Highlander Cursed: A Scottish Time Travel Romance

by Preston, Rebecca

  Both Eamon and Gavin, as well as the other guards standing with them, had their weapons on them, but not their helmets. And yet one of the visitors chose to keep his on. Delilah felt a cold certainty stir. Who else could that be but Kenneth — Gavin’s cousin, returned to the Clan in disguise? She was glad she’d given Gavin advance warning, let him figure out who it was before this confrontation — otherwise, he might not have been able to stay in control of his anger. She was a little worried that that may be the case regardless, even with time to prepare.

  There was a large man walking back and forth in front of the Laird, gesturing and gesticulating as he spoke with the ease of an orator. She could hear his voice filling the hall like honey — it was a smooth, polished voice, the voice of a man who was used to talking his way into getting what he wanted. He wore the robes of a friar, and carried an enormous staff — not that he seemed to need it to walk, she noted as he strode back and forth. A weapon, then. She wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of a blow from that thing. The other two men matched the descriptions Baldric had sent her — one was small and twisted, and strangely proportioned — he had his back to her, and she couldn’t quite figure out what was going on. Poor posture, or a hunchback? He had strangely long arms, too, which hung all the way down to his mid-thigh, where she could make out some kind of scabbard, positioned for easy access. The man beside him was almost as tall as Gavin, but that was where the resemblance ended. His bald head glinted across the room, and he was as thin as a rake. Next to him was the mysterious man in a helmet. Delilah was willing to bet she and Gavin both knew who that was — she felt a thrill of fear and anger run down her spine.

  “And it’s so kind of you,” Brother Willows was booming, “to offer us your gracious hospitality at such short notice. Truly, it was unforgivably rude of us not to send word ahead — but we were so struck by the beauty of the castle as we rode past, we simply had to stop…”

  “Any guest of Lord Weatherby is a guest of ours,” Donal said politely, but Delilah could see the tension in his body. He didn’t like this surprise visit at all — and it was no shock to Delilah that the witch hunters had descended unannounced. Trying to catch the women unaware, she imagined — and she didn’t doubt that they’d spent the previous day scouting around the castle, hoping to find someone out of bounds that they could capture and interrogate about witchcraft. Donal had been wise to instate the rules that he had — and Weatherby had done them a great service by warning them ahead of time. Delilah felt a burst of gratitude for Karin, whose work during the plague had ensured that that relationship was warm enough to allow such favors to be done.

  “Now, we don’t want to trouble you overly, of course,” Brother Willows was saying. She could hear the tone in his voice changing as he wound up for what he was really there to ask for. “You understand that as sworn delegates of the Lord, we owe it to ourselves and our faith to investigate even the silliest rumors we hear… of course, we don’t expect to find anything heretical within your castle! Lord Weatherby speaks so highly of you — I’d be less surprised to find a hen with a full beak of teeth than a witch amongst your people. Nevertheless…” He let the word hang in the air. “We would appreciate a quick conversation with each of the women who have been mentioned in these clearly fallacious local rumors. Once we’re assured of their innocence, why, we can correct the sources of these pernicious myths, and leave you in peace for good.”

  “Very gracious of you,” Donal said, gritting his teeth. “I can confirm for you, Brother Willows, as Laird of the castle, that we harbor no witches.”

  “And your word is worth more to me than I can say,” Brother Willows said smoothly, “but unfortunately, our divine imperative compels us to interview the women personally. Nothing against you, you understand — scripture says what scripture says, and we must obey. We should start, I think, with a woman called… Delilah, I believe?”

  She felt a shock run through her at the sound of her name — and saw it mirrored on Gavin’s face. The Laird glanced sideways toward him, clearly unnerved by the naming of Delilah — could they know about her reincarnation, about her ancestor and the terrible thing she’d done to the Clan? Surely not — that was information known only to her and the other women. Unless one of the servants had said something… or someone who’d overheard her introducing herself down at the village, she thought with a stab of dismay. How could she have been so careless? She’d been warned to keep a low profile.

  “No.”

  The voice wasn’t Donal’s, and Delilah blinked at the flat declaration, peering back through the door to see who had spoken — and to her surprise, she saw Gavin, striding down from the platform, his eyes fixed on the helmeted man.

  What was he going to do?

  Chapter 21

  “This farce ends now.”

  Gavin was in front of the helmeted man, his eyes narrowed. Delilah ducked and weaved, trying in vain to find a position behind the doorway where she could properly see what was happening — how frustrating, to be so close! From what she could see, the man had his hand on his sword — but as Gavin hadn’t drawn his weapon, to draw would be an act of war when under someone else’s roof. Unexpectedly, Gavin seized the man’s helmet — and despite his yell of protest, yanked it off in one clean movement. A brutal movement, too — Delilah could see, even from where she stood, a trickle of blood descending from the unmasked man’s neck where the helmet had scraped his skin open.

  Donal was gazing at the man blankly, and clearly didn’t recognize him — Colin, however, had started forward with a shout of anger, and Ian was at his side, his own hand on his blade. They clearly recognized the man — and they weren’t happy to see him. Laird Donal raised his hand and both men stopped in their tracks, but their hands did not leave the hilts of their swords and Delilah could see the anger on their faces.

  “Kenneth,” Gavin spat now, glaring at the man — Delilah gasped at the confirmation of their theory, that it was her own ancestor’s murderer hiding behind his helmet. She itched to see his face, to confirm it for herself — but he was still standing with his back to her, his spine stiff and one hand rubbing at his neck where the helmet had scraped him. “You have some nerve showing your face here.”

  “Sir, I’d point out it was you who showed his face,” Brother Willows interjected with a simpering little smile, clearly trying to diffuse the tension in the situation. But Gavin wasn’t having any of it. With fury on his face, he turned toward Donal, gesturing angrily at the man with his own helmet.

  “Laird Donal. This man is Kenneth, once Kenneth MacClaran, a cousin to me and a member of our Clan. You may not recall him, as he was banished when you were but a wee lad. Banished for murder,” he spat, “a sentence far too light for the crime it responded to.”

  “Extinguishing the life of a witch isn’t murder, it’s pest control,” Kenneth spat now, and his voice was horribly familiar — Delilah remembered flashes of her dream, remembered the man goading Gavin as they fought one another, trying to get him off his guard. The tone was incredibly familiar. Was he trying to goad Gavin again — to make him attack him there, in cold blood? She willed Gavin to control himself — to see what the man was trying to do to him. Thankfully, the trick didn’t work this time either.

  “Now you’re back, and what’s more, you’ve manipulated these men of God to follow your demented whims,” Gavin boomed, his eyes blazing. “All for your own petty revenge. Shame on you, Kenneth.”

  “I didn’t,” Kenneth spat, marching up to Brother Willows to plead his case. As he did, he turned a little, and Delilah caught a glimpse of his face for the first time. Sure enough, he was badly disfigured, a huge mess of scar tissue covering the eye she’d seen Gavin slash at with his sword in that dream. “It’s not true — they’re pathetic, they’re harboring witches, this is a heretical… they’re trying to… Brother, please —”

  “You protest too much,” Willows hissed, his voice carrying a little further than Delilah suspected he�
��d intended it to. “Laird Donal. My apologies,” he said smoothly, “we had no idea we had brought a banished man into your territory. How unforgivable of us, to violate your law. We’ll withdraw, for now, and have a longer … conversation.” As he paused, he tapped the staff he was carrying on the flagstones — it made a resounding thud, not the kind of sound one would expect of wood hitting stone. Something heavier, perhaps? Could the whole piece be made from iron? It would be terrifically heavy, if so — the man must have muscle under all of that bulk. He was certainly more than he appeared, that was for sure. Delilah could see the way Kenneth’s body had shrunk down in fear at the tapping of the staff. Something told her it wasn’t going to be a particularly enjoyable conversation for the man.

  Good. He deserved a few beatings at least after everything he’d done.

  The witch-hunters, to Delilah’s delight, swept out after a few more obsequious apologies, leaving Donal still standing on the platform, watching them go, every part the imperious Laird. It was only once the huge doors slammed shut that he relaxed — and almost immediately burst into uproarious laughter.

  “Gavin, you absolute madman!” he choked out. “I thought he was going to cut your head clean off here in the dining room!”

  “It was a risk, I’ll admit,” Gavin said, looking a little abashed but grinning despite himself at the Laird’s laughter. “But I was fairly certain about who it was.”

  “You shouldn’t have interrupted,” Donal said, pointing a warning finger at him. “But I have to admit — it was a brilliant way of getting rid of them. They won’t be back in a hurry — not with Kenneth, at any rate. They’ll know it’s a violent act to bring him onto our lands again. Did you believe what you said, about him manipulating men of God?”

  “Yes and no,” Gavin admitted. “I doubt those men are anything but thugs. Witch hunters aren’t renowned for being kind and gentle men of God, no matter the impression Willows wants to give off. But he didn’t seem to know anything of Kenneth’s past here, which indicates he’s been lying to them about some things at least. At any rate, it’s bought us some time.”

  “Hmm. And protecting Delilah, that had nothing to do with it?” Eamon rumbled.

  Gavin jerked around as though he’d been shocked.

  “No. Well — yes, of course, I wouldn’t want her being interrogated,” he said defensively.

  There was a certain look on the faces of the men standing around him — a look that Delilah knew all too well. She’d seen that exact look on the faces of their wives. A look that said they knew full well that romance was blossoming, and were just waiting to see how long it’d take Gavin to admit it. The blush on the man’s face was somewhat gratifying, and despite her complicated feelings about the situation, she couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement. If the men thought there was something between them that must mean…

  “She wants to end the curse on our Clan,” Gavin said stiffly. “She can’t do that if she’s murdered by witch hunters, now can she?”

  “You’re talking to four men who’ve married time-travelers,” Donal pointed out, grinning widely. “You think we didn’t make similar excuses?”

  “It’s not — it’s complicated. Leave it alone, alright?”

  “Alright,” Eamon said diplomatically. “Back to work, then.”

  “Send word everyone’s free to leave their quarters again,” the Laird added. “And it may be worth sharing what’s transpired here with Delilah, especially if she’s working on ending the curse. Let her know, too, that anything she needs for that work is at her disposal.”

  “I’ll do it,” Gavin said, a shade too quickly — and Delilah grinned a little at the knowing looks Colin and Ian exchanged behind his back. The men dissipated from the hall — and Delilah realized with a start that Gavin was headed for her chambers. Where she decidedly was not. With a start, she spun around, wondering if she could make it back to her chambers before he got there. Probably — if she moved quickly. She tore across the kitchen, swearing as she kicked a large pot on her way — it rolled across the floor, but she had no time to fix it. Muttering a quiet apology to Dolores, she ran on, tearing through the little door and sprinting up the steps, dodging the broken ones just in time. As she moved through the hallways, she realized nobody knew they could leave their rooms yet — it was blessedly free of obstructions, and she was able to sprint at her top speed. As a result, she made it back to her room just before Gavin turned down the corridor, shutting the door behind her and breathing hard as she leaned against it.

  Of course, she was going to look suspicious if she was out of breath when he knocked on the door. She worked hard to control her breathing, fanning at her face in case she was flushed with her exertion, and by the time he’d tapped gently on the door she was more or less in control of herself. She opened the door, trying to look a little surprised to see him.

  “Oh, Gavin. Are we able to leave our quarters yet?”

  “I saw ye in the kitchen doorway, ye daft woman,” he said without preamble, raising an eyebrow at her in a pointed kind of way. “Disobeying the Laird’s direct orders, really?”

  “I was curious,” she said irritably, after giving brief consideration to committing more fully to her lie — saying it must have been a ghost that he’d seen. The ghost of Morag, perhaps, back to haunt her killer! But if anyone was the ghost of Morag, it was Delilah, so that line of thought ended in a dead-end.

  “Fair enough, too,” he said, looking around her room. “You know you could claim a bigger room than this? This is just for guests and sick people. There are rooms three times the size standing empty.”

  “I haven’t gotten around to it yet,” she said crossly. “Did you just come here to lecture me about my quarters?”

  “No,” he said, turning to look at her — and the look on his face made her catch her breath. “I came to apologize. I’ve been incredibly unfair to you.”

  “I mean — you’re not wrong, but what do you mean, exactly?” she asked, trying to settle the hammering of her heart in her chest.

  “I’ve been telling myself that my feelings for you are just a result of my feelings for Morag,” he said bluntly. “And that’s simply not true. I kissed you this morning because I wanted you, Delilah. Not Morag. You look like her, but you’re not her. I know that.”

  She stared up at him. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.” He put his hand on the back of her neck, pulled her close — she could feel her pulse racing, feel the closeness of his body against hers.

  She could hardly believe this was happening — hardly believe what he’d said. Could she trust him? Or was he just saying what he needed to say to get her into bed with him? She wanted to trust him — God, she wanted to trust him so badly. What was the worst that could happen? Worst case, he thought she was Morag, and she’d be stuck in the same torturous place she was already in. Best case…. best case he was telling the truth. Best case, he was falling for her the way she was falling for him — and it had nothing at all to do with Morag. It was a risk, she knew it was a risk. But was she really willing to lose this chance at happiness? No, she decided — and before she could talk herself out of it, she reached up on her tiptoes and kissed him, gently but emphatically. To her surprise, he broke away almost immediately.

  “Now come with me to my quarters,” he said, his eyes burning into hers. “Where there’s a proper bed.”

  Chapter 22

  It felt strange to be walking through the semi-deserted corridors with Gavin at her side. Like they were on some secret mission together. There were servants going from door to door, alerting the various inhabitants of each room that the witch hunters were gone and they were free to move around the castle again as normal. Delilah saw Dolores doing her share of the work, tapping on door after door with a friendly twinkle in her eye — she wondered if the woman had seen her sprinting from the kitchen in a misguided attempt to beat Gavin to her room, or whether she’d been tucked up safe and sound in her own quarters
.

  Even though she’d been here several times already — in the middle of the night, in fact, a much more risqué time to be entering a strange man’s quarters — it still felt very strange to be here. She almost felt the need to look left and right before they stepped through the door, as though worried about someone seeing them together. They’d spent plenty of time together — she was already thoroughly incriminated. Even if she wasn’t, the women and men of the castle seemed convinced they were destined for one another regardless — so why did she feel so self-conscious about this?

  With the door closed behind her, Delilah turned to Gavin. The heat between them was immense and undeniable, but there was a hesitation in his movements that mirrored her own concern about what they were doing. She walked toward the table and took a seat, almost at random, fidgeting with the edges of her clothing as she tried to avoid eye contact with him.

  “I heard the men giving you hell about — you know, all this,” she tried, gesturing vaguely at herself and him.

  He chuckled, a little uneasily.

  “Oh, aye. They’ve been at me since you arrived, more or less. They reckon that just because they wound up marryin’ the women they found, I’m destined to do the same thing.”

  “So do the women, if that’s any consolation,” Delilah replied, grinning a little at the tone of fierce vexation in his voice. “Almost since I woke up here. I knew I was meant to end up falling for you before I knew I was in Scotland for sure.”

  “Tell me about where you’re from,” he said softly, moving to sit beside her. “Tell me about Delilah Cortland.”