captured by the English, we escaped.”

“And how did you come across your sister.”

Moira stared at the beautiful emerald ring on Emma’s finger. It glittered in the candlelight, mesmerizing her.

“We’ll say we passed by our old cottage and found her and Rory there, looking for us.”

Emma pursed her lips. “That sounds believable.”

“Aye.”

Their mistress let out a whimsical sigh. “Tell me of modern day. What was it like? I miss it sometimes, though I wouldn’t give up Logan for anything.”

“Busy,” Shona said with a slight smile. “Loud. I feel the same way. I’m not going anywhere if I can help it.”

Moira hadn’t thought of that difference. It was a lot quieter here. Like,
a lot,
more quiet, and yet, her thoughts were so much louder she’d hardly noticed. “Where are ye from, Emma?”

“The U.S.”

“That is why they think you’re a, what did they call it, a
Sassenach
?” Moira asked.

Emma nodded, setting her wineglass down and fiddling with her hair.

“Does Logan know?”

“Yes.”

“So why don’t we tell him the truth about me and Rory? About Ewan?” She flicked her gaze toward Shona whose eyes widened. Her sister needn’t worry. Ewan’s secret was his to tell.

“I think we should.” Emma stood up and grabbed a handful of nuts from a bowl. “He did search all of Scotland for you. But he also searched the glens.”

“Did he find anything?” Shona asked.

Emma nodded. “At the glen at the top of the ridge beyond, with the sacred stone. He found your belongings. The men with him assumed the bastard MacDonalds had abducted you and stripped you of your belongings so no one would recognize you.”