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“Ach, it is the sixth of February, Year of Our Lord 1603,” he says after a moment's thought.
“Shit.”
He raises himself onto an elbow and rests his head on his hand while looking at me. “What’s wrong?” I remember now. The seventh is when the MacGregors fight the Colquhouns and they’ll win. They’ll do more than win. It’s a massacre, which is all the justification the Colquhouns and their secret allies the Campbells and the Bruces need to get the King of England to outlaw the MacGregor name.
Dawning horror rushes through me; bile rises in my throat. This is it. My last chance to save him, to save them.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
My heart thunders in my chest as I sit up and twist to look directly at Duncan. He rises to a sitting position, taking my hands in his. I swallow down the bile and focus my thoughts. I have one chance, but I have to make him believe me.
“Duncan, I need you to listen to me.”
“Ach, lass, I’m sorry for what I said before,” he says. “I was a fool. I know you’re nae a witch and if’n ya are, I do nae care. Mother Mary bless me, I don’t.”
“Sorry? No, that? That’s nothing. You have nothing to be sorry for, it doesn’t matter. Listen,” I say.
“No, you’re nae right. I am sorry. I should nae have given in to my urges.”
“Duncan, what are you talking about?”
“What I did to ya. It was nae right. I should nae have taken such advantage of ya.”
He stands up and seems unable to meet my eyes. He straightens his clothes and looks anywhere but me. He offers me his hand, still avoiding eye contact. I straighten my shirt, putting my girls away, and pull my skirt back down while staring at him in disbelief.
“Duncan—”
“Ach, I know,” he interrupts me. “You do nae have to admonish me. It was wrong of me. I cannae apologize enough.”
“Duncan—"
“Quin, I do nae know what overcame me. The Devil moved in my thoughts.” He’s talking a mile a minute. His held-out hand trembles. “I will go to see tha priest. I’ll do confession. Tell me how I can make it up to ya—”
“Duncan.”
“Anything ya want, I’ll—”
I climb to my feet without taking his hand. He is half-turned away from me, still trying to avoid my gaze. Even in the soft moonlight, I can see the flush on his face. I grab his shoulder and pull but he resists my gentle effort to turn him around.
“Please, lemme help ya back to tha village, to Alesoun’s place. I promise you’ll be safe in my company.”
“Duncan, damn it.” I jerk on his shoulder with all my strength.
It’s enough to force him to turn towards me though he keeps his eyes downcast. I cup his chin, the rough of his beard prickly against the palm of my hand as I pull up. At long last, his eyes meet mine.
“Quinn—”
“Shut. Up.” I rise onto my toes.
I kiss him and the passion rushes back like a tidal wave. I only intended to give him a brief, reassuring kiss, but his lips on mine stir latent desires and feelings, none of which are yet satisfied despite our amazing encounter. I can’t get enough of him and judging by the way he gives himself into the kiss, he feels the same.
When my lungs are burning to the point I can’t not take a breath, I break the kiss. He bows his feverish forehead onto mine and we lean on each other, panting until our hearts slow and breathing returns to something closer to normal.
“I am sorry, lass. I cannae seem to control myself with ya.”
“Fine,” I answer, half-laughing. “I get it. Truthfully, I can’t either, but listen. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I wanted this as much as you did. Is that a sin? If it is, then let us be sinners.”
“Quinn, no! You cannae mean that.”
