Alex sighted along the arrow-shaft, the oiled string pressing into his cheek, and let fly. The arrow hit its mark with a dull thud and one of Lord Donald’s men toppled backwards off his horse. Alex was surprised at how steady his arm was considering his heart was thumping so fast it felt like his ribs might break. The sight that had met him as he rode into the clearing almost stopped his breath, ripping a gasp of pure terror from his chest.

Bree and David had been captured, surrounded by Lord Donald’s men. David had been on his knees, Lord Donald raising his sword...

Alex had acted on instinct. He knew he’d never cross the distance in time to stop that blow falling so he did the only thing he could think to do: shoot Lord Donald. The arrow that had been aimed for his heart had missed, but it had at least caught Lord Donald’s hand. He’d had no time for satisfaction though as Lord Donald’s men had turned, spotted Alex, and begun pulling their mounts around in order to run him down.

Now there were four men down, each with an arrow in him, and Alex sent a silent prayer of thanks to his father who had insisted he spend so many hours practicing with the bow.

His quiver empty, he tossed the bow away. In a heartbeat he assessed his options. He was greatly outnumbered.  He didn’t care.  Bree was over there. He had to save her. That’s all that mattered.

With an almighty bellow Alex drew his sword, swung into the saddle, and set his heels to Shadow’s flanks, sending him thundering across the clearing. Mud flew from beneath the horse’s hooves and Alex’s hair went streaming out behind him. One of Lord Donald’s men—a newcomer called Archibald who bore a swirling tattoo over half his face—drove his horse at Alex, screaming his rage.

At the last moment, when he was close enough that he could see the whites of the man’s eyes, Alex leaned back, flat against Shadow’s back so Archibald’s blade whistled through the space his head had just occupied. Then he straightened quickly and sliced the man’s sword-arm as he thundered past, opening a red gash from elbow to wrist. The man bellowed in pain and his fingers sprang reflexively apart, sending his sword thudding into the dirt.

Seeing this, Lord Donald’s men rode to meet Alex, weapons glistening like silver in the sunlight. The closely packed tree-trunks at the clearing’s edge made maneuvering a horse difficult so Alex stood in the stirrups and jumped out of the saddle, landing softly with knees bent and immediately pivoting to bring his blade around in a sweeping arc at the warrior who dismounted and came running at him.

Alex didn’t know this man but he was big, built like an ox, and far faster than a man of his size had any right to be. He blocked Alex’s first stroke and then launched an attack of his own, blade stabbing at Alex’s unprotected left side. Alex spun out of the way and they traded blows back and forth.

A desperate, urgent need drove Alex. He had to get to Bree. He had to. The need pushed him to take risks he wouldn’t normally take, his sword-arm a frenzied blur as he hacked at the man in front of him. Finally he felt his sword bite into flesh and he shouldered the man aside, only to find another ready to take his place. He ducked under the man’s first clumsy swing, stepped in close and drove an upper-cut into his chin that laid him flat on the ground, unconscious.

“Alex! Watch out!” came Bree’s desperate cry.

He spun to see an ax blade whizzing towards him, the half-moon blade like a mini-sun as it cut through the air. He knew a moment of fear as he realized he wouldn’t parry it in time before the ax’s swing was suddenly cut short, the blade caught by the cross-hilt of a sword that parried the blow.

Alex looked up to see his cousin, David, holding the sword. He was bleeding from several minor wounds, his face a mask of red, but a feral grin lit his face.

“Ye didnae think I’d let ye have all the fun did ye, cousin?”

“Where’s Bree?” Alex demanded. He could no longer see her.  The press of men around him blocked his view of anything beyond a few feet.

“Over there,” David said, cocking his head. “Lord Donald has her.”

Another surge of anger went through Alex, turning his thoughts white-hot with fury. “We must get to her,” he growled, clutching his sword in a tight, two-handed grip. “Cover me.”

They fought back to back, staying close to stop any attackers coming at them from behind. A tight ring of Lord Donald’s men surrounded them, snarling like beasts. Alex knew many of them, had shared a cup of ale and a joke with them, but now it seemed all bonds of fellowship were broken. They glared at him with murder in their eyes and he knew that they’d kill him without a second thought.

Despite his injuries David fought ferociously and as a gap opened up in the circle they were able to take a few steps across the clearing in the direction of Lord Donald. Dead or injured men littered the ground around them and the air was filled with the moaning of the wounded. It sickened Alex. So much destruction. So many lives lost. And for what? For Lord Donald’s vain glory, just as it had been all those years ago when a naive young warrior had followed him out the gates of Dun Carrick.

Suddenly he heard hoof beats and a group of people spilled into the clearing, several mounted but most on foot. Alex recognized his mother and father amongst them but the rest seemed to be villagers. They bore no armor and most only had the most rudimentary of weapons: axes, pitchforks, rusty spears.

This didn’t seem to deter them though. They started across the clearing towards Lord Donald, grim looks on their faces. Lord Donald’s men slewed around to meet this new challenge, giving Alex and David a moment’s respite.

A scream suddenly cut through the air and Alex’s blood went cold. He spun, eyes searching. There. Lord Donald had a hold of Bree by the hair and was dragging her towards a horse tied beneath a tree. Two of his men were with him.

“Bree!” Alex bellowed, his voice tinged with panic. He couldn’t let them reach that horse. He had to get to Bree.

With a howl of rage he threw himself after them. He cut down the first man that came at him with a diagonal slash to the throat, punched the second one to the ground, ducked around the third’s clumsy strike, leaving David to finish him off. Suddenly there was empty ground ahead of him. He burst into motion, sprinting across the intervening ground with as much speed as he could muster.

Lord Donald saw him coming and shouted something to his men. They swung around to face Alex but not fast enough. He crashed into them before they were ready, clubbing one with the hilt of his sword, kicking the other in the knee hard enough that he heard a crack. Both collapsed to the floor.

“Not another step,” Lord Donald spat. “Another step and she dies.”

He had his arm wrapped around Bree and a knife held to her throat. Her eyes were wide with fear but something else shone in them as well as she looked at Alex, something he had no right to see there: joy.

“It’s over,” he growled at Lord Donald. “Let her go.”

“And how exactly are ye going to make me?” Lord Donald replied. “Put down yer sword or I will slit her throat. Then me and yer woman are going to climb onto my horse and ride away. By tonight she will be my woman. I claim her. She is mine.”

Fury shot through Alex. He knew Lord Donald was goading him and so he struggled to keep control, to keep from throwing himself at the man. His eyes slid to Bree. She was watching him, fear etched on her face. It wrenched his heart to see it. Minutely, so Lord Donald wouldn’t notice, he nodded to her.

Then he burst into motion. Yanking a knife from his belt he hurled it. If flew through the air, end over end, and sank into Lord Donald’s thigh. His grip on Bree loosened as he bellowed in pain. Bree rammed her elbow into his stomach, eliciting a grunt of pain and then ripped herself out of his grip. She threw herself at Alex and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

“Are ye all right?” he demanded. “He didnae hurt ye?”

“No, I’m fine,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“Get behind me,” he said, stepping forward. “This isnae over yet.”

“I should never have trusted ye,” Lord Donald said, straightening and pulling the knife from his leg. “Ye were always a mewling babe prattling about right and wrong. Ye never had the stomach to do what needed to be done.”

His voice had gone low and dangerous, bereft of all emotion. Alex had learned that when Lord Donald went cold like this he was at his most dangerous. Alex stepped in front of Bree protectively.

“What needed to be done?” he said. “Ye mean abducting women and terrorizing villagers? Nay, I had no stomach for that and I willnae make apologies for it. Ye were once a great man. Ye were once my mentor and I loved ye for it. But nay longer. Ye have fallen far and I willnae follow ye into the pit ye have dug. Ye will pay for yer crimes.”

“Oh? And I suppose ye are the one who will give me justice?”

Without warning he exploded into motion. He was a master swordsman and despite his wounded leg and hand he moved with the grace and agility of a dancer. He slashed and stabbed at Alex, his blade moving so quickly that he struggled to keep track of it.

It took all of Alex’s skill to keep his blade at bay and for a moment he feared Lord Donald would find a way through his defenses. But Alex was a master swordsman as well. He’d been taught by his father and Ewan Murray was renowned throughout the Highlands for his skill with a blade. After a moment he began to find his rhythm and reach. He parried Lord Donald’s strokes and launched counter attacks of his own, gradually pushing Lord Donald back, away from Bree.

Their weapons made clanging noises each time they came together but neither of the men made a sound. They were both too focussed on the task of staying alive. Soon sweat was pouring down Alex’s face and he dashed it away angrily. He wanted nothing to distract his focus. His lungs burned and his sword-arm ached but he was also filled with a fierce thrill, the thrill that always came to him during battle. In these moments, when it was just one man’s strength pitted against another, all things fell away and it was only the raw will to survive that sustained them.

And this time of course, he was driven by something else, something deeper. The need to protect Bree.

They traded a series of blows and Alex gradually gained the upper hand. He found his rage surfacing again. All the years he’d spent following this man—following a lie—came bubbling up, lending a new strength to his arm, a new fleetness to his feet.

“Ye talk of betrayal,” he growled. “And yet ye are the worst betrayer of them all. Ye took a group of naive youths and promised us the world. With yer honeyed words ye convinced us to leave everything behind and follow ye. I believed ye. I believed yer stories of glory and forging a better life. It was all lies wasnae it? Ye believed in nothing more than yer own power. It was all for yer own gain, not ours.”

“Dinna make yerself out to be a victim, Alex,” Lord Donald growled back. “Ye knew what ye’d signed up for when ye followed me.”

“Is that so? A life of banditry and bullying? Ye reckon that’s what I signed up for? It’s over, David. I willnae listen to yer poison any longer, and I’ll make sure none of the others will either.”

“Really? We’ll see about that shall we?” Lord Donald hissed. He put on a burst of speed and threw himself at Alex.

Alex had been anticipating this move, he’d seen Lord Donald do it often enough on the practise court, so instead of retreating as expected he stepped in close, inside the reach of his sword-arm and reversed his own blade, ramming the hilt into Lord Donald’s exposed temple. Lord Donald bellowed in pain and staggered back. Alex used his own momentum to put a boot to the man’s chest and push him over, knocking his sword from his grasp and picking it up. Lord Donald crashed onto his back, weapon less. Alex stood over him, chest heaving. He held his own sword and Lord Donald’s against his chest, the points resting at the base of his throat.

“Do it,” Lord Donald growled. “What are ye waiting for?”

But Alex didn’t move. All those years, all that strife, and it came down to this moment, this chance to end it all. And yet, he found he had no desire to take Lord Donald’s life. He’d had enough. Of bloodshed. Of hurt. Of causing pain. It was over.

He shook his head. “I willnae kill ye, Donald Sinclair. I’ll leave that judgment to the king. Ye will stand before him and make answer for yer crimes and he will decide on yer punishment. I am not an executioner. Not anymore.”

Leaving Lord Donald lying there, he turned away. His eyes scanned the clearing and found Bree standing on the other side, watching him with her hands pressed to her chest, her eyes brimming.

“Oh, Alex,” she cried.

Alex grinned and began moving across the clearing towards her. He heard the movement behind him a second too late. He spun just in time to see Lord Donald springing at him, something glinting in his hand. Then pain erupted in Alex’s stomach and all the strength seemed to leak out of him. With a last effort of will he brought his sword up and punched it into Lord Donald’s chest. The man’s eyes went wide and then he toppled over backwards and lay still. Alex dropped the swords into the dirt, his fingers suddenly nerveless. He glanced down and saw a pool of red spreading across his tunic. His thoughts turned foggy and then suddenly he was crashing to his knees, his vision darkening.

Somebody caught him and laid him gently on his back. Above him he could see the blue sky, perfect and shining.

A good day to die, the thought came unbidden.

A face hovered over him, etched with worry. It was a beautiful face, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He tried to reach up, to touch that face one last time but his limbs would no longer obey him.

“Bree,” he managed to whisper.

Then the darkness reached up and pulled him under.

***

Bree threw herself to her knees beside Alex and caught him just as he collapsed to the ground. She lowered him into a prone position and leaned over, her eyes searching his face.

“Alex?” she said, her voice a frightened whisper. “Alex?”

He didn’t respond. A low, long hiss escaped him and his eyes slid closed. For a second Bree was frozen. Then she grabbed his shoulder and shook him roughly.

“Alex!” she cried, her voice shrill and panic-stricken. “Alex, wake up! Please!”

No response. His skin had gone pale and waxy, a thin sheen of sweat turning his hair dark where it clung to his forehead. A red flower was slowly blooming across his shirt, beginning near his navel and spreading out to cover his abdomen.

For one heartbeat, two heartbeats, utter panic overwhelmed Bree. Her thoughts went blank, her pulse rocketed as utter, mind-number terror ripped through her. But only for a moment. Forcing herself to take a long, deep breath, she mercilessly pushed the panic aside. This was not the time to panic. Alex needed her.

With trembling fingers she lifted up his shirt to see the wound. An involuntary gasp escaped her. A neat stab wound maybe four inches across sat just below his navel. Dark arterial blood pulsed from it in waves, thick and sticky.

“Dear god,” she breathed.

She hiked up her dress and began tearing off great strips of the linen underskirt, fear giving her renewed strength. Footsteps drummed behind her and David suddenly knelt by her side. His eyes were round and fearful as he took in Alex’s wound.

“Lord, help us,” he breathed. “Bree, lass. Such a wound...there is naught to be done—”

“Shut up!” she snapped. “If you want to help, press this against the wound and keep pressure on it. We have to stop the bleeding.”

She wadded the torn off strips of linen and passed them to David who placed the compress tight against Alex’s wound and held it there with both hands.

Bree pressed her ear to his chest. There was a faint, dull heartbeat but it was slower than it should be. She grabbed his wrist to feel for his pulse then pressed her palms against his skin. He was going cold, his body going into shock.

In only seconds the linen was soaked through. With a muttered curse she tore more strips from her underskirt, knowing that if they didn’t staunch the bleeding he would bleed out right here in front of her.

No! she told herself savagely. I will not allow it. Do you hear me? I will not allow it!

Distantly she heard the sounds of a man’s voice shouting and a woman screaming and then Ewan and Gretchen were suddenly there, kneeling in the mud by Alex’s side.

“What happened?” Gretchen demanded. “My god, what happened?”

David muttered an answer but Bree barely paid them any mind. Anger was building inside her. A deep, all-consuming fury at the god-damned unfairness of it all. She had not come all this way, been through so much, to lose Alex now.

I won’t allow it! I will not!

“Irene,” she breathed. “Irene MacAskill started this. Irene can bloody-well finish it.”

“She wasn’t at the village,” Gretchen whispered as she gently stroked Alex’s hair.

“It’s hopeless,” David muttered. “We should send for a priest—”

“It’s not hopeless,” Bree snapped. “Not where I come from. Twenty-first medicine could save him.” She surged to her feet and threw her head back. “Irene!” she bellowed. “Irene MacAskill! I call you out! You said if I came here I would find my true path, my heart’s desire! Well, I’ve found it and I won’t allow him to die. Please! I understand now, I know why you brought me here!”

Her words died into silence. For a moment all was still. Then a gale sprang up in the glade, swirling the leaves and sending Bree’s hair whipping into her face. When it calmed a small figure stepped out from behind a tree.

“And why is that, my dear?” Irene MacAskill asked calmly.

“To find the other half of myself,” Bree cried. “And to help Alex find his. I understand. It was no accident was it? So, please, don’t let him die just after I’ve found him. Send us back to my time!” Her voice was high and shrill, full of pleading.

Irene MacAskill looked up at her for a moment that seemed to last eternity. Then she nodded. “There is always a choice, my dear. Only when the choice is made does the way forward become clear. Ye have made yer choice. Yer path home lies ahead.”

Bree glanced up and saw that the branches above her head had intertwined, forming a living archway. The space between it shimmered with heat haze.

“Thank you,” she whispered. She whirled to find Gretchen and Ewan on their feet. Ewan held the unconscious Alex in his arms.

“We’re going too, Irene,” Gretchen said to the diminutive woman. Tears stained her cheeks. “Don’t even try to stop us. He’s our son.”

Irene nodded, a faint smile curling her lips. “Ye are a time-traveler are ye not? Perhaps yer own time is calling ye back—if only for a little while.” Clasping her hands in front of her, Irene stepped aside.

“God speed to ye all,” David said, eyeing Irene warily. “I will deal with Lord Donald’s remaining men and then return to Dun Carrick and inform my mother of events.” He placed a hand on Ewan’s shoulder. “Ye will return soon. And with my cousin healed. That is an order from yer future laird.”

“Aye,” Ewan muttered. “I will see it done.”

Together the three of them approached the archway and stepped through. There was a faint rush of warmth over Bree’s skin and then she found herself stepping out into sunlight and a cold breeze. The noise of traffic suddenly assailed her, seeming deafening after the quiet of the Highlands.

She looked around and realized they were in a small grassy area with a sign that read: Edinburgh Royal Infirmary, Remembrance Garden. A wooden trellis formed the archway over their heads which had roses climbing all over it. The hospital itself, a huge building of many floors, loomed ahead of them.

Thank you, Irene, she thought.

“Come on! Quickly!” she shouted to her companions.

She and Gretchen kept pace to either side of Ewan as they trotted out of the remembrance garden and through the main doors of the hospital’s Accident and Emergency department.

“Help us!” Bree cried as they stumbled through the doors. “He’s been stabbed, please help us!”

Nurses came running at her panicked shout and soon Alex was being lifted onto a stretcher and wheeled away. Bree made to follow but a nurse laid a hand on her arm to stop her.

“The doctors will need to work on him. It’s best if you wait in the waiting room. We’ll let you know when there is any news.”

Bree nodded and sank into a chair. Gretchen gripped her hand, giving her a weak smile. Exhaustion rushed through Bree, making her limbs feel as heavy as lead. Hot on its heels came all the emotion she’d buried inside, all the fear, the grief, the bone-deep terror of losing Alex. Tears burned her eyes. She buried her face in Gretchen’s shoulder and cried.

***

For a long time there was only darkness. It surrounded him like a blanket and he could remember nothing. Not who he was or where he was or what had happened to bring him here. But gradually he became aware of something. There was a heaviness around him that he was trapped inside. His body? And there was a sensation in that body, an aching sensation deep inside. It took a moment to put a name to the sensation: pain.

He took a moment to explore this new sensation, wondering what it was and how it had gotten there. And then awareness exploded within him like a supernova. Everything came rushing back, engulfing Alex in memory. The mad dash to stop Lord Donald from capturing his loved ones. The fight in the clearing, the knife punching into his belly.

And Bree.

His eyes flew open and he lurched upright. The pain flared more hotly somewhere in his abdomen but he ignored it as he realized he was no longer in the clearing. He was in a room with stark white walls. Contraptions surrounded him, letting out beeping noises and a tube of some kind ran from one of them into his arm. For a moment he knew near-panic. Was this Hell? Had he died and been claimed by the Devil?

But then his eyes alighted on a figure slumped in the chair by his bedside and realized this couldn’t be hell, not if she was here.

Bree.

She was asleep, her red hair falling over her shoulder, her chest rising and falling evenly as she slept. From her rumpled and stained clothing, it looked like she’d been there a while. For a moment he just stared at her, drinking her in. Breanne Martin. His woman. His love. Lord, but the sight of her made his heart swell and chased away all the pain until he felt contentment flow through him like wine.

“Bree, lass,” he said gently. “Wake up.”

She muttered something and her eyes fluttered open, settling on him. For a moment she looked confused, befuddled by sleep, but then her eyes flew wide and she sat bolt upright.

“Alex! You’re awake!”

She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face into his shoulder. The sudden impact sent the pain rocketing through his body again and he grunted. Bree drew back, looking sheepish.

“Sorry. Your doctors would probably kill me if they saw me do that.”

“My doctors? What do ye mean, lass? Where am I?”

“A hospital in Edinburgh but not your Edinburgh, my Edinburgh.”

He must have looked a little confused because she laughed lightly. “We are in my time. Irene sent us here. You remember Lord Donald stabbing you, right?”

“I do,” he answered darkly. “I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

“You were trying to do the right thing, Alex. You can’t hold yourself responsible for what that lying rat did. It was a bad wound, Alex.” She took a deep breath, visibly gathering herself. “It was obvious you were going to bleed out. There was no medicine in your time that could have saved you so I asked Irene to bring the four of us here and she did. She was as good as her word and delivered us straight to the hospital. They operated on you yesterday. It was touch and go for a while—you’d lost a lot of blood. But they say you are going to be fine.” She smiled, took his hand and squeezed it.

Alex said nothing. His brain was still trying to sort all this information. He was in Bree’s time? The twenty-first century? And the doctors here had managed to save his life? It was a lot to take in. Then a thought struck him.

“The four of us?”

“Sorry?”

“Ye said Irene brought the four of us to this time?”

“Yes, your parents came too. They’ve barely left your bedside. They’re off getting a coffee at the minute. Gretchen seems to have picked up her coffee habit right where it left off and Ewan isn’t too far behind her.”

Alex blinked. “My parents are here. Ye are here. We are all in the twenty-first century.” He ran a hand—the one that didn’t have a tube attached to it—over his face. “Lord above. This is going to take some getting used to.”

Bree leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “There’s plenty of time for that. I have an apartment here in Edinburgh and we’ll stay there until we figure out what to do next. Seems that Irene has returned us only a day after I left. I could still go back to my job. The police might want to talk to you though—I don’t think treating stab wounds is an everyday occurrence here. They’ll probably question you before the doctors let you leave. We’ll say you were mugged or something. They should believe that.”

Alex watched her. He watched how the light from the window shimmered along the red tresses of her hair, how the skin between her eyebrows crinkled as she frowned, at how the freckles across her nose accentuated the green of her eyes. Lord, but she took his breath away. He didn’t care where or when he was. As long as she was here, everything else would be fine.

“I’ll write it down so we can all rehearse what we are going to say. They might wonder about our clothes but we’ll say we are from a re-enactment society or something—”

“Marry me,” Alex blurted.

Bree startled, staring at him. “I’m sorry?”

“Ye heard me, lass,” he replied, curling his fingers tight around hers. “I canna be without ye. Ye must know that I didnae mean any of the harsh words I said to ye—that was all just lies to get ye away from me. I thought I was doing the right thing but I’ve learned otherwise. I love ye more than life itself, lass. Be my wife. Marry me.”

She stared at him for such a long time that he feared she wasn’t going to answer. A whole host of emotions flashed through her eyes: hope, disbelief, wariness, fear, uncertainty. But then they settled on one: joy. Her eyes brimmed with tears and a smile spread across her face.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, Alex. Of course I’ll marry you.”