Dermot nodded. “Aye. Neither the Bruces nor the Balliols are among the appointed, as many expected they would be.”
Dermot’s explanation concurred with what Rhys had told her, sending a chill down her spine. But Rhys could not have known. Not unless what he had told her was true. A momentary terror swept over her as her mind tried to grasp the enormity of what this meant, and she glanced up at Rhys. His gaze, soft and compassionate, met hers, and he gave her shoulder another gentle squeeze, as if to let her know he understood her fear. Perspiration broke out at her brow and under her arms. The cold was gone now, and she was blazing hot. She strained to take a proper breath.
“There are six guardians,” Dermot said, clearly oblivious to the storm inside her. He then listed all six men—the same six Rhys had named.
She struggled to inhale fully and quell the fright rioting within her. If what Rhys said was true—and she now felt certain it was—they had to do something to stop the future from coming to pass. But they were not a team, she reminded herself. It was only her. She blinked several times at the lightheaded feeling that had come over her and tried to concentrate. No, she was not alone. She had her brother and sister. They would help—if she could convince them that Rhys was from the future. Och, if she told them that, they’d definitely think he was in league with the Devil.
Her heart thumped so loudly in her ears that she couldn’t hear, and her fingers and toes began to tingle as her head pounded. “I do nae feel well,” she murmured more to herself than to Rhys or Dermot. Shooting pain stabbed her chest and abdomen, and she gripped her side with a hiss as she pressed her fingertips to her throbbing temple. “I feel verra, verra ill,” she repeated, a sour taste rising in her throat. Her stomach roiled, and she gasped, shoving past an astonished-looking Dermot. She pushed people out of her way to loud complaints while holding a hand over her mouth, and she desperately made her way through the common room to the exit. She heard Rhys behind her, barking at people to move, and they did. When she was outside, she darted to the side of the inn and fell to her knees in the thick snow. Her stomach heaved, but there was nothing to dispel, which was a small blessing.
“Go away,” she mumbled to Rhys, her eyes watering and her entire body trembling so powerfully that she could no longer hold herself up. She flopped forward, expecting her face to simply plop into the snow. But one of Rhys’s strong arms came around her from behind and slid around her ribs to hold her up. With his other hand, he grasped her hair, pulling it gently away from her face.
“I’ve got you,” he said in a soothing voice that made her sink into his protective embrace, despite being mortified at her state. “I’m here, Maggie. I’m here. I won’t leave you.”
His words seemed to unlock something within her she hadn’t even known had been secured. She’d been left many times before. By her mother when sickness had taken her. By her father when he’d taken his own life. By her sister when she was named a lady-in-waiting and had to live at Court. By her brother when he became a warrior. Everyone she’d ever cared for had left her. It struck her then that she had not fought against her betrothal to Baron Bellecote because she’d been scared to care for someone and then be left once more. She had known that would never be an issue with the baron. She had been a coward.
She didn’t want to be a coward anymore. She had placed all the blame for her unwanted betrothal on the need to aid her brother and sister, but it wasn’t entirely true. Telling herself there was no choice, no hope in fighting it, had been easier than facing her fears. She wanted to seize what little time she had remaining with Rhys, if he wanted to seize it with her. Perhaps this was the most she could hope for, but to have tasted the sweet possibility of love and desire just once seemed far better than to never have tasted it at all.
She turned toward Rhys, who loosened his arms so she could face him. She glanced around to ensure they were alone. They were. They were on a narrow path between the inn and thick woods. Darkness was descending, and shadows had started to cover the ground. When she looked up at him, he reached toward her and tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear while smoothing some other stray strands back from her forehead.
Passion and tenderness flared in his eyes simultaneously. “I’m sorry.”
His voice, deep and sensual, sent a ripple of awareness through her, and her gaze drifted to his lips. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted it so much that her lips actually tingled, but she would not ask. It wouldn’t be the same if she had to ask. She was knee-deep in snow, but her body was aflame with yearning. “What for?” she finally managed to say.
“For not being from your time. For making you so scared that you panicked.”
She frowned, not knowing the wordpanicked.
“Panickedis being very frightened. So much so that it can make you feel sick. Pounding head, pain in your chest, difficulty breathing, fast-beating heart, things like that.”
“Oh! Aye, then I panicked. It’s just… There is no time for denial now, and the truth of where you have come from is so, so…”
“Unbelievable?” he asked, quirking his dark brows.
“Aye, and what will come to pass scares me. I feel alone.”
“I told you that you’re not. I’m here with you.”
For now. But for how much longer? She would not say the words, but when his gray eyes met hers, she thought by the worry there, he must be thinking it, too. The silence stretched. Her cheeks warmed under the heat of his gaze, and it seemed a tangible bond had formed between them. She vowed she could feel it. He didn’t touch her, but all the same, he had a hold on her. Did he know it? Feel it? Did he feel the same way about her?
Finally, he reached between them and cupped her face. “It is taking every bit of control I possess not to kiss you.” Unmistakable need threaded his tone.
She swallowed, keenly aware that how she answered would change everything. “I have never cared for men with too much control.” She murmured the challenge, praying he would take it.
He flashed a wolfish smile that made her pulse leap with excitement. “And I’ve never met a woman who could make me lose it. Until now.”
Chapter Twelve
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire,
I hold with those that favor fire.
~ Robert Frost, “Fire and Ice”
If his fate had not already been sealed, it was sealed the moment his lips touched hers. Irrevocably, undeniably, explosively sealed. Had it ever really been in question? He couldn’t think about it now. All he could think of was her.
