No, not shouted. The man roared!
Catherine twisted and clawed at the moss-covered ledge, but the wind and Mary and her momentum made it impossible for her to hold on. She suddenly felt nothing but air beneath her, then hit the ground so hard, it knocked the breath—and a startled scream right out of her.
Hard, powerful hands picked her up, and Robbie again roared over the howl of the roiling tempest. “Dammit, Cat!” he shouted, pulling her tightly against his chest, squishing her against Ian, and wrapping his arms around them both. “Hold on to my belt!”
She struggled against him, only wanting to get away from the violently raging storm and these crazy men as fast as she could. The air sizzled and popped and crackled around them, and the ground pitched and rolled with rumbling shudders.
Robbie’s arms tightened until it felt as if her bones were being crushed. “Too late!” he growled next to her ear, covering her head as the fierce wind sucked the air from her lungs. “You’re coming with us!”
Chapter Eighteen
Robbie couldn’t rememberever being so scared. He held Ian and Catherine to his chest, straining against the sizzling light crackling through the roiling clouds. Mary dug her talons into his plaid and spread her wings over the three of them, adding her own guardian powers to help him fight their way through the chaos.
If he lost his grip, Catherine and Ian could end up anywhere—or in any time, for that matter.
Robbie felt the energy he was disturbing pull at Catherine’s modern clothes, and her scream of terror pierced his soul. She clung to him, trembling, her screams buried in his chest as the violent storm raged on.
Ian shouted the MacKeage war cry and slapped at the forking tendrils with the courage of a warrior determined to get home.
Time churned and twisted with the roar of a wounded beast, until finally the maelstrom stopped with the suddenness of a train slamming into a mountain. The ground they fell upon rumbled in protest as the vortex exploded in one final, brilliant flash before disappearing.
The silence was more deafening than the storm had been, and Robbie sat hunched over his charges, every muscle in his body quivering with exhaustion and his heart pounding so hard he feared it might explode.
Neither Catherine nor Ian stirred, and Robbie forced himself to release them. Catherine took a deep, shuddering breath, opened her eyes, and screamed at the top of her lungs.
She scurried away from him, her face washed with terror, only to scream again at the realization that she was naked.
She scrambled to her feet and bolted into the forest.
Robbie lowered Ian to the ground and ran after her. “Cat, no!” he yelled, ducking through the trees. “You mustn’t run. I need to explain what happened. Catherine!”
He heard her shout of surprise, and Robbie came to a halt just in time to see her tumble down a steep bank. He scrambled after her and took hold of her shoulders.
She came up swinging. He pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms around hers to capture her wild, panic-driven punches.
“Ssshhh,” he crooned as she dug her nails into him and pushed to break free. “Easy, little Cat. You’re okay. Nothing and no one is going to hurt you. Easy, Catherine.”
But she continued to struggle mindlessly, her terror-filled whimpers piercing his heart like a rusted dagger.
“We have to go back to Ian,” he said, thinking to refocus her fear. “He could die. Please, help me with Ian.”
She suddenly stilled and tried to cover her naked breasts.
“I have the other plaid for you to put on,” he whispered, slowly easing his grip. “Come back with me to Ian.”
“Wh-what happened?” she asked so softly he barely heard her. “Wh-where are my clothes?”
“I’ll explain everything as soon as we see to Ian,” he promised, taking hold of her wrist to pull her up the steep hill.
She twisted her arm, trying to break free. “I-I’ll come. Let me go.”
“Nay. I’ll never catch you if you run. And Ian needs us.”
She fell silent and moved with him, but Robbie could feel the tension humming through her. It was dusk, and the forest was growing dark with looming shadows. They walked back to where Ian lay and found Mary standing next to him. Robbie picked up the MacBain plaid and held it out to Cat without looking at her, his attention on his uncle.
He cupped Ian’s face, using his thumb to feel for a pulse on his neck. “He’s alive but weak from fighting the storm.”
“Wh-where are we?” Cat whispered, moving to the other side of Ian. “Th-this isn’t TarStone Mountain.”
Robbie looked up and nearly smiled. She had the MacBain plaid wrapped around her a dozen times, like a sari. “Nay, it’s not. We’re in Scotland.”
“Scotland? That’s impossible.”
Robbie slid his arm under his uncle’s shoulders and gently lifted him into a sitting position. “You think so?” he asked, running a hand over Ian’s brow and head, feeling for bumps. He looked at Cat. “Then it’s also impossible we’re in thirteenth-century Scotland, I guess.”
She gasped, clutching her plaid, her eyes wide with horror around her stark white face.
“Thir-thirteen… ”
Ian groaned. Cat set aside her fright long enough to cup Ian’s face and turn him toward her. “Ian,” she said firmly. “Wake up now. Open your eyes.” His eyelids fluttered, he groaned again, and tried to roll away. “Ian!” she snapped. “Wake up!”
Robbie leaned near his ear and whispered to him in Gaelic, adding Gwyneth’s name to his petition.
“What did you say to him? What language was that?”
“Gaelic,” Robbie said, prodding Ian’s shoulder. “Come on, Uncle,” he repeated in Gaelic again, louder this time. “The men are lined up at Gwyneth’s door, wanting to court her.”
Ian opened his eyes and struck out with his fist. Robbie caught it before it could connect with anything other than air and smiled at his scowling uncle.
“Who’s Gwyneth?” Cat asked, looking from Ian to Robbie.
“She’s my wife,” Ian growled in English.
“Your wife? You have a wife? But I thought… Cody said something about you and… and Kate,” she ended on a whisper, looking back at Robbie.
“Gwyneth is my wife,” Ian repeated, reclaiming his fist so he could scrub his face. He finally looked at Robbie, his beard twisting into a grin. “I survived, MacBain.” He pounded Robbie’s shoulder, though his attention was turned to the landscape around them, his grin widening even more. “I survived,” he repeated. “I’m home!” He looked back at Robbie. “Ya brought me home.” He suddenly stiffened and looked at Catherine, then back at Robbie. “Ya brung yar housekeeper?”
“Not by choice,” Robbie said, glaring at Mary, who had sidled over to perch on a rock.
He looked at Catherine, lifting one brow. “It seems she has a curious streak.”
Her pale cheeks darkened with two flags of red. “I was just following you to… I wanted to… I only… darn it, I didn’t want you to get beat up again!”
“Aye. So you nearly got us blown to oblivion instead,” he muttered, standing up and lifting Ian to his feet, not letting him go until he was sure his uncle wouldn’t fall. Robbie looked around the small clearing. “I think we should camp here for the night and go to the village in the morning.”
“Aye,” Ian agreed, rolling his shoulders to shed the last kinks from his journey. “I’ve a wish to clean up before I see my Gwyneth.”
“And we have to come up with a new story.” Robbie nodded toward Catherine. “We’re going to have to explain her.”
Ian snorted. “And why she’s wearing the MacBain plaid.”
“What village?” Cat asked, inching away and looking down at herself. She fingered the cloth tucked around her breasts. “Why do you have to explain this plaid?”
“You’re wearing MacBain colors,” Ian said. “And they’re our enemy.”