“Uncle William, these woods are infested with vermin.” Robley wiped his sword on the plaid of his enemy. “I suggest we be about the task of ridding ourselves of the infestation.”
“Aye. Let us be about it.”
Malcolm watched his father direct their men to fan out in search of any remaining Comyns, and suddenly, he was left alone with his wife in his arms and his heart breaking asunder in his chest.
Alethia came to and became aware of two things. Malcolm’s scent—and pain, all-encompassing and pervasive. Her arms and hands felt as if they were crawling with fire ants as blood worked its way back into them. Her head throbbed, and her face burned. One of her eyes was swollen shut, and her right hip ached. She struggled to remember where she was and how she’d come to be in such a state.
She strained to see with her good eye and caught a glimpse of Malcolm’s face. She could hardly draw breath, and she trembled. Oh God, Malcolm was pissed. She stared into the furious blue of her husband’s icy gaze and tried to sit up. “Malcolm, I—”
“Dinna speak, woman.”
She closed her mouth and looked around her at the death and destruction everywhere. Her eyes fixed on something not far from where she’d been tied. “Ohhh, oh no.” She crawled out of Malcolm’s lap toward the tree. There beneath it lay her violin—broken into bits.
Dazed, she picked up one piece after another of the beloved gift from her father. “No.” Tears of anger and sorrow coursed down her cheeks. Helpless tears, and tears of regret.
Gentle hands lifted her. Malcolm replaced the cloak around her shoulders, drawing it tight to cover her exposed front. “W-why did he want to hurt me? What d-did I ever do to him?” she sobbed.
“He didna want to hurt you; he wanted to hurt me.”
“Yeah? Well I don’t see any bruises on your face.”
Malcolm held her battered face in his large hands—his eyes desolate. “You were leaving me. You said you loved me, Alethia. Why were you leaving?”
“I do love you, Malcolm, more than my life.” Her insides crumbled. “I heard you arguing with your father. I heard you tell him you would renounce your inheritance and your future rather than break your vows to me.”
“Aye. We can begin anew in your land. I look forward to it. I thought ’twould please you to see your family again. Did I no’ tell you I care naught for titles?”
“You’ve never asked me when my birthday is!” She grasped the front of his plaid and shook him, or tried to. He was immovable, a solid wall beneath her fists. She loved him—loved him enough to leave if it meant his life would be what it was meant to be.
“Och, you make no sense, Alethia. Are you saying you’d leave me because I dinna ken the date of your birth?” Malcolm shook her by the shoulders.
“I was born in the twentieth century, Malcolm. Giselle didn’t just take me from my country to yours. She sent me back more than five hundred years in the past, from the twenty-first century. We can’t go back to my country to live with my people.” She tried to shake him again. “They haven’t been born yet!” she shouted. “I can’t let you throw your life away for me.” She let her forehead fall against his chest. “I…I can’t let you do that. I love you too much.”
He put his arms around her and rocked her back and forth. “Och, lass. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. You are talking out of your head.”
“Oh, Malcolm. You don’t believe me? I have proof. Why would I make up such a thing?” She pushed herself away from him to make a sweeping gesture encompassing the clearing strewn with bodies. “My God. Life is nothing like this in the twenty-first century. Stuff like this only happens in the movies.
“We have washers and dryers…and tampons. And…and…electricity. All I have to do is flip a switch and I have light and heat. Men have walked on the moon. Astronauts live for months at a time on an international space station.” She hugged herself, trying to stop the shaking. “And I have news for you—the earth is round. Round, dammit—like a ball!”
She took a deep breath. “I’ve gone through more hell in the past eight months than I’ve gone through in the entire twenty-two years I’ve been alive. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t go through it anymore. I’ve had it.” She swiped at her eyes. “I need a freaking vacation. And do you know what really pisses me off?” She glared at him. “When your life was in danger, I got one damned vision after another. But when my life is in danger—I get nada, zilch, nothing.” She sniffed. “What the hell is up with that?”