Page 56 of Dark Victory

“I want to go back and you can’t take me and your partner in crime won’t. I am pretty much a prisoner.”

“Ye’re my guest.” He was harsh. “Let’s go up to Blayde.”

Suddenly Tabby balked. Tears came to her eyes. She swiped at them. She was not going to feel sorry for herself now and she was not going to become a weak, cowardly woman. She was a Rose. If Allie and Brie could survive a leap back in time, then she could manage this predicament.

Besides, if her Fate was helping Macleod, she was not going to be able to resist it or fight it. “You win.”

Before he could respond to her sarcastic quip, she felt the ground move under her feet.

Tabby jerked, because she couldn’t imagine how she’d set off Macleod’s temper now, but he was listening to the afternoon. The ground continued to vibrate. Her mind slammed into gear. They were about to experience a landslide or an earthquake.

He took her arm. “Riders.”

Tabby’s alarm crested. A few riders could not make the ground shake. It was at least a fifteen-minute hike up to the safety of Blayde’s stone walls.

Thunder filled the day.

Blayde’s bells began ringing.

A shapeless mass appeared on the top of the ridge that was closest to them. Tabby squinted and saw the mass rippling, undoubtedly the movement of restless warhorses. Like a pale landslide, it began descending.

“Damn it,” Tabby said. “That’s an army, right? A medieval army?”

Macleod nodded.

CHAPTER TEN

THE ARMY HAD HALTED. Tabby could make out the horses and their riders, as well as three banners in the front ranks, which waved in dark, dangerous colors against the bright sky. Tabby inhaled. It appeared as if a few hundred medieval warriors were facing them. Her heart felt overloaded with fear. Had she landed in the middle of a war?

A lone horseman left the army and thundered toward them.

She stepped even closer to Macleod’s big body, aware now that she was the only woman present among so many savage fighting men. The concept of human rights didn’t even exist in this world. “Now what?”

“Ye can rest easy, Tabitha. ’Tis Ruari Dubh—a friend.”

She was relieved, but barely. Treachery was the name of the game in medieval Scotland. “You are sure he’s a friend?”

“Aye.” Macleod put his fists on his hips and waited.

The posture was not reassuring. She was going to have to start trusting Macleod. This was his world, and he was most definitely a survivor. She intended to be a survivor, too. She had to get home to her sister and her life.

But an odd frisson swept her. She did not know why—it wasn’t really alarm or unease, and she couldn’t identify it.

A Highlander as massively built as Macleod halted his gray charger before them. Her eyes widened. He had tawny hair, a hard face, and wore mail over his leine and a gold cuff above one huge bicep. He was ridiculously good-looking, but he wore the same frighteningly ruthless expression she’d seen on Macleod and she knew that he was heartless.

Tabby was confused. She had the feeling that they’d met—which was impossible. Wasn’t it?

But his power, which wafted out to her, seemed so familiar. And the gods felt closer, somehow.

“Who is that?” she whispered. Even as she spoke, the thought drifted through her mind that he was not just a Master, but a soldier of the gods.

“Black Royce,” Macleod said.

Even the name was familiar, and her heart lurched with surprise.

“What happens, Ruari?” Macleod asked brusquely, stepping forward.

Ruari replied in Gaelic, his granite expression never changing. He gave her one brief dismissive glance. Clearly he was not taken aback by her modern clothes or Macleod’s sweater and jeans. As he spoke, Tabby stared at him in growing excitement.