~ Jojoba Mansell, “Hard Choices”
Rhys bowed his head as soon as he realized Maggie was completely serious about praying for the man who had intended to force himself on her. She had to be in shock and denial about what had almost happened to her, about what she had done, about what he had just told her. He recognized her emotions as they played across her face like a movie, and he understood them. He’d had similar feelings himself since arriving in her time.
He hadn’t intended to tell her the truth after his first disastrous attempt, but as he stood there, he’d realized that he had to tell her, to warn her, even if she thought he was crazy. Her family was loyal to the Bruce, so if nothing else, maybe they could somehow change history and stop the king of England from slaughtering so many Scottish people in an attempt to take the throne. He didn’t know if it was even possible to change history like that, but it seemed like it could be. Beyond that, he felt tethered to this woman in a way he could not explain.
If they were in his time, he’d ask her out. He’d take her on dates to the park and the opera, to plays, concerts, and quiet dinners. The thought astounded him, but he didn’t bother trying to deny it. He felt more alive standing here with Maggie than he’d felt standing beside any of the women he’d ever been out with in the twenty-first century, even Jenny. And he’d been with her for four years. It was like he’d opened a floodgate, and now he couldn’t close it. He’d spend weeks, maybe months, getting to know her. Hewantedto know her. He wanted to know her in a way he’d never wanted to know a woman before, and it scared the hell out of him. He understood what really knowing a woman could lead to. He’d seen what had happened to his father. Yet, even if he could learn to be vulnerable, to need someone so much that to lose them would leave a gaping hole, he was not from her time. He was not fromhere. He had to go back.
Ifhe could go back. The cross hadn’t traveled with him, after all.
“Amen,” Maggie said. Rhys had just started to raise his head when Maggie spoke again. “And God, I pray for Rhys, that ye forgive him for the sin of lying, and I pray for my soul, that I am nae damned to Hell for killing Loxton. I did nae intend it, but I could nae let him kill Rhys.” She concluded with another, “Amen.”
She had killed a man to protect him. He owed her the truth, even if it meant her leaving him in this forest. He looked at her, not surprised to see her beautiful eyes shining with unshed tears. She felt things deeply while his emotions were typically filtered through an invisible strainer that dulled them. But in this moment, his chest ached brutally for her. As he opened his mouth to try to convince her that he really had come from the future, it struck him how much he wanted her to stay. And it wasn’t just because he was literally lost without her.
“Do you want me to prove myself to you now?” It had to be the single oddest question he’d ever asked a woman. In his time, it would have had all sorts of sexual innuendos, but in this time, Maggie simply shook her head, her innocence obvious by her lack of reaction. He wondered how many men she had known, had been with. None most likely, though maybe she had a stolen kiss.
“Nae yet,” she said, her voice tight and her gaze darting to him and then to Loxton. “Let’s bury him, have some supper—”
“I ate all the berries and nuts,” he said with a frown. “I’m sorry.”
She offered a faint smile. “Do nae be sorry. I’m certain ye were starving half to death. I was nae verra successful in getting ye to eat, and I did nae want to force ye because I was afraid ye would choke.”
“I appreciate that,” he said, meaning it. “And the care you gave me.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Anyone else would have done the same.”
He thought of all the women he had known. They had all wanted something from him: a good time, to be wined and dined, to be seen in society, sex, marriage. None of them, not even Jenny, would have killed for him or even tended to his bloody, beaten body in the woods in the cold, surrounded by wild animals and hiding from men who were hunting them.
“No,” he said, “not everyone would do that. You’re special.” The truth of the words struck him to his core.
She smiled, but then the smile faltered, and she scowled “How many women have ye wooed with yer honeyed words?”
He had to hold back a laugh at her sudden and surprising reaction. She was cute when she was worked up. “A few in my younger years,” he said honestly, “but none for quite a long time now. And I’ve never told a woman she was special.”
Her response was a loud snort, and then she stomped over to Loxton’s body and motioned Rhys over to aid her. When he stood before her, he realized she was crying. She tried to blink the tears away and even turned her face to hide them, but he gently grasped her chin, determined not to let her beat herself up. “Were the two of you once friends?”
“Nay,” she said, her voice trembling. “In truth, I barely knew him. I was only called to Kinghorn a month ago for the purpose of wedding the baron. But I keep seeing Loxton’s expression when I threw that dagger and the blood spreading across his chest from the woundIinflicted. I—” She burst into sobs. “Why did I nae aim for his leg, or, or, or—” The tears devoured her words.
He enfolded her in his arms, oddly happy that her head fit perfectly under his chin. She pressed her face against his chest, her body shaking with grief, and he stood utterly still, holding her as if she were his to comfort and protect. This was the first time he’d ever embraced a crying woman. He didn’t want to turn away as he always had before. He wanted to be there for her.
And so they stood, and she cried, and he reminded her over and over in a low comforting tone that she had reacted the way she needed to under the circumstances. He couldn’t say how long they remained there like that, but the sun went down, the wind picked up, and the temperature started to drop. Even the birds started to sing their nightly songs. It didn’t matter how much time had passed, though. He didn’t give a damn. He would stand there as long as she needed him to.
What felt like just a few minutes later, she lifted her head. The moment her gaze met his, he flinched at the strength of the connection he felt to her. He couldn’t be tied to this woman, but he didn’t have any idea how to stop what was happening.
So when she said, “Shall we bury the dead now?” and turned to do so, he was slightly relieved to have some time to think.
Yet, after burying Loxton, then trying to find more berries and nuts to eat, which there was very little of, and then getting water from the stream, the only conclusion he’d come to was that in the past he was a man in complete cold control, and now he didn’t know if he could be that same man again, even in the future.
They ate in silence. Maggie had not spoken a word to him since they’d buried Loxton. She was likely either embarrassed for breaking down or angry at herself for letting him comfort her—possibly both. He didn’t press her, though. The desire to even want to know what was wrong with a woman was unnerving for him, especially since he would eventually have to leave her in the past.
Maggie suddenly looked down, then back at him, her eyes wide as saucers. “I left my gown at the stream!”
He hadn’t noticed, but he did now. She quickly crossed her arms but not before he was treated to a moonlit view of the tops of her breasts where her léine had fallen low. He found himself staring like a teenager. Hell, his libido had not only woken up but it was ravenous to be fed, and Maggie was the meal his body wanted.
Out. Of. The. Question.
“I’m going to get my gown,” she said, popping up.
He sprang to his feet. “I’ll go with you.”
