Highlander Protected: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander In Time Book 3) Page 3

  “Sort of, yeah. But we’re not just from the future.” Cora exhaled. “So – Audrina was brought back by some kind of magical talisman that her ancestor Maeve left behind when she died. By all accounts they’re the spitting image of one another – and Audy’d been having Maeve’s dreams all her life. I don’t know whether they were the same person, or the same soul, or what. Everyone here calls her Maeve.”

  “Reincarnation,” Marianne murmured, wishing her friend Belinda was there. She’d been obsessed with this kind of thing – past lives and ancestral knowledge. She’d definitely have insights into what was going on.

  “Something like that. My ancestor was Bellina – a friend of the family’s. Dolores’s niece, actually – she recognized me right away when she came to stay with us here. Big Catholic family.”

  “Some things don’t change.”

  Cora hesitated. “Your dad —”

  “Hasn’t been born yet, so let’s not worry about it,” Marianne said sharply. “There’s enough going on without rehashing all that family crap.”

  “Yeah.” Cora frowned. “Maeve brought Audrina here, Audrina brought me here…what brought you here?”

  Marianne paused, then spoke carefully. “I think it might have been me.”

  “Seriously? I mean, I knew you were – you know, into all that Pagan stuff, but seriously? I had no idea you were that strong.”

  “Me neither! I just – all I did was a little finding spell. I was looking for you. Everyone thinks you’re dead. Your mom actually called me.”

  “Wow.” Cora hesitated. “Listen – I don’t really – we can get into all this family stuff later, okay? Let’s just focus on getting you settled in here, and figuring out what’s going on. I’ll show you the castle. It’s pretty cool, Mari, you’re gonna love it.”

  “I’m pretty dizzy —”

  “A walk will help,” Cora said, and Marianne laughed aloud at how familiar that tone of voice was. “What?”

  “I’d almost forgotten how much of a busybody you were!”

  “Better get used to it.” Cora pulled her to her feet.

  Marianne grinned, already feeling better. She pulled her cousin into a tight hug, feeling deeply grateful to the universe that in the midst of all this strangeness, she at least had her bossy cousin back.

  “I’ll come with you,” Dolores interjected. “Just in case.”

  In case of what? Marianne wondered.

  But as Dolores led them into the hallway, head down, she was glad of the woman’s company. Of the three of them, it seemed like Dolores had the most insight into what was going on. And at this point, Marianne would take any insight she could get.

  Chapter 4

  “Audrina’s down at the village today visiting with a patient,” Cora explained as they walked down the narrow stone hallways of the castle. They were taking it slowly, as Marianne was still feeling a little woozy from what she was beginning to accept was some kind of magical journey through time and space, and also because she kept stopping to examine the castle. Every turn, it felt like there was something new to look at – a tapestry on the wall depicting some great battle, a cluster of servants gossiping in accents so thick that they might as well have been another language, pieces of ornately carved furniture, paintings of serious looking Scottish lords and ladies with a striking familial resemblance.

  “Once a nurse, always a nurse, hey?”

  “You’d be amazed by how much of a difference basic medical training makes these days. Even just knowing how to avoid infections has improved the lives of the village people hugely. They think she’s a miracle-worker.”

  “Seems like a good way to get done for witchcraft,” Marianne murmured, only half serious.

  “Oh, we’ve been through all that. Twice, in fact.”

  “What, witch hunts?”

  “Yes.” Cora looked very serious all of a sudden. “The Inquisition were here and everything. We’re safe now, but it was pretty touch and go for a while there, Mari. Seriously – I don’t know what your practice is like, but keep it to yourself for now, okay?”

  “My practice is largely phone-based,” Marianne said drily, “so I think we’re okay for another couple of centuries at least. Christ, the Inquisition? Like – the Spanish Inquisition? Nobody expects—”

  “Yeah, those guys, and they’re not nearly as funny in the flesh,” Cora said darkly. “My ancestor Bellina was tortured and killed for witchcraft. It’s serious, Mari. Please be careful.”

  They had climbed down a set of winding stairs at some point, and found themselves at a set of huge wooden doors. Cora shoved one open with the ease of practice and sunlight spilled onto their faces – Marianne realized with a start that they’d somehow found their way outside. There was a sprawling courtyard within the limits of the wall she’d stood outside of not so long ago, and it was awash with activity. Young men with wooden swords were sparring with one another, or practicing thrusts against dummies made of straw. A woman was leading – or trying to lead, at least — a huge black horse across the yard toward a building on the far side of the courtyard that Marianne assumed must have been the stables.

  Cora waved to the woman and blew a kiss to the horse, who tossed his head and whinnied. “Worst horse in the world,” Cora told her affectionately. “He’s my favorite.”

  “This place looks like something out of Game of Thrones.” Marianne wrinkled her nose. “But more manure-scented.”

  “Yeah, we’re downwind of the stables…let’s go back inside, I’ll show you the kitchens.”

  “So how long have you been here?” Marianne asked, following her down a hallway that smelled increasingly of baking bread.

  “Six months or so.”

  “And they just – took you in?”

  “Well, it helps that I’m married to the Laird’s right-hand man,” Cora said coyly.

  Marianne thumped her on the arm, bringing the little group to a halt. “You what!”

  “His name’s Ian.”

  “You’ve been here five minutes and you’re married to some … kilt-wearing highlander?”

  Cora chuckled. “It just – happened. I don’t know. You’ll love him. He’s useless with horses, but otherwise I think I’ve done pretty well. Audrina’s married too,” she added, setting off again down the hallway. “To Colin, the Laird of the castle.”

  “The local girls must love you two, swooping in and taking the eligible bachelors away. Where’s my handsome Scottish boyfriend, then?” Marianne muttered to herself, still reeling with this new information. “So – what, you’re just going to bring him with you when you come back home?”

  Cora’s hand had been on the door at the end of the hallway, but she turned back to Marianne with an expression on her face that was hard to read. Guilt in there, and sadness, and a deep reluctance to reveal the truth …

  Marianne didn’t need her Tarot app to know what was going on here. “You’re not coming home, are you?”

  “Mari, I wanted to,” she said, voice low and serious. “I tried so hard to find a way. So did Audrina, at first. But it was impossible. And we both have a life, here. Audrina’s the Lady of the castle and she’s got two babies! And I think – I think I have to stay. Bellina is my ancestor, right? But she died without children. If I go back – I’ll never have existed. Which means I’ll never have come back here to help Audrina, or protect her from the Inquisition. And I’ll never have met Ian. Marianne – even if there was a way back, I wouldn’t take it. I’m sorry.”

  Marianne took a deep breath and let this new information settle. No way back to their own time – and no way to convince Cora to come with her even if she found one. Her cousin’s eyes were fixed on her face, anxious, waiting for her reaction. The card that had foretold her conversation with Cora’s mother flickered into her mind’s eye again. Knight of Swords, reversed. Don’t pick a fight for no reason. Especially one you can’t win.

  “So you’ve got a family planned, then?” she asked, one eyebrow raised.


  “Well, we’re trying.” Cora laughed, clearly relieved that Marianne hadn’t challenged her determination to stay, and they moved into the kitchen together.

  The smell of baking bread was stronger here. The kitchen was enormous, with room for at least a few dozen cooks and servants – she could picture it in full swing, churning out huge platters of meat and vegetables, pouring ale into the tankards she could see lined up neatly on a counter toward a set of doors she assumed lead to some kind of dining hall. Dolores was fussing with the tankards, adjusting them so that their handles all faced the same direction, and Marianne wandered toward the doors, curious about the muffled voices she could hear coming through the door. Men’s voices, raised but not angry. Hardly even meaning to, she opened one of the double doors and slipped into the hall beyond. It was huge, as she’d predicted, filled with great long tables that seemed like they’d easily host a hundred people or more for a meal. They were carved from the same dark wood as the majority of the furniture she’d seen, with matching benches tucked neatly beneath them, and they were clean, having clearly been scrubbed down after the most recent meal. There was one table that sat a little separate from the others, elevated slightly by a step, and this was where the voices were coming from. A huge man was standing in the center of the floor, speaking with obvious passion, the aggressive gestures of his hands causing the sword that sat prominently on his belt to shift and clank in its scabbard. He was addressing two men seated at the table, though a larger group of people stood around him, listening as well – Marianne realized with a start that she was looking at a court scene. She’d done a few Shakespeare plays in her time, and they were full of this kind of thing, but she’d never in a thousand years expected to find herself witnessing one in the flesh.

  Cora had sidled through the door behind her and came up to stand beside her, pitching her voice low so it wouldn’t carry across the room and disturb the proceedings. “They hear petitions and complaints and things from the villagers in here. Sitting on the left there? That’s Colin MacLaren, the Laird. Audrina’s husband.” She pointed out a serious-looking man with long, silver-blond hair pushed behind his ears. There was a furrow in his brow as he listened to the bear-like man in front of them make his case, and he rubbed his chin meditatively, disturbing the slightly scruffy beard there. “The handsome one next to him is my Ian,” Cora continued. “He’s the tanist. Second-in-command. Like an advisor. He weighs in on decisions Colin has trouble with. He hates it,” she added with a little chuckle.

  Sure enough, the blond man seated next to Colin had a deliberately neutral expression on his face – the kind of studied politeness that generally masked an all-consuming boredom.

  “He’d rather be outside training the men or falling off a horse for the fiftieth time this week.”

  “Who’s the hot one?” Marianne murmured.

  “What?”

  “Him.” She nodded to the speaker.

  “Seriously? He looks like he hasn’t washed in a fortnight. I don’t know him. Someone from the village, probably.”

  Colin had leaned forward and said something, and though his voice didn’t carry enough for Marianne to make out what he’d said, she saw the way the tall man stiffened, and observed the way his right hand twitched – the kind of gesture that suggested he was suppressing an urge to grab his sword.

  He started speaking again, even more rapidly, and Marianne, overtaken by curiosity, tugged at Cora’s hand and pulled her closer to the group of people who were standing around listening. She had never been able to resist a good bit of theatre. After all, she’d never seen a real life court scene before! A tall, elegant looking woman glanced up with noticeable curiosity as Marianne took a place in the crowd beside her – her eyes flicked from Marianne to Cora, who nodded in confirmation that the stranger was with her. With a meaningful ‘we’ll talk later’ kind of smile, the woman returned her attention to the man, who had just taken a deep breath to speak.

  Marianne examined him from her new vantage point. Yes, definitely handsome, in an unwashed kind of way – he could’ve done with a shave, too, but his dark hair and rugged features were undeniably attractive.

  “With all due respect, Laird Colin,” the man began. His voice was delightfully deep and resonant, and the strong burr of the Scottish accent made it all the more attractive.

  What kind of eloquent, Shakespearean case was he going to make to the Laird and his tanist, she wondered? What kind of delightful theatrical experience was she in for?

  “That’s a pile of horse shite and no mistake.”

  Chapter 5

  A murmur of disapproval spread through the crowd as the man straightened his back defiantly. Marianne’s eyes flicked to Laird Colin, who looked disappointed, but hardly surprised by the outburst – it was a look she’d often seen in the eyes of her father (and the discomfort of that memory wasn’t deadened by her great distance from the man – how long was it going to take before he stopped plaguing her like this? People from her support group said it could be years. She wished she could ask them if time travel affected the recovery process at all, and almost laughed imagining the look in her counsellor’s kind eyes.)

  “Eamon,” Laird Colin said – it was the first time he’d spoken, and his voice carried effortlessly through the hall, clear and strong where the appellant – Eamon, she supposed – was gruff and rasping, but still touched with that beautiful accent. “You’re an excellent soldier. You’ve stood with Clan MacClaran in the face of hundreds of enemies over the years, and never faltered once. You’re our kin, Eamon. Why won’t you be honest with us?”

  Marianne could see the tension in the man’s body – his back was ramrod straight, his shoulders clenched and lifting toward his ears, and his hands were trembling slightly as though with the effort of holding something back. But the closer she looked, the more she was convinced that it wasn’t anger that the man was holding back – he was angry, yes, but it was the anger of frustration, not a murderous rage. The Laird and his tanist were in no danger of being attacked here, despite the watchful eye that the handful of guards were keeping on the proceedings. Ian seemed to know this – he didn’t flinch when Eamon took a step toward them with his hands raised, though a couple of the guards started forward before easing off.

  “I’m askin’ ye to trust me,” Eamon growled now, eyes shifting between the two men. “I wasn’t there. That’s all there is to it. Ask the men who vouch for me!”

  Ian spoke up now, looking tired. “Cousin, all they’ve told us is the same thing you’re telling us. You weren’t there, it wasn’t you, you’re faultless. Fair testimony, yes, but we need to know where you actually were. A man died, Eamon.”

  “Ye don’t need to know shite!” Eamon exploded through gritted teeth, and another murmur of disapproval spread through the crowd. “I’m yer cousin, Ian! For fuck’s sake, we were boys together. We’ve saved each other’s lives how many times, fought how many battles together, and ye can’t trust me this one time, this one thing I ask ye to take on faith?”

  “He’s hiding something,” Marianne murmured to Cora, her eyes fixed on his body language.

  “Guilt. He started a brawl that got a servant killed,” Cora murmured back. “Of course he’s guilty.”

  “No, it’s something else. Something he can’t say. Something —”

  “Eamon MacClaran, I have no choice but to dismiss your appeal,” Colin cut through the man’s complaints. “The charges are serious. The servant killed in the brawl – Thomas – he had a family. They’ll be safely taken care of here at the castle, but you’ll understand that the man’s widow wants justice for the death of her husband, and I simply can’t let you continue to serve at your post if there’s a chance you’re responsible.”

  “Fuck this,” Eamon growled, his low voice booming through the hall. “Ye’re a pair of —”

  “What’s more,” Colin said, sharper, his voice cutting Eamon off in his tracks, “your conduct since the event has been app
alling. Nothing about what we’ve heard today gives me any inclination to forgive and forget. You’ve been drinking, man. What am I supposed to take from that, other than a sign of your guilt?”

  “Ye exiled me from the fucking castle! This is my home, and ye’ve banished me like a stray dog – and ye’re surprised that I’ve had a drink or two to ease the sting of that? I did nothing to warrant exile —”

  Marianne saw him swallow hard, and leaned forward a little, made intensely curious by that little tell — “and I certainly didn’t start any fucking bar fight, as my brothers in arms have vouched.”

  “Where were you then, Eamon? That’s all we need to know. Where were you, if not in that tavern?”

  “Fuck this.” Eamon spat on the floor, then started unbuckling his belt with jerky, furious motions of his great strong hands. “And ye can keep this piece of shite sword, too.” He hurled it to the flagstones with a loud clattering that made several of the people in the crowd shake their heads in dismay. “Ye know where to find me. I’ll expect a full fucking apology when the time comes.”

  Eamon stormed out – Marianne could see the slight list to his gait that indicated more than a few drinks had been had, and the suspicion was confirmed by the scent of whiskey that reached her as he stormed past where she and Cora were standing. The huge doors at the front of the hall were shut, but Eamon shoved them open as though they weighed little more than paper. With that amount of power, Marianne could easily understand the suspicion that he’d killed a man in a fight. But there was something about the way he spoke about it – the restrained, frustrated but deeply guilty way he’d been speaking – that made her think there was more to the story.

  Straightforwardly guilty people had nothing to lose. Eamon spoke as though there was something else at stake – something more to lose than his place at the castle, and in Colin and Ian’s esteem.