Page 51 of Highlander Unraveled
Mrs. MacDonald made atskingsound with her tongue, shaking her head as though Emma had just taken the last honey-cake from the buttery. “Nothing’s changed, my dear. And no amount of coin could keep me from my task. As for trusting me, well, your mistake. Steven said you were too dumb for your own good. He said taking you would be easy. Little did he know I have friends in high places.” She grinned at me. “Rather familial, really.”
Bloody hell. Chief MacDonald, Lord of the Isles, could get to us even here.
I could tell by the small pulse in her jaw that Emma was angry, but she kept a smile on her face belying her true emotions. I was so damned proud of her. The lass was strong, confident. A force to be reckoned with. When we were done with the old crone, I’d kneel at Emma’s feet and tell her as much.
“Maybe I am dumb,” Emma said with a shrug. “Ormaybeyou really did want to help me.”
“Ha.” Mrs. MacDonald waved the gun toward Emma and I leapt in front of her. “Och, posh, get away from her. I’m not going to shoot the lass. Ineedher.”
I didn’t move. “I will not allow ye to harm my wife.”
“My orders are for ye, Highlander. Now put some bloody clothes on before I’m forced to mar your very muscular and golden skin.”
Emma faced me, pleading in her eyes. I wished at that moment our magic had given us the ability to hear each other’s thoughts. But I suppose it didn’t truly matter, I could read them well enough on her face. Her eyes were slightly wider, her lips trembling in a straight line as she tried to smile, but couldn’t. Her skin was pale, and that vein in the side of her neck that pulsed hard when she was unnerved was going wild.
“Only because I dinna want ye staring at my cock any longer.” I bent to pick up my shirt and plaid. I pulled on myleineand then roughly pleated my plaid before wrapping it around my waist. Didn’t need a faulty pleat to ruin any chance I had to subdue the bitch. I secured my belt—weapons clinking as I did so.
“Remove your weapons,” Mrs. MacDonald said.
I shook my head, baring my teeth. “If ye get to keep yours, I’ll be keeping mine.”
“I’ll shoot ye on the count of three if ye dinna set them aside, ye jackanapes.”
I bristled at the insult. If one of us was a jackanapes, it was she. “What does it matter?” I ground out. “I’d not be able to wrench out my sword and use it against ye before ye got off a shot.”
“Even still.” Mrs. MacDonald shrugged.
Did that mean she thought I might be able to? If she made even the slightest turn away from me, or dropped her gaze for a second, I was confident I could.
Slowly, eyes steady on the wretched woman, I pulled out my sword, the steel gleaming in the light. I challenged her with my gaze, and she cocked back the piece of the canon that I wasn’t ignorant enough to ignore. She was going to fire.
“I’m putting it down,” I said, slowly placing the sword on the floor at my feet.
“Yoursgian dubh, too,” she said, pointing at the spot beneath my sock where it bulged.
I nodded, pulling it out and tossing it to the floor.
She’d not seen the second one sewn into the lining of my plaid, and I sent up a silent prayer of thanksgiving for that. I was not completely weaponless.
“Put on your shoes, prissy pants.” Mrs. MacDonald waved the gun at Emma and then toward one of her shoes on the floor. “We’re going for a walk.”
“Where to?” Emma asked, reading my mind.
“Somewhere,” was all the crone said.
Like hell I was goingsomewherewith this madwoman, but before I could speak, Emma had already begun.
“What happened?” Emma slipped into her shoes, keeping her gaze steady on our captor. “Where is Mr. McAlister? And Steven?”
Mrs. MacDonald narrowed her eyes, though there was a flicker of something beyond annoyance at us stalling her. “I have no idea. Let’s go.”
Emma shook her head, refusing to budge. “But, wait, how can you have no idea?”
That same flicker returned. “Just as I said, I’ve no idea.”
That was the reason for her irritation. She didn’t know where they were or when they’d come back. There was some part of this plot that was out of her miserable control.
“So there isn’t some sort of time jumper’s headquarters or someone you check in with? Like a handler or a pimp?”
