Highland Destiny (9 page)

Mackenzie wished she had some cool piece of technology, like a laptop, or a TV that she could show him. His jaw would drop. She almost giggled at the thought of Connor's jaw hanging open as she showed him something like a movie, or a car. That line of thinking had her wishing she could tell him everything. She wanted Connor to know her. Was that against the rules? She'd never really gotten the whole story from Morvern or Gregor. How was she supposed to act now?

They obviously hadn't
foreseen
this situation. She sighed. Oh well, she'd just have to play it by ear.

She walked in silence with Connor to her room, and at her door, she turned on him, "You don't need to walk me to my room; I've already told you that I'm not going to run away."

"I still feel better knowing that you are safe in your chamber." He barely glanced down at her as he said this.

She figured that this would be all she would get from him tonight, and sighed before opening her door. His hand caught her elbow before she'd taken a step, and turned her to face him. There it was; that heat that she always felt around him.

Her arm felt scalded.

"Are you unhappy here?" His eyes were searching hers.

Mackenzie gaped at him for a moment before she found her voice, "Does it matter?" His question had caught her off guard and made her tone sharper than she'd meant.

"I'd rather you weren't unhappy."

"Why? What does it matter? You've made your stupid, barbaric intentions clear; you need me to start a fight. So I'm 80

"And where is home, Mackenzie? With your betrothed, the Campbell?" It was said so sardonically and condescendingly, that Mackenzie wanted to cry. As it was, she felt the pressure build behind her eyes, and the sharp sting of tears just waiting to sneak out.

"No," she turned slowly and looked at him, deciding how much to tell him; she already felt she'd told him too much. "I meant America. My home is in America." She wondered what he was thinking.

"But your father has sent you to marry the Campbell, America is no longer your home." He wasn't trying to be cruel, but Mackenzie suddenly felt the moisture in her eyes threatening to overflow.

"You're right. I guess I don't have a home. Good night, Connor." Her voice was very low, and the sorrow had seeped out into her words.

"Wait, please." He seemed unsure if she would actually listen, so she turned and sighed.

"What is it Connor? I'm exhausted; it's been a very long couple of days for me," he had no idea, "and I'd really just like to get some sleep." Dreamless sleep.

His eyes searched hers for a moment before he nodded once and said, "Then dream sweet, Mackenzie."

And he walked through the door next to hers.
Oh great
, she thought,
of course his room is right next door!
She trudged slowly into her room and closed the door behind her.

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All she knew about her Scottish heritage came from Granny Stewart, who had married into the family. She'd been a Mackenzie and this was who she'd been named after. After her parents had died, Granny had taken care of Mackenzie and her brother. She'd taken them to Highland flings and caber tosses when she was a child, but it had never been more than a fun outing. Mackenzie had even taken Highland dance lessons, and done the traditional sword dances to appease her, but that was the extent of her knowledge. This was insane. This was one giant farce. She had been sent out on stage without knowing not only her lines, but her character!

And what if this Campbell guy actually succeeded in capturing her, or getting Connor to trade her to him for some land, or sheep, or whatever it was he wanted? What would happen then? He was supposed to be a cruel man, did she really want to go with him? Her head hurt from all that had happened to her, and all that she'd been thinking about, so Mackenzie decided sleep was the antidote. She took off the gown, and pulled unsuccessfully at the stays for a while, with her arms twisted in an unnatural position. When her arms fell 82

Mackenzie knew sleep would evade her that night, no matter how tired she might be. Connor's eyes stayed with her as she tossed and turned. She checked her watch; it was barely 8:30. Ugh, way too early to go to sleep, but her mind was tired. Eventually, Mackenzie fell into a fitful sleep, full of Connor. Connor happy, Connor angry, Connor naked...and of course the inescapable nightmare. Mackenzie was grateful to escape the dreams when she woke.

But something was wrong. It was way too dark to be close to morning. And there was something heavy pressing down on her. A rustling noise caught her attention and her arms were gripped in an unforgiving vise before she could think.

It was dark, but as her eyes adjusted, Mackenzie could see a man standing on her bed, straddling her with a booted foot pressing against her chest holding her down. He dropped to his knees, one knee on either side of her, and raised a sword above his head. There were two other men, one pinning down her feet, the other holding her wrists above her head. As she realized the first man meant to impale her, Mackenzie sucked a breath in and screamed. Her scream only lasted a fraction of a second, as a hand clamped over her mouth and nose.

Her lungs screamed for oxygen, and she heard the man by her arms say to the man with the sword,

"Be done with it, and do it quick."

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For the first time since her adventure had begun, Mackenzie felt real fear. Not the kind she'd been able to control before when two strangers had dragged her through time, or the kind of fear she'd felt when Connor had kidnapped her and she'd stabbed him. This was real, fear-for-her-life fear, and it was paralyzing her. She froze on the bed, next to a dead man, and waited to see who would be the victor of the next fight.

Connor had just slipped into his bed, when he'd thought to check on Mackenzie. She'd looked so sad when he'd left her, and he really didn't harbor any ill will toward her. It was just bad luck that the Campbell had chosen her. It could have been any girl. Well, any girl named Stewart. She really must have had a different up-bringing, if she didn't understand the politics of marriage. There was no doubt in his mind that the Campbell would send men to fetch her back. That was the whole purpose; keep him from gaining power, and insult him at the same time. He would come. That was how this worked.

Connor silently entered her room through the doors that connected the two chambers, and saw a sight that made his blood run cold. He'd expected to see her sleeping, or sitting by the fire, but he had not expected Mackenzie to be held down by two men, while a third prepared to impale her with his sword!

Connor had no sword on him, but he had her dagger still in his waistband. He also had the element of surprise, for they had not heard his entrance. He moved stealthily toward the man with the sword, and slit his throat before he could kill Mackenzie. The man holding her feet had his back to Connor, so he was able to break his neck, but the man at her head saw Connor and put up a fight. By this time, Connor had picked up the dead man's sword from the bed, and after a brief scuffle, Connor knocked the man unconscious.

85

She was frozen in shock, so he shook her shoulder to get her attention. She didn't even look at him. Her eyes were on the unconscious man on the floor. He didn't hesitate; Connor just scooped her up and strode to his room. But the second he lifted her into his arms, Mackenzie snapped out of it and gasped, her eyes flying to his. In the dim light, he saw fear, and then relief.

"I thought it was you," was all she said in a low voice. Her lips trembled a little as she stared up at him. "I thought it was you."

Connor was confused, had Mackenzie thought he was the one attacking her? That didn't make any sense; he'd had better opportunities to kill her, if he'd wanted to. Or was she worried that he had been harmed? She was concerned about him! He hadn't expected that her fear was for him, and not herself. What an extraordinary creature. When the light from his room enveloped them, she pressed her face to his chest and started to sob.

"Oh, oh God Connor, he...he was going to...to
kill
me!" He held her close and stroked her hair while she wept.

"Shh...it's all right now. You're all right."

She took a tremulous breath and looked back up at him with her wet eyes. It nearly made his heart stop as he gazed back into their wide, watery green depths.

"Are they," she gulped, "dead?"

86

She wiped her damp cheeks with his plaid and smiled, "I know."

Before striding away to wake his captain Dougal, he turned back to her and ran his fingers from her cheek to her chin, and noticed that her lips trembled again. He ached to hold her in his arms and kiss her until she forgot the awful scene in her room. Instead, Connor cupped her chin in his hand, noting how satiny smooth her skin felt against his calloused fingers, and tipped her face up to his. Her eyes were huge, they dominated her face, but the fear was gone. Now there was only trust. She trusted him. And he wanted to deserve that trust. What he didn't understand was, why? Pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, he left her in his chambers.

By the time the unconscious man had been taken prisoner, and the dead bodies removed from her room, it was well past midnight. He'd worried about her the whole time that he'd been talking to his men, and giving instructions on what to do with the prisoner. Connor hadn't meant to leave Mackenzie alone that long. She must be so scared.

But she was asleep. Connor smiled as he saw that she had wrapped herself in his plaid. Then he noticed her sark discarded in a bloody heap on the floor. It dawned on him that she wasn't wearing anything underneath his plaid. His body tightened as he remembered exactly how she looked without anything on. He took a deep breath and gently lifted her from the chair. Mackenzie turned her head to rest her 87

His body tightened in response to her, and the sigh that escaped her lips this time was almost his undoing. He could feel her breath coming and going against his suddenly overheated skin. Connor wanted nothing more than to throw her down on his bed and ravish her. He imagined how he would kiss her awake, gently parting her lips with his. Once awake, he would run his hands down her tempting naked body, taking her up on that invitation she'd flaunted earlier.

He stopped that dangerous train of thought, but it didn't change the knowledge that it would happen. The only question now was when?

Connor laid her down on his bed and pulled the covers up over her. He warred with himself, but the struggle was in vain; he gave in and kissed her gently on the lips, saying,

"Rest now, for tomorrow we may have a war on our hands," and he sat down in the chair she'd previously occupied.

Connor knew that the Campbell's pride was smarting from Mackenzie's abduction, but he had underestimated the swiftness of the response as well as the brutality of it. He'd tried to kill his own betrothed! Connor was disgusted. There must be something more, something that he didn't know. A 88

He took a long swig of the whisky he kept in his room, as he settled into the chair, and stared at the fire. This would be a long night. He glanced over at Mackenzie as she rolled onto her side in his bed. She was facing him now, and the blankets had shifted and rearranged to barely cover her breasts. Those full, high breasts, and her light pink nipples...he had no problem remembering what she looked like undressed.

Connor groaned and shifted in the chair.

She rolled over again, this time facing away from him, with her back to him. Her bare back. The blankets were tangled around her waist, and Connor knew that this meant her breasts were bared to the other side. He thought about sliding into bed with her; there was no reason he shouldn't get some sleep too. Only Connor knew he wouldn't sleep.

He'd keep battling with himself about putting his arms around her, or about burying his face in her hair which was spilling across his pillows. One touch wouldn't be enough. He shifted in the chair again. He stared at the fire again, and took another swig of whisky, trying to ignore the feelings that were surfacing due to Mackenzie's presence in his bed.

Once, he actually stood up and walked to the bed, intending to join her. Never before had a woman released such conflicting desires within him, such primitive thoughts unleashed. He wanted her. He felt the urge to take her, make her his in an undeniable way. But he also wanted to protect 89