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“My clan finally found out who was responsible. They came for me, and my brother Craig killed Alasdair. In the skirmish, my grandfather died.”
She finally looked up at him. Konnor’s nostrils flared, his own eyes were bloodshot and watery, his mouth pinched in a grimace. His chest rose and fell quickly, his breathing loud. Something about his anger brought relief.
“You were…” he rasped. “And Colin is his?”
“Aye.”
“And you’re afraid if they come, they’ll take Colin?”
She nodded.
He shook his head. “No, they won’t, Marjorie. I’ll stay and help you.” He reached out but then hesitated, looking into her eyes. It was as though he was asking her permission to touch her. Something relaxed in her stomach. She placed her hands into his. His palms were big and warm and calloused. They felt like home.
“No one will touch a hair on your or your son’s head as long as I have a say in it.”
His blue eyes stared at her with determination, flames dancing on his face in a golden hue. She felt safe and protected, and for the first time in her life, she wanted to kiss a man.
Chapter 12
Konnor tossed and turned after he returned to his room. Now he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Marjorie and his mother were victims of the same darkness.
Konnor couldn’t leave her after what he’d found out. If those fuckers the MacDougalls kidnapped and raped Marjorie, he couldn’t just go back to the 21st century and leave her in danger. It couldn’t have been easy for her to give birth to a child out of wedlock in this century. What a strong woman. Was she choosing to be alone because of her trauma? If so, he could relate. That was exactly the choice he’d made.
She didn’t believe him about time travel. Heck, he didn’t quite believe it himself, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He needed to talk to Isbeil again and ask her for more details about those Highland legends and tunnels through time. He had to make sure he could go back through that stone to his own time.
His gut clenched with worry for his mother, left alone without his financial or emotional support.
He remembered the day his father died. Konnor had been six years old. His dad had been wounded in action while deployed as a Marine and sent to a hospital in Boston. Konnor remembered how he’d entered the hospital room and froze, scared to see his strong father as white as the pillow and breathing raggedly.
“Help your mother,” his father said. “Protect her. You're the only one she’s got.”
Two years later, Konnor thought of those last words the evening after Jerry hit his mother. Mom placed dinner on the table, and the atmosphere was thick and silent, like everyone was afraid to breathe.
A plate with roasted chicken lay golden and delicious in the middle of the table. Mom covered the bruise on her face with the locks of her blond bob. She wore pink jeans and a long-sleeved sweater despite the warm weather perhaps to hid the blue marks in the form of fingers that decorated her forearm.
Jerry and Konnor sat at the table waiting for her to put mashed potatoes on their plates. Jerry glared at him with bloodshot eyes, whirling the glass with whiskey in his hand.
“How was school, Konnor?” he asked.
“Protect her. You're the only one she’s got.” His father’s words rang in his head. Guilt chewed at his stomach. Konnor hadn’t done anything to protect his mom the night before, but he could do something today. Jerry should know he couldn’t just beat her.
“It was fine,” he said, his gut trembling with both fear and anger. “Mom, are you okay?”
She glanced at him with wide eyes and flashed a forced smile, keeping her head low so that her blond hair would fall on the side of her face. “Of course. Never better. Peas?”
“Mom, I heard. Last night, I heard everything.”
His mom’s eyes widened in horror. She dropped the plate and it fell on the floor with a loud bang, peas rolling all over the floor. Jerry’s square-jawed face reddened, his moustache shaking. He stood and grabbed her by the upper arm and drew his arm back to hit her.
“Stop it!” Konnor cried, and darted forward to hang on Jerry’s arm. Jerry pushed him back. Konnor staggered and fell, hitting his head on the edge of the chair. He whimpered, his head exploding with pain.
“Jerry!” his mom exclaimed and pushed Jerry away from him.
“Don’t you dare push me, you bitch,” Jerry cried and slapped her. He grabbed her by her hair and brought her face to his. “You try that one more time…” He was livid and drunk and spitting the consonants.
“Don’t touch him,” Mom growled.
Slap. Slap. Konnor watched with horror as her head shot to the left and to the right when Jerry’s hand came to her face.
