Her captor chuckled. “Well, you’re not in the water, so you might as well stop that kicking.”
She did not. In fact, despite the man’s tight grip, Mac managed to work her hand over to just the right place to grasp hold of his bollocks and twist.
With a guttural cry, he released her with a shove that sent her to the ground on all fours. “The wee devil!”
While the one man gripped his groin, another one let out a hearty laugh.
Mac scrambled to her feet, but a hand grasped her upper arm and held on like a vise before she could run. “She’s quite bonnie for a devil.”
“You may have her,” said the first. “As you’ve no bollocks to lose.”
“’Tis not what your wife says.”
Mac rolled her eyes. “Really?”
“Pay my friend Fergus no heed,” the second man spoke softly into her ear.
Mac thrashed about in his grip.
“Calm yourself, girl.”
She jerked her shoulders angrily. “Calm myself—when you’re holding me captive? And don’t call me ‘girl.’” Mac tried to sound strong, but she quavered inside.
Now somewhat recovered, Fergus said, “Hold her hands, Hamish.” Fergus then wrapped a length of rope around Mac’s wrists and, with a final yank, tightened and tied them together behind her back.
Hamish loosened his grip enough for Mac to jerk her arm free of his grasp and take off in a run. Hamish and Fergus exchanged weary looks, and then Hamish set out after Mac. His long limbs made chasing her easy enough, but the job was made even easier when the uneven ground caught her foot, causing her to fall face first. Boggy ground cushioned her fall, leaving only her spirit wounded and her face slathered in mud.
Mac sat up and was working her way to her feet when Hamish slipped his arms under hers and lifted her in one swift motion. She considered her options. Running had not worked out well. Even if she managed to free herself again, there was no place to hide. She decided to save her strength for a better opportunity.
Hamish smeared the worst of the mud from her face. “Are you hurt?” A warm look with a tinge of amusement shone in his eyes.
Mac found this reassuring—if not to the point of complete trust, then at least to a point at which she did not fear for her life—at least not for the moment.
Hamish said, “You’d best tell us your name and your business here, lass, for I’m losing my patience.”
Thoughts raced through her mind as she tried to decide how to answer. Clan tartans would not come into use for a hundred more years, so she could not tell by their plaid who they were. With the castle so close, the odds were better that these men were MacKenzies or MacRaes, which would make them Ciarán’s clansmen. On the other hand, they could be spies, in which case she did not need to volunteer that she was a MacKenzie. “I am…”
As Fergus joined them, leading two horses by the reins, Mac feigned distraction in an effort to stall giving the inevitable answer. But the two men exchanged a look that Mac read to mean that her time was just about up. However, she could not get past the fact that her given name would not pass as such in these times, assuming these times were anytime before the twentieth century (which, judging from their plaids, horses, and apparent lack of deodorant, she felt safe in assuming).
Fergus drew close and peered into her eyes. “She’s either forgotten her name, or she’s a Ross.”
Mac heaved a sigh. “Oh, all right. It’s Mackenzie.”
“MacKenzie?” said Fergus.
“Yes.”
“And your forename?” asked Hamish.
“Mac. People just call me Mac.”
“’Tis not a proper name for a woman.”
With a helpless shrug, Mac said, “So I’ve been told.”
“And your purpose?”
Mac’s emotions welled up inside. She was in a strange place. Two brawny Scotsmen held her at their mercy, and her feelings for Ciarán seemed so far removed from her time or his that she wondered if she had made a mistake. He had kissed her. So what? A kiss wasn’t exactly a lasting commitment. Would he even remember or care for her now? “I’m not sure anymore.” As she said it, tears moistened her eyes.
She was too busy loathing herself for her show of emotion to see the two men exchange looks. Her nose was beginning to run.
Hamish asked, “If I let go of you, will you run?”
“Yes.”
He chuckled. “Well, then, I’ll have to hold onto you, won’t I?” He turned to Fergus. “I suppose we should take her to the castle.”
Mac’s ears perked at the mention of the castle.
With a shake of his head, Fergus said, “We’ve already wasted enough time on this girl. I say we tie her and leave her here for someone to find later.”
Fergus meant it. Mac had no doubt of that, but she caught Hamish’s look of disapproval, which gave her hope. She might have been making a fatal mistake, but the thought of being left tied up on the moor frightened her more than being in the custody of these two. Something about Hamish made her want to trust him. He was younger and seemed far less cynical than his companion. Even Fergus, as weathered and harsh as he was, did not seem a cruel man, so Mac took a chance and blurted out, “I came to find Ciarán MacRae.”
Hamish’s grip tightened at the sound of the name. “Ciarán?”
Fergus’s eyes glimmered sharply against his leather skin.
Mac tried to glance over her shoulder, but she could not get a good look at Hamish. Unable to read their reactions, Mac had little choice but to forge on and ask, “Do you know him?”
“The question is,” said Fergus, “how do you know him?”
“I met him one night in a storm.”
“Met him? When?”
“I couldn’t tell you exactly. I knew him for only a day.”
Hamish peered at her thoughtfully. “After knowing him for one day, you appear in our midst. From the looks of you, I’d wager you arenae from here. And you sound very strange.”
“Strange, indeed,” chimed in Fergus.
Mac could not help the look of annoyance she threw Fergus’s way.
Hamish drew her attention back. “Why would you come all the way here looking for Ciarán?” With a sideways glance at Fergus, Hamish moved closer to Mac. Now inches away, he said softly, “You love him.”
“No!” Mac protested. “How could I? I barely know him.”
Fergus narrowed his gaze. “You’re with child.”
Mac shot him another look of annoyance. “Not that it’s any business of yours, but no—and thanks for making me feel like a cow.”
“Och, but you’re a bonnie cow. Is she not, Fergus?” Hamish whisked a lingering trace of dried mud from Mac’s face. “Easy, lass. Ciarán is being held for ransom at Balnagown Castle, and he is my brother.”
Mac’s head was reeling. “You’re his brother. He’s locked up in a castle? What happened? Why aren’t you getting him out?”
“We were going to do just that when we came upon you.”
“Well, let’s go! Tell me more on the way.” She turned around. “Please untie me. This is just wasting time.”
Fergus mounted his horse. “No, lass. You’re staying here. Hamish, just leave her.”
Mac gave Hamish a pleading look. “No. Please. I’ve got to see him.”
Fergus said, “There’s no time to take her back to the castle.”
“But we could send her back whence she came.” Hamish’s knowing expression made Mac suspect that he knew all about the stone chamber and perhaps about her. He quietly said, “Go home, lass. ’Tis not safe for you here. I’ll tell Ciarán I saw you. He can come to you if we’re able to free him.”
“If? I have waited for months. There’s no ‘if’ about it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Hamish,” said Fergus, with a growl of impatience.
“Home is the best place for you, lassie.” With that, Hamish bade Mac good-bye and turned away. After mounting his horse, he and Fergus rode off, leaving Mac standing alone.
8
The Crossroads
As Hamish and Fergus disappeared over the horizon, Mac wondered whether she should follow their trail or simply go home. “As if I even know how to follow a trail.” She let out a deep sigh. She was losing this round of “Girl versus Highlands.” What next? She could press on, but for what? For a guy who had kissed her and told her he would love her? She could find that at any singles bar in the New York metro area. Mac looked back toward the chamber with a sigh. It was too late to do anything now. If her theory was right, the stone chamber would take her back home in the morning, assuming the dawn sunlight shone into both sides of the chamber, past and present. So all she had to do was to spend the night here and go home in the morning. It was, by far, the most sensible choice.
Or she could walk. She could follow their trail until it ended at Balnagown Castle or until she lost them completely. What then? It was not as if she could check her GPS or pull over to a service station and ask for directions. A person might go for miles without seeing someone else. Mac knew herself well. She was smart; she worked hard; she was good with small children; and she sucked at navigating. There was a good chance she’d get lost on the way, and then where would she be? Well, that was the point; she wouldn’t know.
The far safer plan was to wait here until the men came back with Ciarán—if they came back with Ciarán. And yet that was the plan she could not execute. Waiting here would be torment, as would be going home without knowing Ciarán’s fate. If the roles were reversed, he would try to help her—even if he had to ride on horseback down I-684 at rush hour to find her. Mac could do no less than Ciarán would do.
And so she decided to go after Ciarán alone, if only to see him one last time. But one last time before what? A chill shot through her. She would not think like that. All her effort would go toward finding Ciarán. The rest would wait until then. Mac stood up, brushed herself off, and set out toward the direction the men had gone.
It had recently rained, so their trail would be easy to follow. Her modern length of tartan was a much finer weave than the cloth from this time and not nearly as warm as Ciarán’s plaid had felt during their one night together. She sighed as she thought of how warm she had felt in his arms.
A horseman appeared up ahead. Adrenaline shot through Mac’s chest as she thought about what to do next. As she hiked up her skirt and started to run for a tree to try to hide, a deep voice called out, “Mac!”
It was Hamish. He had come back for her. Mac walked toward him, full of hope that she could not suppress. After bringing his horse to a halt beside her, Hamish reached down. “Come, lass.”
Until now, she had not seen the resemblance. But in this kind gesture, she saw traces of Ciarán. Hamish had a stockier build and red hair that was wild about his face, but his eyes, at that moment, were Ciarán’s. Warm and reassuring, he made her feel safe and a little bit homesick. She swallowed her emotions and grasped Hamish’s hand as he pulled her up behind him.
“Hang on, and I’ll take you to Ciarán.”
*
They caught up to Fergus and rode in silence all morning until they arrived at a stream, where they stopped to rest and water the horses. While Fergus went off to relieve himself, Hamish started a fire. “So you love him, then?”
Mac flinched as he broke the silence but quickly recovered. “Love him? I barely know him.” She met Hamish’s questioning look with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “I thought you meant Fergus.”
After surprise crossed over his face, Hamish let out a laugh.
Mac let the spark in her eyes spread to a full grin.
When his laughter subsided, Hamish said, “And what of Ciarán?”
Mac blinked. “You’re his brother. You know more about him than I do.”
With a quick look of appraisal, Hamish said, “You love him.”
Her evasive tactic having failed, Mac worked to refute it. “We just spent the one night together.”
Hamish lifted an eyebrow.
“Not like you’re thinking,” Mac went on. “No, we were forced to seek shelter together.”
With a roguish look, Hamish nodded. “Shelter.”
“Yes, shelter. It was a snowstorm—a bad one.”
He nodded deliberately. “Oh, aye.”
“Aye—yes,” she insisted. “All there was between us was a kiss.” Her mouth turned up in an unexpected smile as she recalled it. Her eyes flitted up to find Hamish grinning, and they flitted back down to avoid him. “It was a good-bye kiss.”
“Oh, I think he would have told me about that.”
Mac bristled. “Are you saying I’m lying?”
“No, lass. Calm yourself. I only mean that they must have caught him before he had a chance to come home.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
He gave her an admiring look. “For I’m certain he would have told me about meeting someone like you.”
“Would he?” Mac hated to let down her guard to reveal her true feelings, but she could not help but wonder. “I would think someone like Ciarán would have his pick of young ladies.” Mac inwardly groaned. When had she become that woman?
A sly spark lit Hamish’s eyes. “Aye, he does.”
As if coyly fishing for information had not been enough, now she had to hide her disappointment with the results. Of course he had women around him. He was strong and attractive—if attractive meant heart-hammeringly hot—and he was kind. Who would ever want that? Mac’s eyes closed as she exhaled. This was a fool’s errand. She looked up to find Hamish studying her with merciful eyes.
“Dinnae fash yersel, lass. He’ll have none of them.”
And he may not want me.
It was all she could do not to voice it. Even so, Hamish seemed to understand.
“I dinnae ken Ciarán’s mind, but I will tell you this: We’ll make certain you have a chance to find out.”
“How, by abandoning me in the middle of nowhere?”
Hamish waved dismissively. “Och, one of the men would have found you and taken you into the castle. This is part of their regular patrol.”
“Thanks for letting me know.” Mac looked away to spare him the full force of her glare. “So what changed your mind?”
He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Love. But dinnae tell Fergus. He’ll think I’ve gone soft.” A corner of his mouth twitched in a way she had seen Ciarán’s do.
“Love?”
“Aye. I could see that you love him, and I couldnae see how he couldnae love you.”