Page 35 of Sinful Scot
He didn’t know how much time he had here with her to help, nor what they could even do. There would be ramifications, though, if they could change history at all, wouldn’t there?
He took her other freezing hand in his. He raised both her hands to his mouth and blew on them, wanting to offer his heat to her and give her a bit of comfort, of reassurance. He knew what she would face, and he wondered about her future. Would she be killed in a battle? Wed to someone who would treat her poorly? Would she be raped by English invaders? He didn’t have the answers, and the thought of leaving her alone to suffer through the hard years to come while he went back to his time to live his comfortable, empty life, left him colder than the falling snow.
Chapter Eleven
The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me,
And I cannot, cannot go.
~ Emily Brontë, “Spellbound”
The Past
1286
Burntisland, Scotland
The Black Hart Inn was teeming with people, but they parted for Rhys as he led Maggie through the entrance and into the common room. The heavy wooden door shut behind them, trading whistling wind for raucous chatter and bitter cold for welcome heat that wafted over Maggie’s icy skin. She had not wanted to complain to Rhys, who seemed oblivious to the cold, but it had been awhile since she’d been able to feel her toes or her fingertips. She stole a glance down at her hands, frowning at their bluish tint. She wiggled her fingers a bit and had to clench her teeth against the sharp pricks of pain. At least she could move her hands. That was already an improvement.
The smell of sweat and mead drifted in the air, along with the swirling scent of burning wood and cooking meat from the inn’s firepits. A dozen delicious aromas filled her nose as she inhaled and made her mouth water and her stomach growl. She scanned left and right, trying to locate where the food was being cooked, but it was too crowded to tell. Then it occurred to her that they had no coin to pay for food.
“Stay close to me,” Rhys said, turning to her for one brief moment and holding her gaze.
“I’m famished,” she replied, unable to think of anything else as the aroma started to become clearer—garlic, fennel, rosemary, ginger root.
Rhys gave her an understanding smile that made her feel less like crying about how hungry she was. “Don’t worry, Maggie. I won’t let you starve.”
For some reason, she believed him. “Do ye have coin?” she asked.
“No, but I have this. I’m sure I can sell it to someone.” He lifted his right hand and tapped a fingernail against a thick gold band that she’d failed to notice before. She drew nearer as people jostled around them, and Rhys moved her out of the doorway with the gentle sweep of his arm when it opened behind them. She grasped his hand and brought it close to her eyes to study the ring. It was intricately made with carvings in the middle of the band and tiny round balls of gold along both its edges. In the middle of the ring, raised above the band, was a winged wolf holding a sword. Arcing over the wolf was the wordtreibhdhireas.
She traced a finger over the letters, murmuring, “Integrity.”
“My mother gave it to me,” he said.
She nodded, her breath catching. “The winged wolf is the MacKinnish crest. This must be their motto.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “That’s what my mother told me when she gave it to me.”
“Ye should nae part with that ring,” she said, hardly believing the words she was about to utter. “Ye may need it to prove ye are nae a foe when ye meet yer mother’s clan.”
His eyes widened, and she suspected he wanted to ask her if she believed him. She was starting to, and it was a fearful realization. She raised her own hand between them and turned it so he could see the ring she wore. “This,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper, though the chatter was so loud in the common room she doubted anyone could hear her or cared, “is the betrothal ring Baron Bellecote sent for me to wear to mark me as his.”
Rhys’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You have never beenhis,” he growled.
His show of emotion warmed her in a way the heat in the inn had failed to do so far. It felt as if a fire had been lit in her belly, and she instantly thawed. He took her hand and ran his thumb over the gold, pearl, and emerald ring. “Trade this for coin,” she said.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
She was touched that he was giving her an opportunity to reconsider, but she had absolutely no desire to keep the ring. “Aye. I’d much rather have a full belly than a ring that says I belong to a man I never wished to belong to, a man who only wanted me because he wants my castle, which borders his land.”
His free hand suddenly came to rest at the back of her neck, and her body tingled where his skin touched hers. “You make me want to kiss you, Maggie.”
She could hear the ache in his voice, which matched the one she felt in her chest. “Mayhap,” she said breathlessly, “the opportunity will present itself.”
