Page 111 of Desiring the Highland Laird
God’s teeth, what was she doing?
He knew without a doubt she clutched the keystone in her hand.
She had not returned to the future.
Part of him was relieved. Another part of him was furious.
Though there was distance between them, her dark brown gaze landed on his.
I came to protect you.
It was her voice he heard in his head. His mind had gone blank as he tried to reason through how she had managed to speak into his mind. Was it the power of the keystone? Or something else?
With power thrumming through and around her, she controlled the shimmering bubble that had formed around the three of them.
Images burst through his mind showing him the battle between him and MacDonald. In the vision, his claymore slices through the laird, killing him. Then he is attacked by MacDonald’s men and stabbed in the side multiple times.
The vision shifted. The swing of his claymore misses and Rory MacDonald’s great axe connects with him, slicing through his gut as it did his da. He falls to the ground, dead.
Another vision. His claymore clashes against the man’s great axe; they are locked in battle. MacDonald orders him to give up the lass and the stone. That he wants both of them. Someone stabs Callum in the back. He dies.
His brows knit together, trying to understand.
These are your choices,she said in his mind.In each scenario, you die. I cannot let you die.
More images played through his mind. Moira showing him the choices and the ways he and his men fail to protect Dundale. The MacDonalds overrun the keep, taking charge of it and looking for her. That is, a version of her that doesn’t have the stone clenched in her fist.
There is only one way to defeat the invaders. There is only one way you will live,she said. She sounded different, not like herself. She sounded more in control, more sure of herself than she ever had.
Show me, he said in his mind, hoping she heard him.
The shimming bubble dissipated and time continued its normal movement. The sounds of clashing swords and screaming men resumed. The smell of death and blood and fear returned.
“Get the lass!” MacDonald shouted.
Callum sucked in a sharp breath when he heard the command. He started to run toward her.
That strangeness of time slowing down happened again. One of his men broke into a run, holding his bloodied sword in one hand as he charged her. But he was running as though he were taking unhurried, methodical steps, as though he had all the time in the world. Callum noticed it wasn’t the man who had slowed, but everyone around them.
A flash of light burst from Evie’s hand, then, blinding him. He stumbled backward, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the stark brightness. When he opened his eyes to look, the man who had charged her was on the ground, writhing in pain.
Time resumed its normal pace.
All fighting halted on the field.
There was still a great distance between him and Evie, but their eyes met. There was a look of fear mixed with determination on her beautiful face. Her arms dropped to her sides, her one hand still glowing.
Another man tried to charge her. She remained where she was, unmoving. She lifted her free hand up as if to stop him. But Jamie stepped into the man’s path, sword raised, and cut him down so fast it was a blur of motion.
MacDonald emitted a cry of frustration. Callum turned in time to see his enemy charge toward him, barreling into him with such a force it knocked the claymore out of his hand. They tumbled to the ground, fists flying. MacDonald punched him in the ribs.
As they tangled with each other, he felt something cold and sharp against his throat.
“Move and yer dead,” MacDonald warned.
Callum stilled.
“Get up.”
