Highlander Unraveled (Highland Bound Book 6) (14 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Logan

I leapt from the bed, holding my hands out to block Emma from the elderly woman holding a miniature canon in one hand and the same black box I’d seen Steven handling, in the other.

“Who in bloody hell are ye?” I bellowed.

She gazed at me with contempt, her lackluster eyes roaming down and then up the front of my body.

“Does it truly matter?” she asked.

“Damned right it does,” I said through bared teeth. “Ye’ve barged into our chamber, interrupted a verra private moment, not to mention the canon ye’ve got pointed our way.”

“That’s Mrs. MacDonald,” Emma said from behind me, her fingers gently stroking my back.

The older woman grunted, her eyes narrowing. She didn’t seem the least bit fazed by my wrath. What game did she play?

“Tell your blustering lover I’m harmless,” Mrs. MacDonald said, though the wry smile on her face said otherwise.

“He is my husband,” Emma said proudly.

“Anyone with the name MacDonald is an enemy of mine.” I glanced toward the floor, my sword only a few feet in front. Would it be enough time for her to light the fuse at the end of her small canon? For that was the way she’d fire it, was it not? I prayed it was…

“She has a gun,” Emma murmured. “They are deadly, Logan.”

Mrs. MacDonald snickered. “That’s right. Ye’ve never seen one of these have ye?” She pointed the canon—gun?—toward the corner of the room, twitched her finger, which was followed by a loud thunder cracking the air in the room. The floor in the corner erupted into splinters of wood and carpet.

“What the—” But my surprise was short lived as I realized that very deadly canon-gun did not need to be lit, but could apparently be fired by a mere twitch of a finger.

An enemy wasn’t even given a chance to protect themselves. The way it had splintered the wood, a shield wouldn’t help. What had the modern world come to?

Mrs. MacDonald waved the gun toward me, her lips pulled back in a snarl. I held my arms out to the side, protectively blocking Emma.

“I have no qualms shooting ye right in the head”—she looked down at my groin and jutted her chin—“either one.”

Damn. How was I supposed to fight with the weapon she had? With a twitch of her finger she’d blow my fucking ballocks off.

I held out my arms in surrender, took a slow step forward and smiled at her. Seemed my wits were going to be the best weapon in disarming her right now. If I could get close enough to remove the bloody thing from her gnarled fingers.

“If we could just talk,” I started, but she cut me off.

“Stop right there.” Mrs. MacDonald blew out a disgusted snort, and rolled her eyes away from me. “Put some damned clothes on.”

“Lower your weapon.” My voice was firm but still congenial.

She raised a brow. “Not likely to happen.”

“I’ll put on some clothes if ye only lower it a moment.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have a mind to blow ye to smithereens before ye get the chance.”

“Mrs. MacDonald.” Emma managed to scoot around me before I could hold her back.

My beautiful wife was already dressed in the black gown she’d worn earlier, though the way her breasts moved with the fabric, I could tell she’d not bothered with the heinous contraption she called a bra, thank the saints. She held up her hands. “Please. I don’t know what’s going on. But you helped me before. I trusted you. What’s changed? Is it money? How can I change your mind?”

Mrs. MacDonald made a
tsking
sound with her tongue, shaking her head as though Emma had just taken the last honey-cake from the buttery. “Nothing’s changed, my dear. And no amount of coin could keep me from my task. As for trusting me, well, your mistake. Steven said you were too dumb for your own good. He said taking you would be easy. Little did he know I have friends in high places.” She grinned at me. “Rather familial, really.”

Bloody hell. Chief MacDonald, Lord of the Isles, could get to us even here.

I could tell by the small pulse in her jaw that Emma was angry, but she kept a smile on her face belying her true emotions. I was so damned proud of her. The lass was strong, confident. A force to be reckoned with. When we were done with the old crone, I’d kneel at Emma’s feet and tell her as much.

“Maybe I am dumb,” Emma said with a shrug. “Or
maybe
you really did want to help me.”

“Ha.” Mrs. MacDonald waved the gun toward Emma and I leapt in front of her. “Och, posh, get away from her. I’m not going to shoot the lass. I
need
her.”

I didn’t move. “I will not allow ye to harm my wife.”

“My orders are for ye, Highlander. Now put some bloody clothes on before I’m forced to mar your very muscular and golden skin.”

Emma faced me, pleading in her eyes. I wished at that moment our magic had given us the ability to hear each other’s thoughts. But I suppose it didn’t truly matter, I could read them well enough on her face. Her eyes were slightly wider, her lips trembling in a straight line as she tried to smile, but couldn’t. Her skin was pale, and that vein in the side of her neck that pulsed hard when she was unnerved was going wild.

“Only because I dinna want ye staring at my cock any longer.” I bent to pick up my shirt and plaid. I pulled on my
leine
and then roughly pleated my plaid before wrapping it around my waist. Didn’t need a faulty pleat to ruin any chance I had to subdue the bitch. I secured my belt—weapons clinking as I did so.

“Remove your weapons,” Mrs. MacDonald said.

I shook my head, baring my teeth. “If ye get to keep yours, I’ll be keeping mine.”

“I’ll shoot ye on the count of three if ye dinna set them aside, ye jackanapes.”

I bristled at the insult. If one of us was a jackanapes, it was she. “What does it matter?” I ground out. “I’d not be able to wrench out my sword and use it against ye before ye got off a shot.”

“Even still.” Mrs. MacDonald shrugged.

Did that mean she thought I might be able to? If she made even the slightest turn away from me, or dropped her gaze for a second, I was confident I could.

Slowly, eyes steady on the wretched woman, I pulled out my sword, the steel gleaming in the light. I challenged her with my gaze, and she cocked back the piece of the canon that I wasn’t ignorant enough to ignore. She was going to fire.

“I’m putting it down,” I said, slowly placing the sword on the floor at my feet.

“Your
sgian dubh
, too,” she said, pointing at the spot beneath my sock where it bulged.

I nodded, pulling it out and tossing it to the floor.

She’d not seen the second one sewn into the lining of my plaid, and I sent up a silent prayer of thanksgiving for that. I was not completely weaponless.

“Put on your shoes, prissy pants.” Mrs. MacDonald waved the gun at Emma and then toward one of her shoes on the floor. “We’re going for a walk.”

“Where to?” Emma asked, reading my mind.

“Somewhere,” was all the crone said.

Like hell I was going
somewhere
with this madwoman, but before I could speak, Emma had already begun.

“What happened?” Emma slipped into her shoes, keeping her gaze steady on our captor. “Where is Mr. McAlister? And Steven?”

Mrs. MacDonald narrowed her eyes, though there was a flicker of something beyond annoyance at us stalling her. “I have no idea. Let’s go.”

Emma shook her head, refusing to budge. “But, wait, how can you have no idea?”

That same flicker returned. “Just as I said, I’ve no idea.”

That was the reason for her irritation. She didn’t know where they were or when they’d come back. There was some part of this plot that was out of her miserable control.

“So there isn’t some sort of time jumper’s headquarters or someone you check in with? Like a handler or a pimp?”

I snickered at that last one, and winked at my wife. She was asking legitimate questions and getting a barb in there, too. I crossed my arms over my chest and waited to see just how this was going to play out.

Mrs. MacDonald let out a short bark of laughter, rolling her eyes as though Emma were the biggest idiot in all of Scotland. “Oh, honey, ye’ve so much to learn.”

Emma put her hands on her hips, cocked her head and jutted her chin. God, how I loved her strength.

“And I’ve time to learn it right now.”

Mrs. MacDonald shook her head, pursed her lips, returning just as much attitude as she was receiving. “Ye dinna actually. Out.” She waved the gun toward the door. “I will follow the both of ye downstairs.”

Emma glanced at me, and I indicated she should go first. I’d put myself between the two women. Emma nodded and I followed her to the door, ducking beneath the frame. She walked slowly, methodically, buying us both some time to figure out a way to stall the crazed woman.

“You still didn’t tell me what happened. I thought I heard you fighting with Mr. McAlister,” Emma said as we walked.

The barrel of the gun poked into the middle of my spine. Mrs. MacDonald was very close behind me. If I fell backward on her, as we descended the stairs, there might be enough time for Emma to get away. The woman would be stuck beneath my weight—my
dead
weight, as the sudden fall would likely cause her trigger finger to pull.

But it was worth it. I’d gladly give up my life to save my wife’s. And then she could steal the black box from Mrs. MacDonald’s crushed body and return to our son.

“We were fighting,” Mrs. MacDonald said.

Emma paused on the stairs to straighten a framed portrait along the wall leading down, and I also stopped in turn. The faces of Moira and Shona stared back at us from behind glass.

“But why?” Emma asked. “I thought the two of you were on the same side.”

Again, the gun poked into my back, but I didn’t budge. I wasn’t going to run my wife over. Not a chance in hell.

“I am on nobody’s side,” Mrs. MacDonald said. “Especially not
that
idiot.”

There was such derision in her tone. I wanted to meet the man who seemed less worthy of her respect than even me. I chanced a glance behind me to see the old crone’s scowl.

“Idiot?” Emma clucked her tongue and continued down the stairs, and I followed. “Mr. McAlister seemed pretty smart to me.”

Another groan from the wench. “He knows next to nothing. The man is a glorified babysitter.”

“Has he more than one charge?” I asked.

“The twins, ye dimwit.”

Shona and Moira. This man was their guardian. No wonder the MacDonald woman didn’t like him. He was protecting yet more treasures their blasted kin couldn’t get their hands on.

“More than they?” I asked out of curiosity. Just how many secret babies were there in the realm, spanning hundreds of years?

“I’ll not be telling ye that,” she bit out sourly.

“What will ye be telling us?” I asked, unable to hide my impatience. “Perhaps how that little black box works?”

Mrs. MacDonald laughed. “So ye know about the box.”

I shrugged, and ignored the glare from Emma.

“Well, ye were holding it very obviously in the chamber up there. ’Tis fascinating,” I said. “That ye simply turn a wheel—”

“A wheel?” Mrs. MacDonald scoffed.

“Well, I dinna know the name for things here…” I trailed off, hoping she’d just fill in the blanks, where my pretended ignorance bloomed. For certes, I didn’t know the names of everything, but I most assuredly didn’t know how to use that damn box, and if I had to use trickery to get the answers, then so be it.

“Button.” I could practically
hear
the roll of her eyes. Little did she know the jest was on her. “And ye press it, not turn it.”

I kept up the dumb act, finding it quite entertaining that she was falling for my ruse. “But how do ye make sure ye get to where ye want to go? That is just amazing… Do ye will it with your mind?”

“Ye punch it in, dimwit. It’s a computer.”

“A computer?” I paused on the stairs, her language completely lost on me now, but I prayed Emma was picking up on it, because if I could steal that box, then Emma could take us to where we needed to go. Or at the very least, take herself.