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It couldn't be. How else to explain her presence in the

past?

Her mind tried to wrap around it, to track the  Mцbius strip of her time travel. But every time she thought she had a grasp on it, tracing and tracking events in time, she'd get tangled in the paradoxes, simply ending up back where she started.

Did that mean she was able to alter history? It had to. Why else would she have been sent back? Or rather, how else
could
 
it be so?

Thoughts of her family flooded her mind. She didn't have to be suffering so. She could be back in Boston, sheltered and secure, surrounded by her family. She'd be safe from wars.  Steeped in unthinkable luxury.

But she hadn't tried to find her way home. She'd chosen

MacColla instead.

Would she return to her family if she had the chance?

Could
 
she even?

And yet she knew in that moment that she had to stay. To see it through. MacColla must not die. She had to stop it.  The trouble was, events marched inexorably forward, and she had no idea how to pause it all. Redirect history.

Or how she'd even know once she did.

The taste of salt in her throat threatened tears.

“You look so melancholy,
 
leannan
.”

His voice startled her. The intensive preparation required for these various journeys had taken his attention all afternoon. She'd thought he'd be at it still. Directing, requesting, commanding, setting all to rights for the coming days.

“You seem a gloomy wee seabird.”

He stood over her, squinting against the setting sun. His tartan billowed against his legs in the evening breeze. The

warm, direct light picked out the tiniest of details, warming  the sand crusted atop his bare feet, highlighting the faint  stubble on his face, picking deep shadows in the lines  around his mouth, cocked in amusement.

The look he gave her drew the chill from  her bones. It was hard to stay so wretched in the face of this big man, come to seek her out, with this smile just for her.

“But don't you need to get ready?” she asked.

“Aye. I do.” He plopped heavily to the ground beside her,  promptly wrapping his arm  around her shoulders to tuck  her close. “But I find I have other needs as well.” He gave  her a sly wink.

“Oh really?”

“Oh really,
 
leannan
!”

The wanting of him sparked low in her belly, but she felt the specter of Ireland heavy on her, staring at her fro m afar.

“MacColla?”

“So serious you are.” He squeezed her arm. “How can I

wipe the trouble from your brow?”

“Don't go.”

“You know I must,” he said quietly.

She was unable to speak for a time, and he sat silently by her side.

“Ireland's right there,”  she finally said, nodding toward the  distant island. “Why don't we just sail there from here?  Why do we go to Islay first?”

“You spurn my wicked intentions, asking instead after  maritime matters?” MacColla laughed. “And I'd hoped you'd  a question related  to swordplay.” He waggled his brows,  amused by his own pun.

Haley frowned. She refused to take the bait.

“'Tis too dangerous to sail from here,” he sighed. “The

waters of the Sruth na Maoile are too unpredictable.”

“The… Sea of Moyle?”

“Your
  
Gaedhealg
 
improves every day,” MacColla said,  nodding. “The only safe route to Ireland is by way of Islay.  I've seen fighting men by the thousands voyage between  the two, on boats made of hide and willow. They land and  take the wee vessels apart again for the next man's use.”

“Well,” she said nervously, “we'll just take a real boat,

right?”

“That is a real boat.” MacColla stared grimly at her for a  moment and then erupted into a deep belly laugh. “The  look of terror on your bonny face.” He took her chin in his

cupped hand. “Stop your fretting. My father, he's a true  sailor. He's got a twelve -oar birlinn that will take us safe  across.”

He stared out to the sea, his arm still wrapped firm around her. “We'll leave Islay on a neap tide, when the currents are weakest. 'Twill be a leisurely journey, I dare say.” He chuckled. “Mayhap we can even catch us some fine haddie for a soup. Jean tells me you love a good
 
skink
.”

He sought her gaze, but she knew the smile she gave him wasn't in her eyes.

“I see the storm in those  pretty gray eyes of yours. Don't

worry,
 
leannan
, the western waters provide some of the

best sailing in the world. I'm told.”

“You're
 
told
? Haven't you ever sailed them?”

“Och, lass, you fret overmuch.” The sun winked from the  horizon, and he chafed his  hand along Haley's back to

warm her. “A small sail and oars to hold the course will be

all we need. 'Tis more pleasant by far than traveling on

horseback.”

“Speaking of horses.” Haley said, “isn't it too risky for Jean  and your mother to be setting back up through Kintyre  with Campbell on the move?”

“I trust Scrymgeour to get them safe to his home. An army  of men is a slow and stubborn beast. Campbell will have  his eye on one thing: the MacDonald clan castle at  Dunaverty. A man would have to be both deaf  and blind to  be caught unawares by that many soldiers on the march.”

He gave her a squeeze. “No,
 
leannan
, they'll be fine. I've found them four sturdy ponies, and we'll pack them off with creels of grain, salt.” His voice grew quiet. “We'll leave nothing  of worth for the Campbell to pillage.”

MacColla stroked her cheek, turning her face to him. “I crept off like a cat on the hunt to find you,” he told her gently. “Our time alone will be rare now. I'd savor it without more thoughts to battles and brooding. ”

“Jean said we didn't need to sneak around.”

“I don't sneak.” Grabbing her hips, he pulled Haley onto his  lap. He dragged her skirts up roughly, settling her on his  crossed legs. “I said I was on the hunt.” His voice was  husky, as he nuzzled at her neck, up her throat, around  her ear. “And I always catch what I'm after.”

Wrapping her arms around him, Haley relaxed her thighs to nestle more solidly in MacColla's lap. What he'd said was right. From here on out, they'd be lucky for a few stolen moments in  the dark.

She was unable to speak from the emotion that ached in her throat. And so Haley answered with her mouth.

There was no gentle easing into their kiss. It was desperate and deep, and she opened her mouth to him with the urgency of a woman starved.

He wriggled her skirts up even more, and the wool of his plaid chafed the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

MacColla was instantly erect, and she shuddered a sigh.  She needed him so badly. Feeling him pressed hard against her was such a relief.

She pulled her mouth from his to push the tartan from his shoulder and tug at his shirt. It was tucked tightly under his plaid and thick brown belt, and MacColla reached down to guide her fingers as she unbuckled him.

She was able to tug loose his shirt, and she pulled it over his head. The sight of him took her breath away. She'd only seen him in the moonlight, but here he was, half-naked before her. The gray light of the gloaming made his massive chest and its fine dusting of black hair all the more dramatic. He seemed an epic hero, sitting there with a jaw of steel and thick knots of muscle along his arms.

“The way you look at me,
 
leannan
… ” His words were  hushed, as if he were barely holding on. “I'd not known I  could feel such wanting.”

He turned his attention to her clothes, taking the fabric of her dress roughly in hand. “I need you. I need to be inside you.”

She gasped. “Wait.” His desire for her was a palpable thing, as strong a pull as the waves crashing just beyond.

“Careful.” Haley moved his hands to her waist. “I'll do it,”

she whispered, her voice tremulous.

Haley reached both hands behind her to unlace the back of her gown. Her chest arched toward him and MacColla groaned. Leaning down, he put a hand to one breast and brought his mouth to the other, sucking and nibbling her through the thick fabric.

“Get this off,” he growled.

She stretched and squirmed, finally loosening her top enough for him to pull gown and chemise over her head in

one sweep.

She sat naked atop him, separated only by the  layers of wool still loose over his lap. Though the sun and the last of its warmth had slipped below the horizon, her skin felt hot, flushed, as though the blood coursed just beneath its surface.

“So lovely you are,
 
leannan
.” His breath came shallow as he raked his gaze down her body and up again. “I'll still not  understand what it is I did to win such beauty for my own.”

He took her in more slowly then, his fingertips tenderly tracing his eyes' path.

“Your ribs.” he murmured, cradling her torso gently in her

hands. “They're better?”

She nodded wordlessly, unable to speak. She was still a little stiff, but that didn't matter now. Nothing mattered but them. This moment.

She brought her hands to his cheeks, and carefully pushed the hair from his face. The ir eyes locked. His brown and warm on her. His features, so sharp and strong, softened, only for her.

“I love you, MacColla,” she whispered. “I'm here because of

you. Only you.”

“I'll love you all my days,” he replied huskily. His voice was  fierce, and his grasp on her grew firmer. He skimmed his  hands up her sides, his thumbs chafing her nipples into  aching points.

He took her mouth again with his. She shut her eyes and felt as he tilted her up and back down to rest on his now naked body.

The feel of him sent a spark flashing through her. His erection was hot and smooth at her cleft, and she kissed him again, hungrily, moaning her need into his mouth.

He lifted her up, slowly easing her onto him. The physical memory of their first time still lingered inside her, the full feel of him, the wet scent and slide, and she was desperate for more.

She clutched him to her with her arms and legs, and ground her hips down hard, begging with her body to intensify their rhythm.

He rocked into her, devouring her mouth and neck and breasts. His kisses left a trail of damp on her hot skin, a map of his passion chilled at once by the night air, and the sensation was as if he seared into her, marking her.

She grew frantic, couldn't get him close enough, and  MacColla rose to his knees, pulled from her, and flipped her to kneel before him.

Haley gasped a complaint when she felt him slide out, but  MacColla was immediately back inside her, from behind, so deep and so full she felt her body bursting from the joy of it. Her  love for him filled her up, spilled over, overwhelmed

her.

She felt a wild thing on her hands and knees before him.  The sensations were almost too much to bear. Her blood

raged through her, flushing cheeks and chest, throbbing

between her legs, demanding  release.

Her body was spinning out of control. She leaned forward, trembling as she rested her weight on her forearms. The beach was gritty and cold on her knees and at the tops of her feet. She dug her fingers into the chilled sand, trying to ground herself, but her conscious self was receding into some faraway place.

Her body rocked as he thrust into her. Her vision was fractured, registering a dreamy patchwork of images. A hand  - hers, she realized  - clawed into the sand.

She tilted her chin to look down along her body. Saw his hand, so large on her breast, rubbing her, chafing her, cradling her. And the sight of it shattered the last of her rational thought. She became pure feeling.

Neither spoke now. His muttered words of having her, of loving her,  of keeping her, replaced now by his heavy breathing. The sound of him filled her head, echoed the wash of the waves and the short panting of her own breath.

He suffused her, so completely, her body, her mind. The rhythms of her heart and breath. MacColla  filled her utterly.

She'd let her mind go, and now the last of her physical self surrendered. Her climax wracked her body, blood thrumming through her in heavy waves. She felt rapturous, as if she'd transcended her body to become some metaphysical thing exploding into space.

She heard MacColla as if from a distance. A low groan, the huff of his breath. He pumped hard and quick into her.  Then a roar at her back as he found his own release.

He kissed the nape of her neck, and spoke words that felt hot on her damp skin. “You'll never forget you're mine.”

Chapter Twenty-Six