Page 47 of Laird Of Her Heart

“Will you believe me next time?”

“I will…but Maggie?”

“Yes, Dominic?”

“Have a care who you share information like this with.”

“I…of course.”

“Because at best, they’ll think you’re mad. At worse, they’ll accuse you of being in league with the devil.”

“You won’t let them burn me at the stake, will you?”

Her joke went awry. His expression hardened. “Promise me you will be careful. Promise me you will keep this a secret. I couldna bear it if you were harmed.”

Her heart lifted with this declaration. Hardly a loverly vow, but close. “Oh?” She wrapped her arms around his waist and gazed up at him. “Do you like me then? Maybe a little?” It was wrong to tease him, but she couldn’t resist.

“You know I like you. A lot.”

“I like you a lot too.” A whisper, but she barely needed to speak up, as his head was descending. His lips touched hers and it was heaven. There was no telling how much time they might have together, but she wanted to spend every moment she could just here, with him. Like this.

A cry arose to her left and Dominic’s head jerked up. His expression twisted in fury.

Maggie glanced in the direction of his glare and was horrified to see a horde of blue-clad Camerons pouring from the castle into the bailey, bristling with weapons.

To her dismay, she saw that one of the men held Liam prisoner with a blade to his neck. Her heart froze.

Oh God.

She had changed the course of the river.

Liam had been the only Macintosh to survive the massacre at Urquhart. He had gone on to be the Laird of Dundragon in Dominic’s stead; he had fathered a wealth of sons—one of whom had been her great-great-great-whatever grandfather.

Should Liam die, she would never be born.

She had to do something. Something to save him. She wiped the sweat from her brow as her mind whirled. The sun was cresting the clear sky. The day was hot.

“Macintosh!” One of the Camerons yelled. She took from this that he was the leader. “Stand down or your cousin dies.”

At her side, Dominic bellowed, “Torquil, you will hang for this.”

“Will I?” Torquil Cameron stepped forward. His face was a moonscape of bumps and bulges that could have been beestings…or an early manifestation of the plague. His features were harsh and lopsided. His eyes were piggish, his nose flat and squat with prominent nostrils. His chuckle was coarse, like gravel. “Word is, ye and yer men killed every laird who attended the convocation. I’ll be lauded a hero for taking you down.”

“We dinna kill anyone and you know it.”

“Yet you are the only laird of the confederation to survive. Convenient, that. A logical pick for chief. Nae doubt the other clans will see it that way.”

“Will they?” Dominic pulled himself to full height. “We’ve sent word to Cattanach telling of your collusion with MacPherson. By now everyone knows of your perfidy.”

Torquil’s nostrils flared, which was something, because they were already quite large. “You bastard.” He lifted his sword and lunged forward.

Trepidation curled in Maggie’s chest. Dominic had no weapon and no protection.

Thinking quickly, she lifted a heavy pewter platter from the table and slapped it against his chest just as Torquil’s blade landed. It hit hard, sending Dominic back a step, but with all the force Torquil had invested in the blow, the heavy claymore bounced off and clipped him on the ear.

He howled and whirled on her. “Who is this woman?”

“She is mine.” A snarl.