“How will she know where it is if I don’t survive to go back and tell her?”
“Ah’ll find a way tae get a message tae her.”
“How?”
“I dinnae ken but I’ll figure it out while you’re in the castle. But dinnae worry, lass. You willnae get killed.”
“How do you know that? They might shoot an arrow through my heart and mom might never see me again.” She was shifting in place, still not looking at him.
He put a finger to her cheek, turning her face gently until she was facing him, her body finally becoming still.
“You will survive,” he said, staring deep into her eyes. “You came back seven hundred years for a reason and if this isnae it then I dinnae ken what else it might be. An hour’s time we will be heading south with all this behind us.”
“But-”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “Dinnae talk no more.” He couldn’t resist leaning closer. His head had been filled with thoughts of taking her back home, giving up on this fool’s errand. With his face an inch from hers those thoughts fell away and all he could do was think how soft her lips looked.
He could smell her body, the sweetness and purity he’d long forgotten existed. He felt her breathing, fast at first but then slowing. Her eyes closed as if she knew what he was going to do before he did.
“Ye will live,” he said. Then he kissed her.
There was not a single sound to be heard anywhere around them. The world no longer existed. For the briefest of moments, everything felt perfect. Then she pulled away from him.
She returned to the vantage point and again looked down at the castle. He joined her, saying nothing.
“If I die,” she said, not looking at him, “find a way to tell her what happened to me.”
“I will,” he replied.
She was on her feet a second later. “Better get that diversion ready. If I wait any longer, I won’t be able to do it.”
Her hands were shaking as she slowly began to climb down the rocky escarpment toward the castle.
There wasn’t time to think about the kiss. She was already moving faster than he’d anticipated.
He crouched low and ran toward the guard post about a quarter of a mile to his left. As he approached it, he calculated his odds.
One guard asleep slumped against the side of the beacon. His torch was lit ready to fire up the warning to the clan but it was about ten feet from him, wedged between two tall rocks, the flames flickering in the breeze.
The other guard was looking down into the valley. Had he spotted Lindsey?
Without stopping to think Tavish crossed the space to the outpost, leaping over the sleeping guard and landing silently behind the other one who was staring at Lindsey. Tavish had seconds to act.
He got his arms around the throat of the guard, catching him before he could say a word to his companion. Squeezing his arms, he was rewarded by the gasping breaths of the man who fought ineffectually to free himself from the vice-like grip of his attacker.
Tavish didn’t let go for a second as they fell back, the guard slumping to his knees then finally onto his face.
He was unconscious, not dead. Tavish had no wish for bloodshed unless absolutely necessary, not even with a MacIntyre. The sleeping guard still had not stirred.
Tavish moved to the torch, grabbing it and tossing it away, making sure the beacon could not be lit any time soon. When that was done he edged toward the prone figure on the woolen blanket, kneeling beside him and whistling loudly.
The guard stirred and as he began to sit up, Tavish got him around the neck, staring into the furious eyes of a much stronger man than the first.
He was forced back, the guard reaching for his sword. Tavish stretched out an arm and got to it first, tossing it down the mountainside.
The two of them stumbled into the iron cradle that held the beacon, kindling and dust falling into his face as they rolled sideways, coming ever closer to the edge of the ridge. He found himself on the rim a moment later, looking down at a fall of at least fifty feet.
“You’re dead,” the guard snarled, pushing him further over, trying to use brute force to send him to his doom.
