HERE SHE WAS yet again kissing a man she should not be kissing.

Yet unlike before she wasn’t putting up a fake struggle. This time she returned the kiss with everything she had if it meant freeing them from this dungeon. Or so she kept telling herself as she stood on her tip-toes to get even closer. As she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and lost herself in the moment.

He might be a grouchy, stalwart man, but Conall knew how to kiss. Lord did he ever as their tongues wrapped and he pulled her more tightly against him. Overly aware of his thick erection and the blazing need between her thighs, she groaned.

“The Battle of Stirling Bridge was won,” came an amused voice. “So ye can stop kissing now if ye like.”

Conall pulled back so abruptly at the sound of Grant’s voice, Lindsay nearly toppled over.

“Och, lad,” Grant muttered, closing the distance quickly and steadying her with a hand to her elbow.

“Thank you, Grant,” she murmured, gathering herself in front of what turned out to be several people. As far as she could tell they had not traveled anywhere at all.

“Of course, lass.” Grant smiled and was about to say more when Conall cut him off.

“What year is it?” Conall shook his head. “And how did you get through my wall?”

“Dear God, Son.” An older picturesque woman with hair a mere shade darker than her own extended her hand to Lindsay. “Forgive my son’s rudeness for not introducing everyone. I’m Jackie, Conall’s mother.” She gestured at a lovely woman closer to Grant’s age. “This is his grandmother, Sheila.” Then her eyes went to a solemn but stunning woman with long, flaming red hair. “And that is Conall’s cousin, Rona.”

Lindsay nodded graciously in greeting. She did her best to seem unaffected by both the kiss and the fact his family had met her for the first time while doing such. “I’m Lindsay. Nice to meet you all.”

Conall kept scowling at Grant. “Well, Grandfather, how did you get past my magic?”

“’Twas just good timing, I’d say.” Grant held out the crook of his elbow to Lindsay. “Come, lass, so that we might, unlike my grandson, offer you a proper welcome to Hamilton Castle.”

“Thank you.” She dished out a genuine smile as she accepted his arm, ignored Conall altogether, and left a dungeon now lacking the stone wall that had held them prisoner. They climbed an old, worn set of stairs that led to a vast courtyard. Though there was plenty of activity, she sensed tension. The portcullises were closed as well as the gate.

“What year is it, Grant?” she said softly. “Did your success at Stirling Bridge help things at all?”

“Aye, ‘twill in good time,” he assured. “And the year is thirteen twelve. The current year for Conall and his kin.”

Though she was afraid to ask, she had to know. “And what of Milly and Adlin? Are they safe?”

“They are,” he confirmed. “I left them verra happy indeed at MacLomain Castle. I’m sure you’ll see them again soon enough.”

“Good.” She nodded, relieved. “I’m so glad to hear it.”

“Aye, all went as it should,” Grant assured as he redirected her attention to a castle that made her stop short and her breath catch. “Welcome to Hamilton Castle. I’m sorry you had to see it for the first time from the dungeon.”’

“Me too but only because of what you suffered there,” she said softly, taking in the beauty of what was now Conall’s castle. It sat on a cliff overlooking the sea, its very structure stunning yet defiant. That was the only way to describe it as it was weathered yet stalwart. In some ways, it reminded her of Conall. Though he might not look weathered on the outside, she suspected he was on the inside. 

“We’re in northwestern Scotland,” Grant said. “MacLomain Castle is further south and MacLeod Castle is on the eastern side of Scotland overlooking the North Sea.”

For a brief flicker, Lindsay felt a nugget of disappointment that Grant was showing her this for the first time and not Conall. Yet as she watched Laird Hamilton stride up the castle stairs with one too many doe-eyed women trailing after him, she shoved thoughts of him firmly aside.

“Dinnae hold it against him,” Grant said softly. “He has suffered much and doesnae know how to handle the likes of you, lass.”

While she wanted to tell Grant how unimpressed with Conall’s behavior she was, she bit her tongue. Grant deserved better. Yet she wouldn’t sugar coat things either. Her new friend would see through it anyway.

“No worries.” She patted Grant’s arm and winked. “I know how to handle Conall.”

“So you do,” Grant murmured, eying her. “Better than most I’d say.”

“All right, husband,” Sheila said fondly as she and Jackie fell into step alongside them. “I think it’s time Lindsay took a break from dashing Hamilton men and spent some time with twenty-first century women.”

Lindsay looked around for Rona only to see her striding after Conall. Rona was Graham MacLomain’s sister, but she knew very little beyond that.

“Aye, then.” Grant smiled, pulled Sheila close and gave her a kiss that almost put the one Conall had just given Lindsay to shame. Go, old people. When she glanced at Jackie, she only shrugged and smiled, so it seemed this was the norm.

After the kiss ended, Sheila offered her elbow to Lindsay. “Walk with me?”

“Of course.” Lindsay slipped her arm into Sheila’s and started up the stairs with her and Jackie.

“I’m sure Grant’s told you enough about Conall, but I would like to further add to what he may have said if it’s all the same,” Sheila said, her voice both soft and firm as she kept her eyes on the stairs.

“If she’s of a mind to hear it,” Jackie said, her tone not quite as gentle.

“Are you then?” Sheila cast Lindsay a sidelong glance that told her she would hear it either way. “Are you of a mind to hear why Conall’s such a jackass?”

“Sheila,” Jackie chastised, but there was amusement in her voice and approval in her eyes.

Though Lindsay fully intended to say she would rather not hear another word about Conall, she said the opposite. When she did, it was in a way she didn’t expect. “Yes, I’d very much like to know why Conall’s such a jackass. Beyond the pain he must still be feeling after losing his father. And let’s not forget his cousin, Fraser.”

Why on Earth was she defending him? Because she was.

While Jackie looked at her with surprise, a wistful smile of approval came to Sheila’s lips as she said, “So you do care about him.”

“Enough to explain away some of his poor behavior,” she said, ignoring the endless stares she got from men, most of whom stopped short on the stairs and watched her pass. Though curious about the particulars of his father, Darach’s disappearance, she would not ask it of Jackie any more than she would have of Grant. Fraser, however, was another matter. “I heard Conall and Fraser declared themselves blood brothers when they were young, so I can’t imagine what it was like for Conall to lose him. How that must’ve felt.”

“My husband shared much with you.” That same wistful smile hovered on Sheila’s lips. “Now I understand why.”

Lindsay was about to respond, but Jackie spoke first. “Yes, my son and Fraser were very close. Losing him...” She sighed and shook her head before she continued. “Losing Fraser then his father set Conall on a path we all pray he’ll break free from.”

She remained respectfully silent as Jackie continued.

“While I do not think my husband is dead, you should know Conall believes the opposite.” Jackie’s voice trembled slightly, but her posture remained strong as they neared the top of the stairs. “Conall adored Darach and took what happened so deeply to heart that it changed him.” She shook her head. “Before that, Fraser, who was not only his cousin but his best friend, was killed before his very eyes. That alone took away a good portion of the son I knew and did nearly the same to Rona.” Her eyes met Lindsay’s. “The three of them were very close.”

So that was why Rona stayed on Conall’s heels.

As to Darach being dead, Grant was convinced he was not, and had told Lindsay as much. He also said, as she tried to share with Conall earlier, that if the Battle of Stirling Bridge went as it should and history began to correct itself, his gut told him Darach would be found. That he would return.

“I’m so sorry,” Lindsay said softly to the women and meant it. She wasn’t acting in the least. “I’m sorry for both of your losses...and Conall’s.”

“Thank you.” Jackie received a mug from a passing servant and handed it to Lindsay as a random Scotsman leapt to open the door for them, his eyes locked on Lindsay with avid appreciation.

Sheila chuckled and muttered, “I wonder how long it will take my grandson to put an end to this.”

Likely around the time hell froze over, Lindsay thought.

They might have chemistry, but she had no desire to be tied to a man and Conall had not changed that perspective in the least. If anything, he reminded her why being single was the way to go. Did she have sex? Of course. Though it had been some time. A long time actually. Sex just wasn’t a priority.

Or so she had always thought.

She bit back a frown and kept a pleasant smile on her face as her thoughts returned to the kisses she and Conall had shared. The way her body reacted. The pure intensity and desire she felt. It was different. Poignant in a whole new way. The lust she usually felt with a man was part of the persona she embraced. Nobody could fake an orgasm like her. Yet her lust for Conall was very real, so she could only imagine what else might prove authentic.

“Welcome,” Sheila said as she ushered Lindsay into a great hall she never could have anticipated. With endless, ornately designed stained glass windows, sky high ceilings and a grand staircase leading up the center, it was the most majestic space she had ever seen. Sort of a cross between a medieval hall and gothic church, the effect was absolutely stunning.

The rest of the castle, as it turned out, was just as mesmerizing. Who knew she liked gothic? And who knew such a castle even existed in medieval Scotland? But then, as Jackie explained later that evening, the castle’s interior had been strongly influenced by a warlock named Keir Hamilton who had been the archenemy when Sheila and Grant first met.

“Things didn’t end well for Keir,” Sheila commented as she helped cinch up Lindsay's dress. “But at least his offspring haven’t been so bad.” A small grin curled her lips. “I believe you’ve met his granddaughter, the Viking Aðísla?”

“More so, granddaughter to former Viking King, Naðr Véurr Sigdir,” Jackie added.

Aðísla, it seemed, was the reason for all of this. She was the prophet who foresaw an alternate history for Scotland that involved it ceasing to exist. She was the reason Milly and Lindsay were already here and that their friends were sure to be next.

“I have met Aðísla,” Lindsay confirmed, as she recalled traveling along the River Forth with Andrew de Moray and Aðísla mere days ago. “She’s definitely unique.”

Sheila and Jackie chuckled but said nothing more. Yet Lindsay remained curious about the Viking woman. Why was she here and not in Scandinavia with the MacLomain’s Viking ancestors? She had been able to glean very little about it from Grant and never had the chance to question Adlin.

“Well, if this doesn’t get my son riled up, I don’t know what will,” Jackie murmured as she stepped back and they looked her over. “You’re an exceptionally beautiful woman, Lindsay.” A soft smile came to Jackie’s lips. “And one I very much like by the way.”

“Thank you.” She smiled. “I like you as well.” Her eyes went to Sheila. “Both of you.”

While she meant her response to a degree, she tucked away any legitimate emotions. It wasn’t that she felt nothing because she did. They were nice. Everyone here was. People who meant well. It was just hard to truly connect because long ago she had taught herself to disconnect from anything too real.

Which, as it turned out, made becoming an actress the perfect profession for her.

She ran her hands down her dress, impressed with the smooth material considering the era. It was a light silvery shade of gray that highlighted both her eye and hair color. And the fit? Very flattering. But then she was blessed with a figure that made most clothes look good. It wasn’t a cocky thought but the truth and yet again, only complimented her profession. A career that kept her safe and difficult memories at bay.

“Do you wish to wear your hair up?” Sheila asked. When her eyes met Lindsay’s, she had the strongest feeling the woman might have sensed all those thoughts. “I know it’s still damp from your bath earlier, but we can dry it with a chant.”

Right, because they were witches.

Something she knew about all too well.

“I’d prefer to leave it down,” she replied as her eyes drifted to the window and she remembered a time she would have done anything to have hair let alone wear it down. She fingered a lock. Now it was a reminder. A shield. A mantle of protection she had earned the right to wear.

“Are you okay, Lindsay?” Jackie said softly.

Startled out of contemplation but quick to mask it with a smooth, cordial expression, she smiled at Conall’s mother. “Of course. Just tired I suppose.”

“I’m sure.” Jackie’s eyes never left hers. “After dinner, you should get some rest.”

Something about the look in Jackie’s eyes gave her pause. As if the woman could see right through her and knew who she was at her core. Who she was beyond the acting. 

“Rest sounds good,” Lindsay agreed though she wasn’t really all that tired. If anything, she felt restless and out of sorts. Edgy almost.

“I would say you’re ready to join everyone in the great hall.” Sheila smiled warmly as she looked her over one last time before they headed downstairs. “It’s a shame we can’t properly celebrate yours and Conall’s safe return, but as I’m sure you know, saving Scotland’s history is top secret. Even from its own people.”

“So I’ve heard,” she murmured as they descended. As always, men turned their heads to admire her. She sometimes wondered if they saw beyond her beauty to what lay beneath. By no means was she referring to her personality either but something she suspected Grant and Adlin had already detected and likely even Sheila and Jackie.

Magic.

Lindsay’s brand of magic.

Despite the thick crowd, her eyes found Conall almost immediately. He stood in front of the great hall’s monstrous fireplace with his legs braced, and his arms crossed over his chest. Though a few scraps of Hamilton plaid tied off tiny braids in his dark hair, he didn’t wear a tartan but trousers, boots and a black tunic. As usual, he was as stern as ever and surrounded by a harem of adoring women he didn’t overly acknowledge. Though he spoke to Rona and never glanced her way, Lindsay knew with certainty he was aware she was there.

Lindsay, Sheila, and Jackie had only crossed half the great hall, meeting many along the way, when a well-muscled wall of a man cut Lindsay off. A wide smile split his face as their eyes met.

“So good to see you again, Laird MacLeod,” she managed to get out before he scooped her up.

“’Tis good to see you too.” He kept grinning. “I was worried about you, lass.” The crowd parted in curiosity as he made his way toward Conall. “’Tis unwise for you to be left alone anywhere, lassie, so I’ll see you where you need to go safely, aye?”

Lindsay only smiled in return. Bryce MacLeod was hoping she might be his one true love. And honestly? She wouldn’t be so opposed to the idea. Even taller than Conall by a few inches, Bryce was a damn good looking man in a ferocious sort of way with his tattoos and unpredictable nature. But then, that nature was half dragon which intrigued her to no end.

While she might have enjoyed his attention more a few days ago, the truth was, Bryce was interested in her for no other reason than to get out of a marriage pact. As soon as Milly’s ring shone the color of Adlin’s eyes and he knew she was no longer available, Bryce’s attention turned Lindsay’s way. Now here they were with Bryce putting on a show to win her over. One, she could tell by the tightness in Conall’s jaw, that displeased the Hamilton laird greatly.

Let it. At least Bryce had greeted her somewhat properly.

“So what brings you this way, Laird MacLeod?” Lindsay asked as he lowered her alongside Conall and Rona. She met Bryce’s eyes, sure to hide behind her lashes just the right amount.

Dressed in a black and yellow tartan that signified his clan’s colors, he looked very impressive. Unlike when she met him before, he didn’t seem overly subdued but a bit mischievous and even boisterous. She would guess he’d had some whisky. Not enough to make him drunk, but enough to make him the life of the party if he so chose. Based on the adoring looks he was getting from women, it would be most welcome.

“You brought me this way, of course, lassie,” Bryce said in answer to her question as he stayed close enough to let any man interested know she wasn’t available. “The moment I realized you were here, I came and will protect you as valiantly as you protected me. You have my word.”

“As will I, lass,” came another all-too-familiar voice before Graham MacLomain appeared through the crowd with a charming smile. With his swarthy good looks and flirtatious nature, it was no surprise he had a trail of female followers.

“So good to see you again Graham.” She stood on her tip-toes and kissed his cheek. “I was under the impression when we last spoke that you were going to be protecting MacLomain Castle during Adlin’s possible absence.”

“So I was.” He shrugged. “But it seems our aunts and uncles have that covered.” His warm eyes met hers. “We are all to travel together once more to other battles.”

“’Tis good news indeed,” Conall murmured yet she heard a little something in his voice that said he might not be as pleased as he seemed. “Do you know when we travel?” He looked between his cousins. “What word is there from Laird MacLomain?”

“Adlin and Milly will be joining us soon,” Graham informed, his liquid black eyes never leaving Lindsay. “Then we will know more.”

“Aye, then.” Conall gestured at the tables of food, purposefully not looking at her. “Eat and drink, my kin, then get a good night’s rest.”

“Aye,” Graham and Bryce agreed as they ushered Lindsay in that direction without a backward glance. Nonetheless, she felt Conall’s eyes on her. He might not want her, but deep down, he didn’t want his cousins to have her either.

Lindsay remained pleasantly cordial as they sat her between them at the head table. Moments later she had a plate heaped with food and a mug of ale in front of her. Neither of which she particularly wanted.

“You need to eat, lass.” Bryce gestured at her plate. “You will need your energy.”

“Aye,” Graham agreed and pushed her mug a bit closer. “A wee bit o’ alcohol couldnae hurt either.”

She had not known either of them long, but she knew enough that their hearts could only be in the right place. So she buried a sigh, nibbled on a piece of bannock and took a small sip of ale, flinching at the taste.

Graham looked at her in question. “Ye dinnae like ale then, lass?”

“Not really.” She shrugged. “If anything, I prefer whisky.”

“Och, well you should have said so.” Bryce switched their drinks and smiled. Like his cousins, and bizarrely enough in this day and age, his teeth were straight and white. Grant had issued a wink when he explained it was both a wizard and dragon thing and to count her blessings. 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Lindsay said to Bryce and sipped the whisky. “This is much better.”

Graham cast her a sidelong, amused look. “Ma always said our whisky was awful compared to modern-day whisky.”

“Then we have a difference of opinion,” Lindsay said, knowing more than any one woman should about whisky. Yet she would not make Graham’s mother, Nicole, look bad. Instead, she used the opportunity to flirt if for no other reason than to see if Conall reacted. Because she knew very well wizards could hear better than most. “Let’s just say I have a unique taste for things made in Scotland.”

Both Bryce and Graham perked their brows at that, but Conall seemed to have no reaction.

Not outwardly that is.

If she had learned nothing else about him, it was that he was very good at repressing things.

Bryce rested a protective arm on the back of her chair while Graham leaned just a smidge closer. Like Bryce, however, Graham had his own agenda. What that was, she had yet to figure out. What she did know, despite his flirtatious behavior, was that Graham wasn’t entirely on board with this whole MacLomain-Broun connection. Yet he continued to play the part despite the whore who had snuck out of his tent at the last battle.

Lindsay continued to flirt as she ate and drank very little. Once finished, Bryce convinced her to dance with him then soon after, Graham. While both were very attractive and entertaining, her eyes continued to wander to Conall. She might not like him very much, but something about him drew her.

He never left his perch in front of the fire beside Rona as they spent the evening either talking to one another or to others. Conall’s expression remained stoic but kind enough she supposed as he chatted with various women.

As she watched him, Lindsay realized they really weren't all that different. Like her, he was going through the motions when it came to everything around him. Doing what was expected. Nevertheless, she knew he saw the world from a distance though he was right here. She disliked that she had something in common with him. That she understood him. Yet she did.

As if he heard her thoughts, his eyes met hers across the room, and a brief scowl flickered across his face. Moments later, however, his attention was drawn elsewhere when a commotion sounded at the door. By the time Lindsay glanced in that direction and back, Conall was gone. She scanned the crowd, convinced he must be heading that way, but saw no sign of him.

“’Tis the bloody Sassenach!” a woman wailed before the whole place broke into chaos.

Bryce and Graham drew their swords and positioned themselves in front of her.

“Go with Grandfather,” whispered through her mind seconds before Grant pulled her after him up the stairs with Sheila and Jackie in tow.

A slight shiver rippled through her at what she knew had to be Conall’s voice within her mind. She was well aware these wizards could speak telepathically with their family but was under the impression it usually only happened beyond that with their one true love. She frowned and shook her head in response to that thought.

No way, no how.

They were about halfway up the stairs when loud booms echoed outside, and the castle shook. Women and children screamed and ran every which way as men in armor started pouring in the front door.

The English were here.

She finally located Conall near the entrance fighting with vigor alongside his cousins. Ever the berserker, Bryce roared and slashed. Graham chuckled, a wild look in his eyes as he ran his blade through a man’s stomach. Conall, though, was unlike the rest. He didn’t fight with heart but entirely with his mind as far as she could tell. His expression remained stoic as he sliced a dagger across one man’s neck before parrying with another.

Lindsay clenched her teeth against the worry she suddenly felt for him. It was clear he was an excellent fighter and could handle himself. Yet her eyes remained glued to him as Grant tried to pull her up the stairs.

“He will be fine, lass,” Grant muttered. “But only if you follow and allow me to work my magic.”

“Of course,” she whispered, ready to do just that but something caught her eye. More so, someone. A little girl near the door, her eyes wide with terror as she watched a man who must be her father, get run through with a sword.

Something inside Lindsay stilled as she watched the girl shy away in fear, her round eyes frozen in horror as her father’s blood poured at her feet. Seconds later, a woman who had to be her mother tried to scoop her up, but another sword ended her life just as quickly.

“Oh, God, no,” Lindsay whispered. “Not again.”

From somewhere far away, she heard Grant roar in denial and Sheila and Jackie call to her to come back, but it was too late. She was flying down the stairs and heading for the little girl.

The great hall had turned into a war zone as men and women battled. She couldn’t tell if the Scots were pushing the English back or the other way around. All she could see was that little girl she raced toward. The shock as the child stood absolutely still caught in a place Lindsay knew all too well.

An indescribable limbo.

Pure shock.

Lindsay dodged and ducked and raced, slipping on blood the whole time, until she scooped the child up and managed to make it a few more steps before she fell to her knees. Meanwhile, the girl never made a sound, her wide, frightened eyes still locked on her parents.

“No,” Lindsay whispered as she cupped her cheeks. “Look at me, not them.”

When the girl didn’t listen, she began trembling and made her voice firmer. “Right now,” she ground out. “Look at me.”

The girl’s eyes snapped to hers, terrified.

“That’s right,” she whispered. “Just keep looking at me, not them. Stay strong.”

She was about to say more when a sharp pain lanced her lower back. At first, she thought she had pulled a muscle in her struggle to get to the girl, but realized when she tried to talk it was far worse than that. Her throat felt thick, and pain spread like blazing wildfire through her torso.

Yet she never took her hands off the little girl’s cheeks.

She never stopped trying to soothe her.

Or at least she thought so until she found herself flat on her back, the child gone and Bryce and Graham kneeling over her. They spoke, but she could not hear them. For that matter, she couldn’t hear anything. She could only assume they had won the battle but Lord they looked concerned. Why? She tried to ask but couldn’t seem to form the words. Her throat was nearly clogged at that point, and something warm trailed out of the corner of her mouth.

A heartbeat later, Conall fell to his knees and pulled her head onto his lap.

“I’m fine, really,” she tried to whisper, but nothing came out. Moreover, she was fairly certain her lips never moved.

Conall spoke, but like the others, she never heard his words.

Everything was silent.

Dwindling away.

That’s when she began to panic.

“Lindsay, can you hear me, lass?” whispered through her mind. “Because I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Conall.

She knew it was him as his concerned smoky green eyes stayed with hers.

“I’m scared,” she tried to tell him, but again, nothing came out. Yet as their eyes held, and he showed far more emotion than she thought him capable of, she knew he heard her.

“I know you're scared,” whispered through her mind. “But ye dinnae have to be.” He shook his head and clenched his jaw, his brogue growing thicker with emotion. “I willnae let ye go, lass.”

“But you’ll have to,” she whispered, hoping he got the message because she suddenly understood what was happening. “Because I’m dying, aren’t I?”

“Nay.” He shook his head vehemently and pulled her further into his arms. “Ye arenae.”

“Protect the little girl,” she whispered as his hand squeezed hers and he kept shaking his head. “Remind her that she’s strong.”

Conall responded.

She knew he did.

Yet everything grew further and further away.

Even the sound of his voice.

Was the pressure dropping? Had the floor fallen out from beneath her?

The last thing she felt and saw before darkness took over was his eyes.

More so, how sad he was to let her go.