Page 24 of Sinful Scot
She wouldn’t have to, Rhys thought grimly as he came to the water’s edge. He would kill the man for her. Suddenly, Loxton lunged at Maggie, and Rhys’s heart lurched. He dropped the sword in his hand to spring into the water and cross the stream to where they were. Maggie swung one of the rocks at the man, hitting him, but though she was feisty, she was no match for the guard. He tackled her, and they went plunging into the water.
Loxton jerked her up by the shoulders, and she was sputtering, but then she bellowed, “Ye filthy swine!” and reared back her fist and punched him straight in the nose.
Loxton actually laughed at her, and Rhys surged toward them. With all the raucous, they were completely unaware of him. Loxton moved as if to hit Maggie, and without thought to his injuries, Rhys dove, giving a satisfied grunt when his body slammed into the other man’s. Every fighting instinct he possessed took over. He was going to show this bastard what it felt like to take a punch from someone his own size. He was going to keep Maggie safe, even if it killed him.
Maggie blinked the water from her eyes, certain she was not seeing clearly. But no, McCaim had risen from the dead, and he looked more fearsome than any warrior she’d ever seen. He crashed into Loxton, which sent them both underwater for one brief second. McCaim came up first, gaining his feet while holding Loxton by his tunic. McCaim sent his fist into Loxton’s nose, and his punch was much more effective than Maggie’s had been. Bone crunched and blood spurted from Loxton’s nose, and the only regret Maggie felt was that she had not been the one to make it happen.
Loxton attempted to swing at McCaim, but the man grasped Loxton’s arm, twisted it behind his back, and sent him face-first into the water. He flailed his arms and kicked his legs in an attempt to break free, but McCaim held him there, seemingly without much effort.
“Do nae kill him!” Maggie called and grabbed Loxton’s dagger, which he’d dropped beside her when he’d lunged for her. With the dagger in hand, she struggled to gain proper footing.
“We don’t generally kill people where I come from,” McCaim replied, sounding half-amused and half-surprised. He started to pull Loxton out of the water, and before Maggie could call out a warning, Loxton did exactly what she feared he might. He kicked behind him, connecting with McCaim’s shins and causing him to stumble backward. Before McCaim could right himself, Loxton had withdrawn his sword and was raising it to thrust at McCaim.
Pure instinct took over, and Maggie slung the dagger just as her father had long ago taught her to, and it hit Loxton straight in the heart. He immediately dropped his sword and fell to his knees, his mouth gaping and his hands coming to his chest, where a large bloodstain was already spreading. For a breath, shock rendered Maggie unable to move. She’d never hurt anyone in her life, let alone gave anyone a life-threatening injury. She had always known how to defend herself, but the occasion to do so had never arisen before today.
“Jesus H. Christ,” McCaim muttered, echoing Maggie’s thoughts but in more blasphemous words than she would have used.
She scrambled toward Loxton, pressing her palm over his as he clutched his chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, agonized. She knew enough about healing to understand that there was nothing to be done now. By his wheezing breath and the quickly flowing blood, she’d pierced something vital, something that would kill him shortly. Warm blood seeped over her fingers, and she began to cry as Loxton’s eyes fluttered shut and his body slumped toward her. But she didn’t fall back as she’d expected to. McCaim was there, his arms coming around her from behind, his body bracing hers. His hard chest pressed against her back, and for one moment, she thought about the excruciating pain he must be in with his injuries. But then sobs overtook her, and all she could think was that she’d killed a man.
“I killed him,” she whimpered.
“You saved me,” McCaim said, his warm breath washing over her neck. “Duck under my arm, Maggie, and go back to land.”
She was numb, her senses reeling, and right then, it was easier to do what she was told than to think. So she ducked under McCaim’s tensed arm, and she straightened up. She paused, staring down at her hands, both covered in blood. She shuddered, and she crouched on shaking legs and dipped her hands into the stream. The icy water numbed her fingers immediately, and after she quickly scrubbed at her hands, she rose and started to walk toward the bank.
Behind her, McCaim released a grunt, and she turned to see that he’d lifted Loxton out of the water and thrown him over his shoulder. “What are ye doing?” she asked, still horrified that she’d killed Loxton but now also worried for McCaim’s injuries. He might make himself feverish again.
“He needs to be buried,” McCaim said. “For one thing, it’s the right thing to do; for another, I assume your fiancé will be coming to look for us. Or has he been through these parts already? How long have I been out?”
“My what?” she asked, her trembling becoming a more violent shaking.
McCaim frowned, then gave his head a little shake. “That baron guy. The one you are supposed to marry.”
“Wasto marry, ye mean,” she replied, moving toward McCaim. She stared at his face, not wanting to look at Loxton. “He will nae wed me now that I’ve been gone with ye for six days.”
“Why the hell not?” McCaim demanded.
Maggie frowned. Where was McCaim from? There were so many peculiar things about him, though she had to admit she liked every one of them so far. “Well, because…because,” she sputtered, “he’ll think me ruined.” When McCaim snorted and started to walk around her, she said, “Let me help ye.”
“No.” The word was firm but not harsh. “You’ve helped me enough, and all I’ve done is ruin your engagement.”
“My what?” she asked again, trailing behind him and trying desperately to stare at the water and not Loxton.
“Your future marriage. Though I have to be honest, I think you can do much better than a man like that.”
Maggie laughed. It felt wrong and odd to laugh at this moment, but she could not help it. “Ye have nae ruined anything, McCaim,” she admitted, feeling that she could speak truthfully with him for some reason.
He didn’t answer right away. He emerged from the water, her still trailing him, and he gently set Loxton on the ground, turning him so he faced away from them. They stood there staring down at Loxton’s still form, and when Maggie inhaled a shuddering breath, McCaim surprised her by grasping her hand. His long fingers threaded between hers, and their palms pressed together. Her belly tightened as the warmth from his body, from this small point of contact, seeped into her and gave her a comfort she’d never felt before.
He squeezed her hand. “I’ve never buried anyone.”
The strain in his voice mirrored how she felt. “I have,” she said solemnly. She felt his gaze suddenly on her, like the wind against her skin, and she turned her head to look up at him. The compassion she saw gleaming in his eyes made her throat constrict. He didn’t even know who she’d buried, yet she could see that he felt deeply for her. This man had a good heart and a pure soul.
“Who?” he asked simply.
The tears, which had finally stopped, began to trickle once more, but this time they were for her mother. “My mother,” she managed to say. “She died when I was but ten summers.”
She watched as he turned his entire body toward her and then reached for her face, hesitating long enough, she suspected, to allow her to ask him not to touch her. But she wanted his touch. It was a yearning that had sprung up suddenly, like a fierce hunger in the pit of her belly. Her breath caught as he brushed his thumbs over each of her cheeks while his hands cradled her face. Heat inched through her veins, starting at her toes and going all the way to her scalp. The warmth of his flesh against her chilled skin was intoxicating, and a sense of comfort settled deep in her bones.
