Page 45 of Desiring the Highland Laird (Highland Destiny #1)

I t was a hellish battle. As soon as they charged, Callum lost sight of Malcolm, though he suspected he was heading straight for Rory. Jamie would be fighting next to him no doubt.

He didn’t have time to think about his brothers as he was trying to stay alive. With every swing of his claymore, he cut down man after man, killing those who tried to kill him. He found no sign of Rory.

Silvery light from the full moon shone down. That, coupled with the few torches burning in the hands of the few who had not yet joined the fray, cast the men’s bloody faces in ghastly expressions, their eyes wild as they charged and fought one another.

Callum knew it was hopeless. They could not hope to win against MacDonald and his men. They were outnumbered. They were outmatched. With every swing of his claymore, he cut down one man only to have him immediately replaced by another. And another. And on and on.

All around him was the din of battle. The screams of pain. The clashing of steel against steel. The metallic tang of blood permeating the air. His hands covered in it.

But he could not allow them to breach the walls of the castle and invade his home. He would do everything in his power to keep that from happening.

Near him, a shout rose up. One that sounded like his brother. He spun in time to see Rory swing his great axe at Malcolm. His brother jumped out of the way, narrowly missing the blade. Callum hacked and slashed his way to his brother’s side, ignoring the fatigue pounding through him.

MacDonald swung his great axe again, this time connecting with Malcolm. His brother cried out as he hit the ground. Fueled by the fire of anger, Callum cut down the last man standing in his way. MacDonald gave him a wicked smile, a wild look in his eyes as he charged forward.

Callum didn’t have time to see if his brother was all right when his sword clashed against MacDonald’s great axe.

“How will it feel to die in the shadow of yer keep?” MacDonald spat.

Callum ignored him, swinging his sword again. MacDonald was a skilled warrior and evaded him.

“And then the lass and the keystone will be mine,” he added.

Callum said nothing as he attacked again. As he charged, something strange began to happen. As if the world around him slowed. As though they were underwater. Something was not right. Something was strange. An incessant buzzing sounded.

The swing of his claymore was in a slow, wide arc. He missed his intended target. Even MacDonald’s motions slowed down. His eyes went wide as he looked at him, the great axe hanging in the air as though stuck.

It seemed to take eons for Callum to turn his head, his arm falling to his side.

Then he saw her, standing with her fiery hair unbound and whipping around her face.

One hand was clutched into a tight fist, light seeping from around her fingers.

She held both arms aloft, creating a shimmering bubble around her, him, and Rory MacDonald.

The men on the battlefield were still as if frozen in time.

God’s teeth, what was she doing?

He knew without a doubt she clutched the keystone in her hand.

She had not returned to the future.

Part of him was relieved. Another part of him was furious.

Though there was distance between them, her dark brown gaze landed on his.

I came to protect you.

It was her voice he heard in his head. His mind had gone blank as he tried to reason through how she had managed to speak into his mind. Was it the power of the keystone? Or something else?

With power thrumming through and around her, she controlled the shimmering bubble that had formed around the three of them.

Images burst through his mind showing him the battle between him and MacDonald. In the vision, his claymore slices through the laird, killing him. Then he is attacked by MacDonald’s men and stabbed in the side multiple times.

The vision shifted. The swing of his claymore misses and Rory MacDonald’s great axe connects with him, slicing through his gut as it did his da. He falls to the ground, dead.

Another vision. His claymore clashes against the man’s great axe; they are locked in battle. MacDonald orders him to give up the lass and the stone. That he wants both of them. Someone stabs Callum in the back. He dies.

His brows knit together, trying to understand.

These are your choices, she said in his mind. In each scenario, you die. I cannot let you die.

More images played through his mind. Moira showing him the choices and the ways he and his men fail to protect Dundale. The MacDonalds overrun the keep, taking charge of it and looking for her. That is, a version of her that doesn’t have the stone clenched in her fist.

There is only one way to defeat the invaders. There is only one way you will live, she said. She sounded different, not like herself. She sounded more in control, more sure of herself than she ever had.

Show me , he said in his mind, hoping she heard him.

The shimming bubble dissipated and time continued its normal movement. The sounds of clashing swords and screaming men resumed. The smell of death and blood and fear returned.

“Get the lass!” MacDonald shouted.

Callum sucked in a sharp breath when he heard the command. He started to run toward her.

That strangeness of time slowing down happened again.

One of his men broke into a run, holding his bloodied sword in one hand as he charged her.

But he was running as though he were taking unhurried, methodical steps, as though he had all the time in the world.

Callum noticed it wasn’t the man who had slowed, but everyone around them.

A flash of light burst from Evie’s hand, then, blinding him. He stumbled backward, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the stark brightness. When he opened his eyes to look, the man who had charged her was on the ground, writhing in pain.

Time resumed its normal pace.

All fighting halted on the field.

There was still a great distance between him and Evie, but their eyes met. There was a look of fear mixed with determination on her beautiful face. Her arms dropped to her sides, her one hand still glowing.

Another man tried to charge her. She remained where she was, unmoving. She lifted her free hand up as if to stop him. But Jamie stepped into the man’s path, sword raised, and cut him down so fast it was a blur of motion.

MacDonald emitted a cry of frustration. Callum turned in time to see his enemy charge toward him, barreling into him with such a force it knocked the claymore out of his hand. They tumbled to the ground, fists flying. MacDonald punched him in the ribs.

As they tangled with each other, he felt something cold and sharp against his throat.

“Move and yer dead,” MacDonald warned.

Callum stilled.

“Get up.”

MacDonald wrapped his surprisingly strong hand around his upper arm and dragged him to his feet with him. He kept the dagger at his throat as he turned toward Evie.

“Bring me the stone, lass, or he dies,” he called.

Evie remained where she was. Her face blanched as her eyes widened. In her hand, she still clutched the glowing keystone, the white light continuing to seep around her fingers.

“Release him or you and your men die,” she countered.

Pride swarmed through him as she lifted her head and spoke loud and clear for all to hear. Behind him, MacDonald chuckled.

“Och, lass, ye cannae beat me or my men.”

Evie took long slow steps toward them, her gaze never leaving his captor’s face. What was she doing? Was she mad?

“I think I’ve already proven I can beat your men.”

She waved her glowing hand toward a line of men to her left. They cried out, dropping their swords, clutching their middles and falling to the ground.

MacDonald stiffened. The dagger in his hand began to shake.

A smugness swept through Callum, smug followed by a wisp of worry. He wanted to tell her to stop where she was but at the same time, he was intrigued to see what she planned to do next.

“Call her off,” MacDonald said, his breath hot in his ear. “Tell the bitch to stop.”

That was the final straw for Callum. He didn’t have to stand there as his captive. Anger fueled him as he gripped the man’s wrist in his hand, jerked his hand away and spun, throwing the older man on the ground. The dagger fell from his hand.

“Dinnae call my wife that.”

Rory blinked up at him, confusion in his eyes.

Callum turned back toward Evie. She hurried to him, her hand still glowing, her hair fluttering behind her and her face contorted with relieved worry. He caught her in his arms, holding her.

“What the devil are ye still doing here, lass?” He said it against her hair.

She trembled next to him, her small body shivering as she tilted her head to look up at him. “I couldn’t leave you.”

He started to reply when a sharp, biting pain lanced through his left shoulder. His back bowed in half. He released her and crumpled to the ground, realizing his mistake—turning his back on his enemy.

“Callum!”

*

“Give me that stone,” MacDonald demanded as he stepped around Callum’s prone form on the ground.

Evie stumbled back a step, the pulsing, humming stone in her sweat-and-blood-slick palm.

The goddess had told her the way to save Callum and his men was to use the stone like a weapon, when two bloodlines became one.

Moira had slashed her scarred palm with a knife and said to keep the keystone clutched in her hand. Never let it go.

But that was not all the goddess had taught her. She had shown her how this part of the keystone harnessed the part of time that was the present. Evie understood so much more then about Moira—she was the Goddess of the Present.

Callum groaned. Blood stained the back of his tunic where the man had stabbed him.

The man advancing on her reminded her much of Bruce when he attacked her on the museum stairs before she ran for her life up the steps. Her heart thundered in her ears. Her body vibrated with fear.

This went beyond a clan feud. He must know the keystone was also a weapon, was a way to harness the power of time, and that was why he was determined to get it.

Evie was not going to give it to him.

He reached for her, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her to him. He wrapped his arms around her upper torso, squeezing her and clawing at her clenched fist.

“Give it to me!”

She tried to use the power Moira taught her to slow down time, but she must have expended everything she had. She was unable to create the slow-motion shimmering bubble around them like she had before.

His rancid breath was hot on her cheek. He was stronger than she was and determined to pull her fingers open. She kicked him in the shin with the heel of her shoe which made him loosen his grip enough for her to wiggle free.

But he was fast for an old man. He snatched her by the wrist, dragging her to him once again. The scowl on his face was terrifying as he pulled at her fingers. She tightened her fist and emitted a cry of pain.

At their feet, Callum grunted. He was on his knees now trying to rise, the dagger in his hand. Pain creased his face.

Evie had had enough. With a ferocity she didn’t know she possessed, she shoved her fist toward the man and emitted a war cry that came from the depths of her lungs.

Her fist exploded in a blinding white light, the pain of it burning through her palm.

She connected with MacDonald’s chest, punching him as hard as she could.

He flew backward, soaring through the air until he landed with a thud and skidded.

He came to a halt at the feet of several of his men who gaped in horror at what she’d done.

She dropped her hand to her side and fell to the ground in front of Callum. With her free hand, she reached for him, placing her palm against his cheek. Dread thumped through her. He reached for her, his hands cupping her face.

“I’m all right, lass,” he said. “Are ye?”

She nodded, unable to stop the well of tears pooling in her eyes. She glanced down to see that her hand no longer glowed. The keystone was quiet once again. She opened her fingers to reveal the bloodied stone against the cut on her palm.

They helped each other to their feet and turned to face MacDonald who slowly climbed to his feet, his hand pressed against his chest. His tunic was charred where she had punched him.

“It’s over,” Callum called, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

MacDonald hunched over, one of his men helping him stand upright. His last words sent a chill through her.

“For now, MacLeod. For now.”