Page 113 of Desiring the Highland Laird
She tried to use the power Moira taught her to slow down time, but she must have expended everything she had. She was unable to create the slow-motion shimmering bubble around them like she had before.
His rancid breath was hot on her cheek. He was stronger than she was and determined to pull her fingers open. She kicked him in the shin with the heel of her shoe which made him loosen his grip enough for her to wiggle free.
But he was fast for an old man. He snatched her by the wrist, dragging her to him once again. The scowl on his face was terrifying as he pulled at her fingers. She tightened her fist and emitted a cry of pain.
At their feet, Callum grunted. He was on his knees now trying to rise, the dagger in his hand. Pain creased his face.
Evie had had enough. With a ferocity she didn’t know she possessed, she shoved her fist toward the man and emitted a war cry that came from the depths of her lungs.
Her fist exploded in a blinding white light, the pain of it burning through her palm. She connected with MacDonald’s chest, punching him as hard as she could. He flew backward, soaring through the air until he landed with a thud and skidded. He came to a halt at the feet of several of his men who gaped in horror at what she’d done.
She dropped her hand to her side and fell to the ground in front of Callum. With her free hand, she reached for him, placing her palm against his cheek. Dread thumped through her. He reached for her, his hands cupping her face.
“I’m all right, lass,” he said. “Are ye?”
She nodded, unable to stop the well of tears pooling in her eyes. She glanced down to see that her hand no longer glowed. The keystone was quiet once again. She opened her fingers to reveal the bloodied stone against the cut on her palm.
They helped each other to their feet and turned to face MacDonald who slowly climbed to his feet, his hand pressed against his chest. His tunic was charred where she had punched him.
“It’s over,” Callum called, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
MacDonald hunched over, one of his men helping him stand upright. His last words sent a chill through her.
“For now, MacLeod. For now.”
Chapter Forty-One
Evie sat atthe long table in the great hall, exhaustion pounding through her. Every bone in her ached as she leaned back in the chair, her eyes heavy. Dougal finished wrapping the bandage around her cut hand and tied it off.
“There ye are, lass.”
“Thank you. How’s Callum?” she asked.
Callum was taken to their bedchamber as soon as they had staggered into the keep. She sent Dougal to him first to dress his wounds, knowing the cut on her hand was shallow and could wait.
“He’s a bit of a grump,” Dougal said with a grin. “He’ll be fine, though.”
Malcolm and Jamie returned, mostly unscathed. Malcolm sustained a slash through his upper arm from MacDonald’s great axe. Other than that, he was fine. Dougal went to see to them, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the blazing fire in the hearth.
She had never seen so many dead men and horses littering the field. It was a horrifying sight and one she would never forget. The smell of death permeated the air. When MacDonald and his men had ridden away, she had clung to Callum. Another thing she would never forget was the hate blazing in the man’s eyes as he left, defeated.
She and Callum both knew it was not the end.
Finally, she pushed up from the table. Her steps were slow and laborious as she headed to the bedchamber she shared with Callum. She needed to check in on him. She pushed the door open to see him sitting up in bed, his head back against the headboard, and a bandage wrapped around his upper torso and over his shoulder. He lifted his head when he heard the door. His face lit with joy when he saw her.
She sat on the bed, reaching for his hand. He held hers, his thumb brushing over the bandage. They hadn’t spoken much since they left the battlefield. She sensed he was angry with her for not returning home. But now she was ready to face his wrath.
“Callum, I—”
“Ye dinnae leave,” he interrupted.
She kept her gaze fixed on their joined hands. Blood was still crusted under his fingernails. Her hand throbbed from the cut, but at least it had stopped bleeding.
“I couldn’t.” She refused to meet his eyes. She didn’t want to see the disappointment burning there.
Silence stretched between them. The only sound was that of the crackling fire in the hearth.
Finally, he said, “How did you ken to use the stone that way?”
