Surrender the Dawn

By Marie Morin

Maggie Kissick didn't just fall through a hole in time, she was thrown through it by the husband intent on murdering her--and landed in medieval Scotland. It was a chance to save her life, but she was damned if she could figure out what to do with it.

Fortunately, Devlyn had a plan--he would ransom her to her family and have his revenge by doing exactly what Maggie had inspired him to do.

• Language: English
• Publisher: New Concepts Publishing
• Release date: Jun 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005898106

Book preview

SURRENDER THE DAWN

By

Marie Morin

( c ) copyright by Marie Morin, 2022

Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, 2022

Smashwords Edition

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

Shocked disbelief held Margaret ‘Maggie’ Kissick immobile. Her throat closed. A sense of suffocating washed over her, paralyzing her vocal chords.

Stephen, no! she cried out hoarsely even as she felt the force of the blow, felt herself flying backward. The glass wall behind her shattered as she struck it. Completed only the day before and designed to catch the spectacular view from the third floor room, it looked out over the rocky hillside that plunged sharply to the valley floor below.

Odd, she thought as she sailed into the void beyond and felt herself begin to plummet, but she felt little pain. The blow seemed to have stunned her, or perhaps it was merely the shock of betrayal? Would there be pain when she died?

She would die, she realized with a peculiar sort of detachment. A tumble down the escarpment from the deck that jutted from the back of the house might have broken her neck. It would almost certainly have resulted in broken bones and bruises, but death would not have been likely. The drop from there was no more than twenty feet. From the top floor of the newly constructed house, the plummet escalated by another twenty odd feet.

She would die.

She was glad darkness curled around her to cocoon her from the terrifying height. She knew it was there, but she couldn’t see it, really. She didn't want to. Like a frightened child, the fact that she couldn't see it comforted her, as if, without sight, it couldn't touch her.

Why? she thought with sudden anger as she felt the earth reaching up to envelope her. Why, Stephen?

Her eyes, filled with the tears of anger and betrayal, sprang open at the last second of their own volition as if that frightened part of her mind that wanted to hide had been shouldered aside by a part that yearned to look one last time at the world she was leaving. The dim light of twilight, or perhaps dawn, assailed her senses. Emerald grasses, sprigged here and there with bouquets of heather, rushed up to greet her.

Confusion filled her.

It was full dark, not twilight. There was no light to see by, should have been nothing but stars winking above her. If there had been, she would've seen gravelly, almost barren soil, sprigged with cactus, not a sea of green grass.

Nothing was as it should have been. It was wrong, all wrong.

It was the last thought that flitted through her mind as she struck the ground. Pain shot thorough her. The air was crushed from her lungs as if a car had landed on her chest. She tumbled, over and over, blue skies flashing by, emerald grasses. In the next instant pain exploded in her head and then ... blackness, nothingness.

* * * *

Is the lass dead?

Nay. She lives. She's a nasty bump on her head, but nothing broken that I can see. A bit bruised and battered, is all. Mayhap she'll wish she were dead on tha morrow, though.

She felt herself floating upward. Moments later, the jolting motion roused her to a feeble awareness. It was dark, she discovered, when she opened her eyes. She closed them again, frowning, recalling the flash of failing light she'd seen just before ....

It had been wrong then.

Surprise filled her suddenly. She was alive. She'd survived the fall. They must be taking her to the hospital. With an effort, she expanded her senses, trying to decide whether she'd only been granted a temporary reprieve.

She couldn't tell. She hurt from head to toe, particularly her head. It felt as if she was broken into a hundred fragments. She frowned. The voice. Someone had said there didn't seem to be anything broken.

Who?

The medics, of course, she told herself.

But if that were so, they must already have loaded her onto a gurney. So why didn't she feel like she was on a gurney? Why did she feel as if ... she was on a horse, of all things?

She could smell horses. Very distinctly, she heard them all around her, blowing, nickering now and again. She heard the creak of saddle leather. Most disturbing, she realized finally that the bands around her weren't the restraints of the gurney. They were arms. Someone was holding her.

The fall had addled her wits. She was still stunned, hallucinating.

On one matter, however, she was perfectly clear. She had not fallen, not accidentally anyway. Stephen had pushed her, or rather thrown her through the reflective glass wall. Her husband, Stephen, had tried to kill her.

Terror filled her. When he saw that he hadn’t succeeded, he would try again.

She struggled to open her eyes, to get the words out. Ste … phen ... mur .. der. She managed to gasp the words only by a strenuous effort.

Close by someone chuckled. Ach, lass! We're shakin' in our boots, so we are. Devlyn, did ye hear tha’? Her Stephen is gonna ta be after murderin' ye now.

Beneath her cheek, Maggie felt a rumble that emerged from the great chest she finally realized she was caught tightly against as a grunt. Meager as the response was, it carried with it a wealth of meaning; amusement, disbelief, challenge.

They had, whoever they were, misunderstood. Desperate to get her meaning across, Maggie lifted a leaden arm and clutched at the woolen? fabric that covered the chest. No. No!

Whist, lass! Quiet now, or I'll have ta gag ye. I've no mind ta let ye give us away.

Frustrated and more exhausted than she could ever recall being in her life, Maggie fell silent. For a time, she thought she must have dozed. She woke with the rumbling voice in her ear.

Are ye still with me, lass?

Rousing slightly, Maggie frowned. Stupid question, she muttered finally. Of course she was still with him. Where would she go?

A chuckle rumbled forth. Ye've spirit, lass. I like tha’ in a woman.

Bully for you, Maggie muttered, irritated at having been wakened to pain when she'd been blessedly free of it moments before.

Silence. She was drifting away again when the voice spoke once more. That was a braw brave trick ye tried back there, lass, if a damned fool one. Ye'll not try it again, or I'll tie ye ta tha saddle. Ye ken? I gave ye my word as a McKissack I'd nae harm ye.

Angered, Maggie roused herself to denounce Kissicks in general. Not ... worth much.

She felt his anger in the tensing of his body even before he spoke in a low growl in her ear. The word of a McKissack is worth a sight more than tha word of a lowlander Chisholm, as ye've proved yerself, Chisholm. Ye gave me yer word ye'd nae be tryin' anythin’ stupid if I dinna tie ye.

Maggie tried to rouse herself to argue the matter, but found she didn't have the energy to attempt it. She didn't really have the strength to care ... much. Ha! she thought as she drifted away again. As if anyone would be honor bound to any oath made with a low, snake of a Kissick! If she made it through this she was going to divorce that swine Stephen so fast it would make his head spin!

It was full light when Maggie roused again, but she became aware of the pain first. It throbbed through her, still, though not as great as it had been at first. The light, filtering with a red glow through her eyelids aroused her another degree.

She was still moving, she realized. Why in the world was she still moving? Shouldn't she be in a hospital bed by now?

Cautiously, she opened her eye a slit. In the next moment, her eyes popped wide as she stared at the man on the horse beside her. Her eyes slammed shut again.

I'm going to count to ten, she told herself, trying to stifle the fear that leapt in her chest, and when I open my eyes again, everything will be as it's supposed to be.

She counted to twenty, just to be on the safe side.

When she cautiously opened her eyes again, she saw to her dismay that nothing had changed. It struck her, as the force of a blow, numbing her. Nothing was as it was supposed to be. There was a ... a highlander, if his outlandish garb was anything to go by, riding a horse, right beside her. Around him were others, dressed similarly. Beyond them, craggy peaks filled her view.

She closed her eyes again. Oh God! Where am I? Had she died, after all? Had she died and gone to .... Her eyes snapped open. Scotland?

Hysterical laughter bubbled inside her. It was only by supreme effort that she kept it trapped there.

Now wot, I wonder, has brought tha smile ta yer face, lass? I see none of yer kinsmen, so I ken ye've got devilment on yer mind.

Maggie's head snapped up. Her jaw dropped. The air caught in her lungs.

His golden head and beard limned by a fiery halo by the light of the rising sun, his rugged, handsome features softened faintly with amusement, the man who held her was, indisputably, a Scot. Just as inarguably, he was no more of her time than the others she'd thought she was looking at.

The vividness of the illusion was uncanny. As absolutely certain as Maggie was that she'd never seen