A decision cemented in Kate’s mind. It felt so right, like the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle settling into place.
“I want to go back,” she said. “I need to see him and open his eyes. I’ll make him see. I felt so much more at home back there.”
“What about yer restaurant?” Sìneag asked, her eyes shining slyly.
“Deli Luck is doing great. My sister does a fantastic job. And the new restaurant I had this idea for… Well, the only reason I wanted to open it is because it would make me feel closer to Ian. And what is closer to Ian than being right next to him?”
Sìneag smiled, satisfied. “I do love it when you mortals come to yer senses!”
“So, how do I go back?”
“Ye ken the way, lass.”
Kate hugged Sìneag, her heart beating violently. She’d been wanting to go back this whole time, and now she realized she could. Her place was there. She’d see Ian very soon. She just needed to make some arrangements, give notice at the apartment, and go see Mandy and Jax to say goodbye.
Then she’d change her life forever for the second time. And go live her happily ever after with the Highlander who’d stolen her heart.
Chapter 34
Dundail, September 1308
“Dinna jump back, Frangean,” Ian cried. “Just step aside and slash him from the left.”
Frangean glanced back at Ian and nodded, then resumed slamming his sword against that of his combat partner.
The courtyard before Dundail was full of shouts, knocks of wood against wood, and the ringing of metal against metal. Recent rain had turned the ground into mud, and men moved their feet with difficulty, sometimes slipping and falling, but continuing to practice. It was good to train in different conditions—just like battles in real life, you never knew what the weather would be.
Ian leaned forward and rubbed his stiff, aching leg. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever regain full control of the limb, but he wasn’t sorry for it verra much. He’d give his leg for the chance to change the past and make Kate stay instead of chasing her away.
The training went well, and he could see the men and the boys had made significant progress since the battle for MacFilib’s farm. The farm had burned to the ground, but Frangean, who was the only heir, was more interested in being a warrior than a farmer.
Ian wished the lad had chosen farming.
Still. Someone had to protect the land and the people. Such were the times.
He hoped Kate was living happily in more peaceful times. He was at more peace, as well. At least, he’d had no more nightmares of Baghdad or the ship. Not a single one. But the hunger for her presence was eating him alive. He dreamed of her every night. Her whispering “I love you.” Her warm, soft, silky body trembling from desire and pleasure in his arms. The taste of her, the smell that drove him wild lingered in his mind long after he woke up.
He couldn’t take it. Despite his wounds, he needed the relief.
The air was chilly, but he removed his tunic, letting the crisp air cool down his skin.
“Who wants the best damn practice of yer life?” Ian roared.
Men stopped fighting and looked at him.
“Three against one, who’s in?” Ian continued.
Mayhap, he was a savage after all, because this brought him relief, throwing all that tension, all that misery into a direction that would be useful. Three men stepped forward, including Frangean.
“Arrrgh!” the lad cried and launched at Ian with his claymore raised high above his head.
The other two followed, and Ian took his position. Their swords at the ready, they attacked. Ian deflected them, spun, whirled, ducked. He breathed through the pain that was tearing his chest and leg apart.
Damnation. He was slower, much slower than he used to be. But he’d already fought through the wounds many times, and he knew how to spare his strength and use his body economically.
“Stop this at once!” a woman cried.
The voice was so painfully familiar it brought the immediate image of the bonnie blonde he was breathing for.
The men froze and Ian stopped as well. Panting, he turned around and almost dropped his sword.
It was her.
She stood by the Dundail house in a warm woolen cloak with a hood on. A big, full bag lay by her feet. Her golden hair shone under the hood. She looked thinner but just as bonnie, her blue eyes shining with anger.
Ian’s heart must have stopped. He must have ceased to exist for a split moment. The ground shifted under his feet, and he stopped feeling his body.
“Kate…” he said, and it came out like a whisper, like a secret prayer.
She walked to him with broad, angry strides and stopped in front of him.
“What are you doing, Ian? Are you insane? First of all, you’re clearly still recovering from your wounds.” She pointed at the ugly red scar on his chest. “Second of all, it’s September, for God’s sake! And you’re shirtless. Do you want to die of pneumonia, too? I just came back. I won’t let you die on me.”
She left his proximity, to Ian’s disappointment, walked to where his tunic was lying forgotten in the mud, picked it up, and came back to him. She shoved it into his hands. Speechless, he put the tunic back on.
“Did ye come to berate me?” he rasped. “Had I kent ’twas how to summon ye, I’d have walked shirtless every day since ye left.”
She smiled. A small, bonnie smile that she hid by pursing her lips.
“You were the one who told me to go,” she said.
“Dinna listen to me. I was a fool.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “We can agree on that.”
Her hand went under the cloak and produced a square sheet of paper. On it was some sort of a drawing. Something square with letters and numbers.
“Will you build me a stove?” Kate asked.
Ian took the sheet and
