Page 29
“’Tis something Greeks tried once, nae?”
Konnor nodded and hung his head as though doomed. He put his hands on his forehead and ran his fingers through his hair. This didn’t look right.
“Konnor, what is it?” Marjorie said. “Why does the year matter, the king, the democracy?”
He sucked in a breath, looked at her, and then exhaled.
“It matters because you say it’s 1308. And last time I checked, it was 2020. I was born in 1987. In my time, there are no more kings other than symbolic ones. And democracy is how the world operates. For the most part, anyway.”
Marjorie winced, trying to work through what he’d just said. His words made no sense, yet he seemed so convinced. He looked desperate. Confused. A little scared even. He spoke like a madman but behaved like someone in trouble. Mayhap, he was aware of his madness?
“Say something,” Konnor said. “You must think I’m crazy.”
Marjorie scoffed. “’Tis exactly what I think. I’m a woman of logic and reason, nae of superstitions and magic. Do ye mean to imply Isbeil was right about the tunnel through time?”
Konnor pulled himself up, using the bed to support himself. He put the crutch under his armpit and made a movement towards her but winced. He sat back on the bed and started to retie the bandage on his ankle.
“I don’t freaking know, Marjorie, okay? As insane as this sounds, I think it’s the only explanation. The alternative is I’m dreaming all of this. But the blood on the floor, the swords, and the pain in my leg all seems too real.” He tied a knot and looked at her. “You feel too real.”
The fire shone brightly in the fireplace now, giving her room a pleasant, golden glow. Marjorie threw on more firewood, parts of her mind fighting with each other. She was a Highlander, and she’d grown up on tales of kelpies and faeries and magic. But she was also Christian, and a reasonable person who knew those were just old stories. Still, even the logical part of her saw that Konnor wasn’t just speaking of strange things. He was dressed differently. Those green, broad breeches with pockets, the shoes with thick soles she’d never seen the likes of before. His jacket and short tunic were made of fine material she didn’t even know the name of. He had English letters on his undertunic saying “Born to be wild”. His haircut, his strange accent and manner of speaking. The words he’d used: ambulance, hospital, phone. If he were from the future, things must be different there.
“Look, I don’t expect you to believe me, okay?” Konnor said. “But tomorrow, I will go back to those ruins with the rock and try to get back to my time. I hope you know now I’m not a threat to you.”
The thought of him leaving made her chest tighten.
“Aye,” she said. “I dinna think ye’re a MacDougall anymore. Ye saved me from those men. I’ll be forever grateful.”
She swallowed, her stomach sinking. “Go get some sleep. I’m all right.”
His face brightened, and Marjorie wished it wasn’t because he was leaving her.
“Good night,” he said and limped towards the door, the crutch knocking against the floor.
She glanced at the drying blood on the floor. He’d defeated two men while injured. Not only was he a great warrior, he was also brave and resourceful. If he indeed came from the future, which she didn’t fully believe yet, mayhap he knew some tricks or something that would help her defend the castle.
“Though I do wish you’d stay longer,” Marjorie said to his bare back.
He stopped and turned to her. “What?”
Marjorie rose and tugged the edges of the blanket tighter around her.
“The MacDougalls are going to attack, Konnor. I’ve never been in a war. I’ve never killed anyone. My castle is crumbling, and I’m afraid we dinna have enough men to defend ourselves.” She swallowed, her eyes burning. “If the MacDougalls take Colin… Or me again…” She choked on the words, lacking the air and the ability to say them out loud.
Konnor’s face darkened like a stormy sky. “Again?”
He stepped towards her and led her to the bed. They sat down, his gaze not leaving her. It was time. He needed to know what this battle would mean. What it would mean to her if he helped.
“It was twelve years ago. Our clans used to be allies, and the MacDougall was our overlord. The chief’s son—” She paused and swallowed the knot in her throat. “Alasdair,” she spat his name like a curse. “He asked for my hand. But there was something about him I’d never liked. He’d never been kind to anyone. I asked my father if he’d allow me to say nae, and he did. So I refused Alasdair.”
She exhaled, gathering the strength to tell Konnor the worst. She looked at her hands, unable to meet his gaze. A familiar sense of shame burned her cheeks. Silly. As though it were her fault what he’d done to her. And yet she believed it was. If she’d been stronger…
“One day, I went to gather flowers outside the castle. Only my maid came with me. Horsemen came out of nowhere, and one of them snatched me up on his horse. No matter how much I struggled, he held me.”
Tears blurred her vision, but she saw Konnor’s hand curled into fist on the bed.
“Alasdair held me prisoner,” she said, her voice tight from the tears that couldn’t be stopped anymore. “Every day, he came and beat me and took me like I was his property.”
She wiped her eyes with her hands, but the tears kept coming. She still couldn’t look at Konnor.
