She turned toward him, her face breaking into a beautiful smile. “Rhys!”
His chest squeezed. Bellecote shoved her away from him so hard that she tripped and fell, hitting her head, and Rhys bellowed and lunged toward the man just as Dermot lunged at one of Bellecote’s guards, who had raised a sword to strike Rhys from the right. They tumbled in a blur, knocking over a chalice stand, and the last thing Rhys saw before he was fighting Bellecote was the priest scrambling toward Maggie and helping her get under the large table at the front of the chapel. It was the closest thing to safety they could get right now, and he was grateful to the man.
Rhys refocused on the baron. He felt far more confident with his fists than his sword, so once he knocked Bellecote’s sword from his hands, he threw his own weapon down and pummeled the man to the ground, heedless of anything but the fact that Bellecote wanted to take Maggie against her will. He delivered one blow after another, his anger pumping through his veins.
It wasn’t until a hand came to his arm and Maggie cried out, “Stop!” that Rhys pulled his fist back and really looked at the baron. The man’s nose was broken, his eyes already swelling. “Rhys!” she tried again. “Do nae kill him. He’s nae worth the mark against yer soul.”
Rhys turned toward her and started to rise, only to see her eyes widen, and then she screamed. Next thing he knew, a dagger whistled past Rhys and thudded into something behind him. Bellecote’s grunt and the crash of his body back to the floor told Rhys someone had thrown his weapon at the baron. He turned to find Bellecote lying flat on his back, holding a dagger in his right hand and having another dagger protruding from his throat. His eyes were wide in death, and for one moment, Rhys could do nothing but stare.
Dermot stepped over the guards he had felled, brushed by Rhys, and stopped in front of Maggie. “That was well worth the mark on my soul.” Then his uncle crouched down, withdrew his dagger from Bellecote, wiped the baron’s blood off on his plaid, and sheathed the weapon.
With a glance between Rhys and Maggie, he said, “Shall we quickly have a wedding?”
Rhys scowled at his uncle as Maggie’s sharp intake of breath filled Rhys’s ears. “You need to learn the art of subtlety.”
“The what?” Dermot asked as Rhys wordlessly took Maggie’s hand in his.
Maggie glanced up at him, surprise clear on her face, along with an emotion that looked suspiciously like worry.
“Come with me?” he asked, wanting to talk to her alone.
She nodded, and as they turned toward the door, Dermot called behind them, “Will there by a wedding or nae?”
“Subtlety means knowing when to shut your mouth,” Rhys growled.
He opened the door of the small chapel and led Maggie out into the twilight. The sun was starting to fade, and the snow had begun to fall again. He felt her shiver as he looked down at her, and he started to pull her close. But she stopped him with a hand to his chest as tears spilled out from her eyes. He wanted to have the perfect words to say to her, but he didn’t.
“Who is that man?” she asked as she wiped away her tears.
“My uncle,” Rhys said. “He came to see who would be appointed guardian because he was having a hard time believing my mom when she told him that she had traveled through time.” He smiled. “Sound familiar?”
Maggie’s lips parted with obvious shock. “Where’s yer mother?”
Rhys grinned. He couldn’t help it. “She’s at her family home. We’ll go there tonight, I imagine.”
“Does he wish ye to wed me for my castle?”
“What?” Rhys stared at her in astonishment. Damn, just as he’d been wanted in his time for his money and privilege, she was wanted in hers for her castle. “Maggie…” He breathed her name more than said it and cupped her face, despite her trying to pull back again. “I asked him how to protect you, and he told me marrying you was the best way.”
He realized his mistake in word choice when hurt flashed across her face and her body stiffened. “Ye do nae need to wed me,” she said, her words terse. “I would nae ask such a thing of ye. I know well that ye wish to return to yer time if it’s possible.”
“I did,” he agreed, running the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. Desire strummed through him.
“Ye did?” She frowned. “Ye mean, ye intend to stay?”
He nodded.
“Why? To try to change what will happen?”
He nodded again, thinking more about what to say to her. Her tears came faster now, wetting his finger and palms with their warmth. “Why are you crying?” he asked.
“Because…” She bit her lip and paused for a long time. Just when he’d decided she might not tell him, she blurted, “I’ve fallen in love with ye!”
His chest tightened at the news and he fought a smile. “And being in love with me makes you sad?” he asked, rubbing his thumb over the delicate slope of her dewy cheek.
“Aye! Because even if ye stay, even if—Well, even if ye did share my feelings, ye will nae soon.”
“And why’s that?” he managed, though he was finding it hard to concentrate on anything more than the desire to kiss her.
