“Alasdair… ” Her voice was hoarse, his name neither a question nor an address on her tongue.
“Aye. I am called MacColla.”
Alasdair… MacColla.
Her eyes shot open to gawk at this man who had taken then left her, only to turn around and save her. A fierce savage of a man.
A man who claimed the same name as a hero of old.
Chapter Five
Delusions about Alasdair MacColla? Haley's dissertation must be getting to her, thinking she'd somehow landed in old Scotland with James Graham's friend MacColla. Either that or she'd injured more than just her ribs. She blinked her eyes shut tight to expel the thought.
“Should we… should we leave her?” Jean's hushed voice washed over Haley where she lay, dazed, in the grass.
MacColla had somehow gotten his hands on two ponies, and they'd ridden hard through the night, with Haley doubled up in front of him.
When he finally stopped at dawn. Haley had slid gratefully to the ground, hand clutched tight to her side. She was hungry and she was dying of thirst, but all she could do for the moment was lie there.
Rather than feeling open and wide above, the sky seemed to press down on her, gradually lightening but never warming beyond monochromatic shades of gun -metal. Damp seeped into the fabric of her dress, its chill clutching her, snaking up and around her aching sides like an embrace from the grave. Her toes had lost feeling, and the mud-soaked leather of her boots shrank tight over her feet.
Still, these seemed like quaint discomforts compared to the agony she felt with each breath. Haley was relieved simply to lie there, momentarily lightening her body's pull on her rib cage. Curling into her pain, she was able to find the space in her torso for more than just shallow panting.
“Truly, Alasdair, we'll travel faster if ”-
“I can hear you.” Haley said to nobody in particular.
“Wheesht” He silenced her like a child. “Hush, Jean. The lass goes with us.”
Travel faster if… you leave me? That's right, girlie. Please do leave me.
Haley shut her eyes tight. If only.
She needed to get away from these people, but with such pain in her ribs, she'd never be able to outrun the man.
“Your rest is over.” His voice was close. She opened her eyes to see him standing above her. “Are you ready?”
“You sure are pushing hard.”
“Campbell won't rest. Nor will I.”
“Aren't you a charmer?” she mumbled.
She ignored his outstretched hand, and MacColla made a small grunting sound. Three quick pants of air and she sat up on a sharp exhale, biting back a groan. She struggled to her knees, then her feet, and made her way to the horses.
She studied them in the morning light. They were stout little beasts, one with a mane and tail so black, they seemed dyed compared to the lighter dun of its coat. The other was a shade of gray to match the drab sky.
“Where'd you get these nags anyway?” She rubbed her backside, dreading another minute of riding. Haley looked around, desperately trying to place where they could be. “I sure hope some Choate girl isn't missing her prized ponies.”
“If you can jest, you can ride.” he said, sweeping her up and onto the saddle.
It was the creak of leather beneath her that silenced Haley. She realized that even their horse was tacked up in period garb, with such an archaic saddle. As each step took them impossibly farther from civilization, she wondered what messed-up fantasy these two were reenacting.
Or what kind of nut job would pretend to be Alasdair MacColla. Haley glanced down at the thickly muscled legs jutting from behind her. The man sure was dressed for the part. He even had the six-foot long, two-handed sword MacColla was known for; one just like it had been tucked and waiting for him in a copse not far from that weird castle.
“Too bad,” she muttered. “If you were the real MacColla, you could probably tell me if James Graham were still alive.”
She felt the man grow still at her back.