Page 24 of Draped in Plaid
Chapter Seven
Logan
Bloody fucking hell.
I recognized the bastard at once.
I wanted to tear the vile whoreson’s head from his sadistic body, then kick it clear across England, all the way back to Scotland where I’d put it on a spike at Gealach Castle and let the ravens pick at his flesh.
With hands fisted, I fought between the need to hold Emma up or knock the bastard down.
Steven held his sword steady enough, but shifted his feet as he kept his eyes trained on them. “Lower your weapons. Now. You have about three seconds before I sound the alarm and a trove of armed soldiers hack at your barbarian bodies.”
The man was just as vicious in 1371 was he was in modern day. Also, much younger than when I’d met him in Edinburgh. Clearly, he didna recognize my wife, which was an actual blessing, else he torment her more than his sheer presence was already doing.
“Steven.”
Before I could stop her, my wife managed to slip out in front of me. I grabbed her hand, and she held it tight, but also maintained her position firm. I tugged, wanting her behind me where I could keep her safe, but she looked over her shoulder and shook her head. Her eyes filled with sadness and acceptance. But thank the saints I didna see defeat.
Rory, Ewan and Shona stood to the side, eyes wide. They’d never met Steven before, but they’d heard enough about him to know he was the worst sort of human being. And that whatever situation they’d been in up until now, had significantly changed with this arsehole at the helm.
“Emma…” I ground out, still determined to put myself between her and the bloody bastard.
“Emma,” Steven repeated, letting her name roll slowly of his wretched tongue. His vile gaze slid from mine to my wife’s, a cruel grin curling his mouth. “How do you know my name?” Slowly, he pointed the tip of his sword from Rory to Emma’s throat, giving it a little twirl as he squinted his eye.
“I know you,” she whispered, sauntering closer to the sorry excuse for a man. “I knoweverythingabout you. I know who your mother is. I know how much you like whisky. I know you’d rather bathe in a vat of lava than lift a finger to do something for anyone else. I know you have a considerable mole on your left hip gets caught in your trews.”
“What sorcery is this?” Steven snarled, his lips curling over his teeth like a rabid dog. He took a step back, the sword trembling as his nerves radiated down his arm and into the steel.
“Nay, not sorcery,” Emma continued, her voice calmer than her cold hands belied.
“I demand to know,” Steven said, his voice as haughty as I remembered.
“We were married once,” Emma said.
Steven barked a laugh. “I highly doubt that, you plump witch.”
Plump, my arse. Emma was gorgeous and all luscious curves. When she’d come to me three years ago, she’d been as skinny as the sword that bastard held. But since she’d been with me, life had been breathed back into her. Flesh had been put back on her bones. I gritted my teeth. Emma had about thirty seconds to do whatever it was she was doing before I knocked this sorry, sad excuse for a man to the ground.
Emma laughed. “You haven’t changed. Or should I say, you will remain the same.”
Steven narrowed his eyes, not comprehending, since this Steven had yet to travel to the future.
“Where is your mother?” Emma asked. “Is she here?”
“My mother?”
“Beverly. Where is she?”
Steven took a step back. “What have you done with my mother?”
“Let us pass, or you’ll never see her again,” Emma said, her voice confident, cool.
This was the Emma that I knew. The one that had grown so strong over the past few years. The one who’d healed from the torment this bastard had laid on her.
Rory and Ewan were stiff beside me. Both of them ready to pounce if I gave the go ahead.
Ewan subtly pushed Shona behind him; each of us warriors taking tiny steps forward until we formed a line behind Emma.
