She stared at him, shock and horror evident on her face. “Your aunt Grace went with my brother to supposedly find Shona. But I know now she would not have done that. I’m ashamed to say, I have not even thought about Grace, and the fact that she went with Yearger until now.”
He was stunned at the news that it was her brother leading the search party. That was a clever cover, he thought with rage. He didn’t have time to dwell on the implications because Maggie burst into tears. “I’m thoughtless and selfish,” she cried. “I thought only of my own sorrow.”
He felt her pain to the furthest depths of his soul. He rolled off her, and cradled her in his arms, whispering his love to her and his assurance that they would find Grace. Maggie cried until his chest was wet, but she could have cried a river, and he wouldn’t have moved. He would die for her.
Just as her tears lessened, Dermot pounded on the door and demanded they needed to depart. He roused himself, stalked to the door and told Dermot the grim news, which increased the need to depart immediately. They dressed quickly and departed in tense silence. Rhys was keenly aware that the urge to protect Maggie had grown immensely since the moment he’d wed her, and they’d slept together. The freezing cold and jarring ride to his mom’s home concerned him for Maggie, but he did his best to keep her warm. She didn’t complain through the long night, and near dawn the next morning, she fell asleep just as Dermot told him they were entering MacKinnish land.
When Dermot slowed his horse, Rhys followed suit. The forest animals were starting to awaken, and the sounds of chirping birds echoed around them. Rhys was certain it would wake Maggie, but she was breathing deeply and soundly. Still, he caught himself staring down at her to ensure himself she was okay.
“Shona may need convincing that yer wife is nae a traitor.”
“Do you?” Rhys asked.
“If I did, I would have said so,” Dermot replied.”
Rhys nodded, his thoughts swinging now to his mom. “She’ll trust and love Maggie as I do,” Rhys said. His mother and father had always been his fiercest supporters, and he was certain that was a trait that transcended time.
“Likely,” Dermot said, looking slightly worried.
“What is it?” Rhys asked.
“Will ye truly stay?”
Rhys did not think that was what had put the concerned expression on Dermot’s face, but he decided to let it go and nodded. “Yes. There’s no choice for me now, but my mom…” He quickly told Dermot about his dad. “If my mom can go back, then she needs to—for my dad.” He thought a moment, and added, “And for my brothers.”
“Will they be vexed?” Dermot asked as a he came to a stop and then turned toward the castle. “We’re home.” He sounded worried and Rhys suspected it was about Grace. He was worried too.
“We’ll find her if she’s not already here,” Rhys said, praying for a miracle. Dermot nodded and Rhys looked in the direction Dermot was facing. The beauty of his mother’s home left him speechless. An imposing stone castle seemed to rise to the heavens in the distance, with three towers and countryside blanketed by snow surrounding it on two of the three visible sides. On one side was a river that appeared no more than a few hundred feet from the castle.
“I had no idea the MacKinnish family was so prominent,” Rhys said.
“We owe our fortune to Bruce. Rhys, will ye be aiding us?”
Rhys blinked, realizing his uncle was ensuring that Rhys would not plot against them if he stayed. “Of course,” Rhys assured him. “Shall I tell you more of the history?”
Dermot nodded, so as they rode the distance to the castle, Rhys told Dermot about events that would happen in the future. When they grew close to the courtyard Rhys stopped talking, keenly aware his true identity needed to stay a secret. A horn blew loudly, which startled Maggie awake and sent the inhabitants of the castle pouring into the courtyard to welcome Dermot home.
Rhys recognized his grandfather, who was one of the first men out of the castle. Close on his grandfather’s heels was his mother, looking almost exactly as Rhys remembered her. She had a little more gray in her dark hair and a few more wrinkles, but her smile was still radiant. When her eyes fell on him, she gasped and stumbled. His grandfather caught her by the elbow and righted her.
“Rhys!” she called out, running past her father and toward Rhys with tears spilling from her eyes.
He dismounted and helped Maggie down, but at the uncertainty on her face, he threaded their fingers together and squeezed her hand. “We’ll forge this strange future together, Maggie. Stay by my side, okay?” He winked at her.
“As if ye could tear me away,” she replied, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin, making him so damned proud to be her husband.
Then his mom reached them and enfolded him in a teary hug. She practically collided with him, but he kept a firm grip on Maggie’s hand as his mom hugged him. When she pulled away, she asked, “Rhys, how?”
“The cross,” he said simply. “And the Gaelic you forced me to take and wouldn’t let me quit, no matter how much I wanted to.” He laughed. “There’s a lot to talk about.”
She nodded. “In private,” she added hastily, her gaze sweeping the courtyard and coming to rest on Maggie. “I know ye,” his mom said, her eyes falling to his hand, which was still holding Maggie’s. She raised her gaze, and Rhys could tell his mother was trying to place her.
Maggie tensed beside Rhys, and he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Ellen,” he said, calling her by the name Dermot had told him she was going by. He had to chuckle when her gaze narrowed on him, just as it had done thousands of times when he and his brothers were teenagers and would call her anything other than Mom. “This is Maggie Irvine McCaim…my wife.”
Maggie stiffened at the immediate step back that Rhys’s mom took. Wariness settled on Shona’s face. Maggie knew she should say something, but she was ashamed of what Yearger had done, and was still so unsure of Deirdre’s part in it all, and Maggie was shocked at the change in Shona, even knowing it was natural for the years she had been gone. She realized she didn’t even know how many that was, but it was enough for the woman to raise four boys.
“Ye’re Deirdre and Yearger’s sister,” Shona said, her uncertainty about Maggie clear in her tone, which held only the faintest Scottish accent. Maggie could not blame her for her wariness.
“Ellen,” Rhys said gently, squeezing Maggie’s hand one more time. “Maggie saved my life. Sheismy life, and she has no involvement or knowledge of what her brother and sister did.”
