Page 112 of Desiring the Highland Laird
MacDonald wrapped his surprisingly strong hand around his upper arm and dragged him to his feet with him. He kept the dagger at his throat as he turned toward Evie.
“Bring me the stone, lass, or he dies,” he called.
Evie remained where she was. Her face blanched as her eyes widened. In her hand, she still clutched the glowing keystone, the white light continuing to seep around her fingers.
“Release him or you and your men die,” she countered.
Pride swarmed through him as she lifted her head and spoke loud and clear for all to hear. Behind him, MacDonald chuckled.
“Och, lass, ye cannae beat me or my men.”
Evie took long slow steps toward them, her gaze never leaving his captor’s face. What was she doing? Was she mad?
“I think I’ve already proven I can beat your men.”
She waved her glowing hand toward a line of men to her left. They cried out, dropping their swords, clutching their middles and falling to the ground.
MacDonald stiffened. The dagger in his hand began to shake.
A smugness swept through Callum, smug followed by a wisp of worry. He wanted to tell her to stop where she was but at the same time, he was intrigued to see what she planned to do next.
“Call her off,” MacDonald said, his breath hot in his ear. “Tell the bitch to stop.”
That was the final straw for Callum. He didn’t have to stand there as his captive. Anger fueled him as he gripped the man’s wrist in his hand, jerked his hand away and spun, throwing the older man on the ground. The dagger fell from his hand.
“Dinnae call mywifethat.”
Rory blinked up at him, confusion in his eyes.
Callum turned back toward Evie. She hurried to him, her hand still glowing, her hair fluttering behind her and her face contorted with relieved worry. He caught her in his arms, holding her.
“What the devil are ye still doing here, lass?” He said it against her hair.
She trembled next to him, her small body shivering as she tilted her head to look up at him. “I couldn’t leave you.”
He started to reply when a sharp, biting pain lanced through his left shoulder. His back bowed in half. He released her and crumpled to the ground, realizing his mistake—turning his back on his enemy.
“Callum!”
*
“Give me thatstone,” MacDonald demanded as he stepped around Callum’s prone form on the ground.
Evie stumbled back a step, the pulsing, humming stone in her sweat-and-blood-slick palm. The goddess had told her the way to save Callum and his men was to use the stone like a weapon, when two bloodlines became one. Moira had slashed her scarred palm with a knife and said to keep the keystone clutched in her hand. Never let it go.
But that was not all the goddess had taught her. She had shown her how this part of the keystone harnessed the part oftime that was the present. Evie understood so much more then about Moira—she was the Goddess of the Present.
Callum groaned. Blood stained the back of his tunic where the man had stabbed him.
The man advancing on her reminded her much of Bruce when he attacked her on the museum stairs before she ran for her life up the steps. Her heart thundered in her ears. Her body vibrated with fear.
This went beyond a clan feud. He must know the keystone was also a weapon, was a way to harness the power of time, and that was why he was determined to get it.
Evie was not going to give it to him.
He reached for her, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her to him. He wrapped his arms around her upper torso, squeezing her and clawing at her clenched fist.
“Give it to me!”
