“Not big,” she panted. “Bad. Very bad. Trust me.”
“You’ll climb down off that man’s horse now, Abigail, and join me over here. Otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to start eliminating your new friends.”
“The lady stays where she is,” Dair growled.
“Wait.” She remembered all too well what Jonathan was capable of when he started carrying on about not having any choices. “You don’t know what he can do.”
“I say we show him and that wee gun of his what we can do, aye?” Simeon grinned and kneed his horse forward.
“No!” Her warning was too late.
With a loudcrack, Jonathan fired his weapon and Simeon jerked back. Disbelief colored his face just before he doubled over and slid from his mount, crumpled on the ground.
“What in the name of the saints . . .” Dair’s arm tightened around her waist.
“On second thought, Abigail, you stay on the horse. Tell your friend he needs to get off so you can join me.”
“I canna allow—”
There was no point in letting him continue. “Get off. Now.” She wouldn’t be the cause of another man’s getting shot. “Find Colin. Stop him. Keep him safe.”
As soon as Dair dismounted, Abby pulled on the reins, encouraging her horse toward Jonathan. When she reached his side, he took the reins from her hands, leading her horse as he headed back into the forest.
“You’ve no seen the last of me!” Dair called out from behind them. “I’ll hunt you down.”
Ahead of her, Jonathan chuckled. “I doubt that. Not unless he has his own little time-traveling woman, eh, Abigail? Not once you whisk us back home where we belong.”
That was what he expected? If she could just catch her breath, she’d laugh. Or cry.
If that’s really what he expected, they were both in a lot of trouble.
Thirty-eight
You said it yerself, Colin, the MacDougall has over a thousand men. Be reasonable. We’ve perhaps fifty here at best, and that’s if we include Hugh and old Walter.”
Colin stared into his food, doing his best to ignore the logic of Andrew’s argument. He wanted nothing to do with logic at this moment. He wanted only to storm Dunstaffnage and rescue Abby. The thought of her being held captive in a time and place not her own was more than he could tolerate.
“Abby is my wife, Drew. My Soulmate. I canna leave her there.”
Drew rose from his spot at the table and moved to kneel beside his brother, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Believe me, Col, I ken the depth of yer feeling. We’ve already sent a messenger to Dun Ard. We’ll gather the men we need. You must be patient.”
“I’ve no taste for patience!” he yelled, banging his fist against the table. He knew it was a childish, petulant act that would serve to accomplish nothing, but his anger was all he had left standing between him and total despair.
“Sit down and calm yourself, or you’ll bust that wound open again.” Drew’s wife, Leah, marched toward him, her expression clearly brooking no argument. “Lean over here and let me have a look at—”
“Dinnna touch it!” both he and Drew cautioned at the same time.
Leah’s exasperated sigh expressed her irritation every bit as much as the exaggerated roll of her eyes. “How about you give me credit for a smattering of good sense, yes? I have absolutely no intention of touching this wound. I only want to see for myself that he’s healing properly.”
His sister-in-law’s touch carried with it the ability to heal, but she paid a heavy price for the use of her gift. What she healed, she took upon herself for a time. Neither he nor her husband wanted to see her go through that process.
“My head is fine. The wound will heal in time.”
“Your head is hard, that’s what it is,” she countered, taking her seat next to her husband’s chair. “As you say, it will heal on its own. Unless you bust it open having one of your temper tantrums.”
Drew patted his shoulder again before returning to sit next to his wife. “I ken yer need to do something, Col. But realize, there is a safer way. Safer for you and safer for yer lady. Blane will likely arrange an emissaryfrom the MacKiernan to the MacDougall to negotiate for yer Abby’s release. Once we hear word of—”
