Page 73 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
“Bastard,” he screamed, shoving at his brother.
The two of them wrestled, and Grant threw him down before backing out of the water.
“Emma, go now,” he ordered, running toward her.
From behind them came a roar, and Grant turned in time to see his brother stalking out of the water. Reuben reached down and pulled a dirk out of his boot.
Grant felt his heart pounding in his ears as everything seemed to slow down, Reuben’s manic gaze flicking from him to Emma.
And he watched his brother hurl the dirk at Emma’s neck.
Emma saw the blade arcing toward her, like a terrible shooting star.
And then Grant was in front of her, letting out a horrible, guttural groan as the dirk sank into his shoulder.
“No!” Emma cried, her knees buckling.
Grant swayed and then, with a bloodied hand, reached up and pulled the blade out. Emma tried to move forward, but her body was frozen, and all she could do was watch.
“I could forgive ye for aimin’ at me,” Grant said. “But ye should have never aimed at her.”
And he threw the blade back at Reuben, who stood there, still sneering. His eyes widened when the blade plunged into his heart. He glanced down at it, then yanked it out. Blood pooled into his shirt, and he tried to stanch it, but then he fell back into the water.
Lightning lit up the sky, and it seemed the whole of the loch had turned crimson red while the rightful Laird of Clan Ronson rose tall against the storm.
As he turned, Emma tried to speak, but her words failed her, her thoughts scattered. She fell to the sand as the darkness swallowed her.
Emma lay on a bright kilt made of Ronson tartan, the blue, red, and tan soft under her cheek. Grass and wildflowers swayed around her, and she sat up, unsure where she was.
But ahead was the loch and Banrose Castle, drenched in golden light. Far off, the storm was rolling toward the mountains. Still, her heart ached, and she shook her head, unsure what she should do now.
Suddenly, a warm hand caught hers, and she twisted around in surprise.
A boy with wavy dark hair, blue-green eyes, and freckles sat there. “It’s goin’ to be all right, Ma,” he said. “Just rest.”
“What?” Emma asked, her heart fluttering.
He smiled at her. “Look, Faither’s comin’.”
Emma turned?—
She gasped as her eyes flew open and stared into a familiar, weary green pair. Still caught in the cobwebs of the dream, shereached out and pressed a hand to his face, unsure of what to say.
I dreamed of a boy who looked like you.Her heart throbbed.And me.
“Emma,” Grant said and put a hand over hers. “Are ye all right, lass? Ye were tossin’ and turnin’—”
He broke off as she pulled back and sat up, her back pressed against the headboard. Kyla came over then with a steaming mug in her hands, her eyes wide and alarmed.
“Drink this, please,” she urged. “It will help.”
But Emma felt as though she were falling off a cliff, her stomach in knots and her breath heaving out of her chest. “Your—your brother?”
In her mind’s eye, she saw the blade, the blood, and the still body in the water. Her stomach heaved, and she closed her eyes. She felt Grant move closer and sit on the bed.
“Lass.” Grant, for all that his voice was soft and broken, had never sounded more like a laird than at that moment. “Look at me.”
Emma opened her eyes, and he gazed at her, then shook his head. “Ye dinnae have to ask again.”
