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“Aye. Makes sense. They’re brutal. Dinna the MacLeods provide Ireland with gallowglasses?”
“I say he’s full of shite,” Tamhas said.
“Ah stop it,” Muir said. “The lad saved Colin when the MacDougalls came into his bedroom. And he was injured. I have enough sense in me to ken he is an asset. Did ye learn to fight like that in Ireland?”
Konnor cleared his throat. “Nae. A master of judo came to teach the Chinese art of combat. This is where I learned it from.”
Muir slowly nodded, contemplating the information. “Simple fists, elbows, and knees nae suffice?”
“Actually, they do,” Konnor said. “Only used differently.”
Tamhas threw the last patch of dirt and placed a pitch pole under the stake to prop it up at the correct angle. Konnor and Muir removed their arms, and relief surged through Konnor as blood flowed down into his hands.
“Next stake,” Muir said and walked to the pile.
Konnor turned to join him when Tamhas caught him by the shoulder. His eyes glistened with a contained threat. “Ye stay away from her, ye son of a bitch.”
A bolt of anger slashed through Konnor’s gut. “Don’t provoke me, man.”
Maybe Tamhas saw something in Konnor’s eyes, because his expression turned challenging.
“Dinna provoke ye?” he said. “And what happens if I do?”
He pushed Konnor’s shoulder. Red crept into Konnor’s vision. Calm down, he said to himself. This isn’t high school. You know how to handle this. Remember what you did to Jerry…
But it raged within him, the need to punch Tamhas in the face. He remembered his stepfather. His bloody, swollen face, the completely shut eye, the broken nose. All because of Konnor’s hands.
No. He needed to be stronger than the young man who lost control. Stronger than Jerry.
“Go to hell,” Konnor said and turned around to follow Muir, but Tamhas turned him around.
“I dinna care if Robert the Bruce himself trained ye. Ye stay away from Marjorie, outlander. I see how she looks at ye, and how the lad is excited. Ye’ll die in the battle or will be gone soon anyways. And I’ll be left to gather the pieces of her heart. She fell apart once and could barely pick herself up. Dinna repeat the experience for her, do ye hear me?”
Tamhas removed his hand and walked away, and Konnor stood in a stupor and with a pain around his heart. He realized that Tamhas was right. He’d be gone sooner or later, and he’d hurt her when he left…and surprisingly, this time, he’d hurt himself, too.
And he may never recover.
Chapter 22
That night, after dinner, Konnor walked Marjorie to her bedchamber. She lingered before her door, wondering…hoping…searching for a kiss.
They’d had such a wonderful day yesterday. She hadn’t seen Colin so excited for a long time. Konnor had managed to cheer him up, and even today, Colin had kept playing soccer, the game from the future.
And today, after the midday meal, she’d trained with Konnor again for the rest of the afternoon. Konnor was… Oh Jesu, how he made her heart sing. How that scene made her wish the impossible—that Konnor would stay. That Konnor could belong to her time. That he could play soccer like that with Colin every day. Wouldn’t that be a wonder?
His eyes shone like an endless night sky in the flickering light of the torch. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, his gaze on her lips. He made her arms feel soft and warm, and he made her knees weak just by looking at her.
“Good night, Marjorie,” he rasped.
“I dinna think I can sleep without a kiss goodnight,” she whispered, surprised by her own audacity.
Then without waiting for him, she stepped forward and kissed him.
She kissed him!
He pressed her tighter against him, like he was a drowning man, and she was his last hope. His lips urged her more than yesterday, his tongue a sweet, lashing desire. She lost all sense of time and space.
Only he existed—and the hot, hard flesh of his body under her palms. His lips. And his tongue. And that clean, masculine scent.
