Healing the Highlander (30 page)

The child's eyes rounded and he nodded his understanding, but he stepped quickly back when he realized his father stood over them.

"You didn't have to do that." Richard reached out as if to touch his son, stopping at the last minute and clasping his hands behind him. "It won't always go so well for you if you repeat your actions. Lord Moreland isn't a particularly patient man. He's a man who likes to have his own way."

As if she cared what that asshole liked.

"First off, I didn't see anyone else doing much about it, Richard. And second, I'd say that old bastard's got a long way to go to actually qualify as a man. Men, real men, don't hit defenseless children." She glared at him as she rose to her feet. "And they don't let anyone else get away with it either."

She'd like to say more to the spineless jellyfish who was supposed to be her uncle, but it wouldn't be fair to Edward. One look at the child told her he worshiped his father. She couldn't, however, resist a parting shot once Edward raced to hold the door for Margery.

"You should try harder to be the man that little boy thinks you are."

She followed along with Margery and Hugh to the corridor where they were being confined, the guards trailing only steps behind them. Next to her, Edward kept pace, his little hand snugly fit in hers.

From the moment Richard had arrived, nothing had worked out as she'd planned. Not getting help from the MacKiernan laird, not trying to bargain for the MacQuarries' freedom, and certainly not her misguided love for Drew.

But perhaps there was a greater reason why it hadn't. Maybe the Fates had determined it was time for her to pay back the kindness that had been shown to her in her time of need. Maybe it was her turn to help someone and she'd been directed back to MacQuarrie Keep to do exactly that.

She squeezed Edward's little hand.

If this was payback time, she didn't intend to let the Fates, or Edward, down.

THIRTY-THREE

They were in!

Knee-deep water swirled in the tunnel. Currents, like invisible fingers, pulled at their legs, making each step an effort.

Drew braced a hand against the slimy wall, giving himself a moment to regain his strength. If the damned tunnel were only large enough to allow them to stand upright, it would be so much easier.

Behind him Dair slid to a stop. "I say we opt for a boat the next time we try such as this."

"Bothered by yer wee swim, Maxwell?" Simeon pulled up the rear.

"It's no the swim I mind, so much as the waters that want to drag me back out to sea. And I'll no even mention this smell. It would make a fishmonger proud," Dair grumbled from behind.

"Quiet!" Ahead of him, Colin hissed the command and all talk ceased.

His brother was right, of course. They had no way of knowing what—or who—might wait in the darkness that loomed out ahead of them.

As they worked their way forward, Drew realized the water level was continuing to drop. It hadn't felt as if they'd gone uphill and a quick glance over his shoulder confirmed as much. It was the natural effect of the waters in the loch draining toward the sea.

"If we'd waited a bit to start our swim, this tunnel would have been a sight drier." Dair echoed his own thoughts.

"Mayhap," Sim countered. "But the last thing we'd want would be to get caught in here when the waters return."

He was right. It would not be a pleasant way to die.

Ahead of him, Colin stopped abruptly and his own feet slid on the slimy floor in an attempt to avoid falling against his brother.

"The ladder's here."

Just as Leah had described. If everything else was as she'd said, the ladder would take them to a storage room and from there they could easily make their way into the keep.

"Lend me a shoulder," Colin ordered from his spot ahead of him on the ladder.

Clutching the edge of the slimy metal, Drew shinnied up beside his brother until he could reach up to feel the impediment they'd encountered. Water-soaked wood, it was without a doubt the trapdoor to the storeroom.

"On my mark," Colin whispered. "One, two, push!"

Drew braced himself against the wall and, in unison with his brother, pushed up with all his might. Above them, the wood gave way, and the trapdoor opened, allowing them access to the room above.

One by one they lifted themselves up, exchanging the wet dark for a dryer version.

"Mind the barrels," Colin cautioned in a whisper. "Find the door."

The minutes felt like hours as they worked their way around the room, Drew's heart pounding with excitement.

Not long now. Not long at all until he'd have her in his arms, proving to himself at last that she was safe and unharmed.

And if she wasn't unharmed?

The nagging voice of doubt ate away at his confidence as it had since the moment he'd laid his hand on the bloodstained necklace.

He couldn't think on it now.

"Here." Dair's voice echoed in the dark and within minutes they stepped into a wide hallway.

A small torch burned at the far end of the passageway, but after the oppressive darkness of the storeroom, even that pitiful light hurt his eyes.

"Be still," Colin ordered next to him, reaching out to place his palm over Drew's heart.

Drew waited, watching as Colin closed his eyes, tilting his head as if he listened for something far away while lifting his other hand, palm extended.

"This way," his brother said at last, heading off down the passageway.

"But how—" he began to ask, only to have his brother cut him short.

"Trust me. We'll find her this direction. I feel it." Trust Colin he would. However his brother did it, whatever it was he felt, the only thing that mattered to Drew was that he did feel. And if Colin could feel his way to Leah, it had to mean that Leah lived.

Not only was Dick a jerk and a coward, he was just plain stupid, too. Three grown women sharing a single room meant for two little boys?

Leah jammed her fist into the lump of blankets under her head. Grandma Mac and Maisey had each taken one of the small cots against the far wall, so she'd laid her pallet here in front of the fire.

Honestly, the forest floor had been more comfortable than this cold stone.

She pulled at the covers once again before lying still, staring into the fire.

On every night of the journey she'd made with Drew, he'd taken his blankets to floor just like this. The pain in his leg must have been excruciating after a night of the cold seeping into his damaged muscles.

No wonder he did yoga in the middle of the night! To fight off the pain. He'd said his sister-in-law had shown him the movements.

Had to be Ellie. Since she'd come from the future, it was only reasonable that she would have been the one familiar with the exercises Drew practiced.

Reasonable? Leah turned her face into the blankets to stifle her snort. How many people in the world would consider anything about time travel to be reasonable?

Drew's family, certainly.

Of course, at the moment, they were technically her family, as well. At least until her marriage was ended.

Leah rolled to her back, jerking her covers over her chest.

She had to do something about that. Lord Moreland had ordered Drew's death and that was something she absolutely could not permit. He might have wanted to marry her for nothing more than her ability to heal, but she knew, to the depths of her soul she knew, he meant much more than that to her.

He was the Soulmate her mother had predicted she'd find one day. That she couldn't be with him was hardly a surprise. Look at her mom and dad.

She'd have to find a way to speak with Sir Peter. He might be an arrogant English knight, but she believed there was more to him than that. It had, after all, been his stalling which had prevented someone from being on their way to kill Drew at this very minute.

Argh! Her thoughts simply circled round and round, always ending back with Drew. Would it be like this forever, with the man haunting her every waking minute for the rest of her life?

Maybe she had turned into her mother.

With that less than comforting thought jangling around in her head, it was officially useless to lie here any longer. Tossing aside her covers, she sat up, scrubbing her hands over her face. Through the little window high on the wall she could already see faint traces of light brightening the eastern sky. Since there was no chance she was getting any sleep anyway, she might as well get up.

The fresh air coming in that little window carried a nip with it, so she padded over to the chest where she'd placed her things and pulled out Drew's plaid to wrap around her shoulders.

No. She would absolutely not get back on that merry-go-round thinking about him again. Absolutely would not.

Leaning down, she jammed another log into the fireplace and reached for the little kettle sitting on the hearth. Some herb tea might do the trick to soothe her mind.

The pot bumped against the stone hearth, but any noise it might have made was lost in a crash of sound coming from the hallway outside her door.

"What was that?" Behind her, Grandma Mac was already out of bed and on her feet, shaking Maisey's shoulder to awaken her.

Before Leah could answer, the door to their bedchamber flew open, crashing back into the wall as it swung wide.

Her mind was still playing tricks on her. It had to be.

Drew strode toward her, his face dark with his emotion. "Come on. We're getting you out of here."

Was he insane? What was he doing here? If Moreland or any of Richard's men caught him, it would be all over.

"You have to leave. If they find here, they'll—" He cut short her warning, crushing her body to his, covering her lips with his own.

The kiss drove all thought from her mind. Not even the desperation and fear she'd felt for him stood a chance against the overwhelming rightness she experienced in his embrace.

By the time he broke the kiss, he'd drawn her to the door.

"My grandmother," she managed to blurt out, breathless and still enthralled.

"All of you!" he barked. "Now. We've no time."

The shouts coming through the open doorway reinforced his words.

Grandma Mac and Maisey followed on her heels as Drew led her into the hallway where two of the men she'd met at Dun Ard, along with a third she didn't recognize, already guarded Grandpa Hugh and Maisey's Walter.

"They're coming," the man she didn't recognize warned as he started forward. "There's no way out now but to carve our way through. We'll clear a path down the stairs and hold them there as long as we can. You get her to the storeroom. Barricade the door and wait until the tide goes out again."

"I'm fighting at yer side, Colin. No matter what you believe, I can be a help. We fight our way out together."

"I dinna question the value of yer sword, brother. Only the need to save yer wife. Think to her safety. We'll join you when we can. We've managed through worse."

Drew tightened his hold on her hand, pulling her after him as they hurried down the hall toward the stairs and uplifted voices.

Metal clanged against metal as her rescuers' swords crossed those of the English soldiers. Men shouting, servants screaming, all assaulted her ears.

Drew shoved her against the wall, behind him, using his body as a shield while he fought what appeared to her to-be a never-ending supply of men, all intent on seeing her husband and the men fighting at his side dead.

She looked up in time to see Richard standing at the head of the stairs. Sir Peter appeared at his side, drawing his sword on the run, his expression wiped of all emotion like a true hardened warrior. Richard followed behind him, weaponless.

The air around her seemed to shimmer with violence as Moreland's sword crashed against the one in Drew's hand.

She covered her ears against the sound and still it reverberated in her lungs, as if the stone walls around them magnified the battle sounds. Unable to tear her eyes from the weapons, she watched as sparks shot away from the impacts.

If only Drew would step away from her. He could take this man. She knew it. She'd seen him that day in the lists.

But he didn't. He fought instead like a man whose only concern was her protection. His moves were purely defensive.

Her chest tightened, as if in premonition, and she looked to the top of the stairs.

She'd read once that in times of severe emotional distress, all that happens around you speeds up and blurs.

That author had been wrong.

For her, the next few minutes felt as if they lasted a lifetime, each image crystal sharp in its intensity, but beyond her ability to prevent.

Edward stood at the top of the stairs, calling to his father. His little face was a mask of fear and in his hands he held a sword that was taller than he.

Richard turned toward his son as the boy started down the stairs at a run. Off-balanced by the weight of the weapon, the child lost his footing and fell.