Highlander Guarded: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander In Time Book 10)

by Rebecca Preston

  Sure enough, the bar was absolutely packed by the time the sun had set. And though she'd been worried about her backstory, it seemed that nobody seemed to care much where she was from or what she was doing there. One or two men asked her name, and when she told them Scarlet, that was the end of it. Again, she wished she'd thought to give Kieran a false name… but it was done now. She was stuck using her real name — he'd told the publican the name, too, and she didn't want any conflicting reports to arouse suspicion. When she thought about it, though, there was no reason not to use her real name. After all, what kind of crimes could possibly be attached to it? Anything illegal she'd ever done… well, she technically didn't exist yet, did she? She hadn't even been born. Who could try her for future crimes?

  In the end, she barely had to offer to buy people drinks. Rounds just kept coming out, and sitting at the bar as she was, chatting with the men there, she was regularly included in those rounds. Scarlet did her best to pace herself, wanting to keep her wits about her as she drank… but thankfully, the ale wasn't quite as strong as her usual fare, and she was able to keep a decent lid on her inebriation. The stories these men told, though… they were utterly wild.

  First, it was the accusations of witchcraft. It seemed the whole area had been beset with witches, or accusations of witches, rumors of witches, bands of roving witch hunters staying in the area for weeks or months hunting for witches… just about every man at the bar had a different story about a run-in with such a witch. She listened patiently, filing away the details, listening for corroborations. From what she could gather — filtered through her existing lens of knowing that some future women were up at the castle — the problem was straightforward. Some people with contemporary medical training had come through. The old Laird's wife was one who came up repeatedly — a woman named Audrina, it was said, with dark red hair and a supernatural knack for curing diseases.

  "She bathes her hands in strange lotions," one of the men said solemnly, his eyes shining with awe. "And they imbue her with the magical power to heal wounds."

  The rest of the men agreed — all of them seemed to know someone who this nurse had helped. Scarlet kept it to herself that bathing her hands was probably the beginning and end of why she got good results — basic hygiene went a long way when it came to medicine. It seemed there was a trained midwife up there, too — several of the men said that their wives had come through difficult births without a whimper. Scarlet bit her lip, thinking of Emily. Even the best midwife couldn't necessarily keep you safe.

  They also told her about a plague that had ripped through the village a few years ago, doing considerable damage before it was finally quelled. That, too, had involved one of the time-lost women, as far as Scarlet could gather — a newcomer to the area they whispered about, a woman named Karin, who seemed to know just what rituals would keep the disease at bay. So far, all she was hearing was the ravings of deluded people who didn't understand science… then again, she thought with a frown, how were they supposed to understand it? She'd picked it up from her father, from it being common knowledge in the era she'd grown up in. For Scarlet, science was second nature… the same way farming was to these people, or riding horses, or any number of skills and talents that she had no idea of. No need to be judgmental about their way of understanding the world, she told herself firmly.

  But the next story gave even Scarlet pause — because it didn't seem to have any kind of rational explanation. The Black Annis, they called it… some kind of horrible monster that preyed on baby animals and children alike. It seemed the monster had taken a couple of children hostage, and they'd have been done for if not for the brave intervention of yet another newcomer to the area, a woman named Helena who knew a great deal about rocks and caves and had dived into the caves in the sandstone cliffs by the Keep to find the lost children and banish the Black Annis.

  "But what was it?" she wanted to know, frowning. "Some kind of wild animal, or…"

  "It was a monster," a woman at the bar cut in, her eyes serious. "A true monster, lassie. They're out there, even if they're rare… and we're lucky to have the folks of Clan MacClaran to keep us safe."

  The assembled men nodded solemnly, murmuring their assent as they raised their glasses to the name MacClaran. She drank too, thinking of Kieran and what he'd told her about his family. All of these women, clearly possessing skills and knowledge from the future… what he'd told her, it seemed, was true, at least from the limited information she'd been able to glean so far. She listened quietly as the men swapped yet more stories, a couple of them getting very heated about a more recent event and whether it had involved one of 'those MacClaran women'.

  "No, no. Brianna wasn't involved," one of them said. But the other was shaking his head.

  "I'm telling you, when Weatherby was captured, she was the one who talked the Stuarts out of it," he said firmly.

  "No, no. It was Robert MacClaran."

  "Aye, with the help of his lady wife, you daft fool —"

  "Weatherby was captured?" she interjected, not warning a tavern brawl to break out when she was just about to learn something interesting. Hadn't Kieran mentioned the Weatherbys being related to the woman he'd been in love with, the woman who so resembled Scarlet? She was interested despite herself to hear what had been going on in the manor house where the Lord apparently lived…

  "Oh, aye. When the Stuart refugees were causing all that trouble up and down the highway," one of the men said, shaking his head. "I've still got the scar from an arrow wound courtesy of those bastards."

  "There are ladies present, Brian," another of the men scolded him, smacking him across the back of the head.

  "I don't mind," Scarlet chuckled. "I swear like a sailor myself. Refugees, you said?"

  "Aye, awful harvest on their lands sent them running to us for help," Brian said with a shake of his head. "They ended up robbing and stealing, just to make ends meet. Eventually they took Weatherby hostage, demanding reparations, and enough food for their families in response. The MacClarans sorted it all out, though. Brianna and her husband," he said quickly, heading off disagreement from the others.

  Interesting. There was quite a range of skills among these women… and interesting, too, that upon their arrival in the area, they'd all been called upon to make use of those skills. Where did that leave her? She had a suspicion that none of the women so far were thieves… was she going to end up having to use her skills as a criminal to achieve some great boon for the local community?

  It wasn't long before the conversation moved on… and before too long, she found herself drawn to a table in the back of the pub, where a complicated card game was being played. With a vague excuse about the rules being different in England, nobody had commented on her accent yet, but she wanted to make it clear that she was from out of town in case anyone wondered at how many questions she was asking about the area, she watched a few rounds, trying to pick up the rules… and, more importantly, figuring out how to cheat. An even better way of robbing someone was to gamble with them. Then you could take their money right in front of their faces.

  Still, she didn't want to clean her new friends out completely — that would be unkind, and likely to cause ill feeling. So, she lost her first few hands with some very obvious bad bluffing and some easy mistakes, just to set them at their ease. They played on late into the night, with Scarlet skillfully edging ahead in the winnings… all the while hiding her growing hoard in her skirt pockets when the pile of coins started to look too big. By the end of the night, she'd liberated a small fortune from her friends, with none of them any the wiser — in fact, she had a suspicion that a few of them were worried that she was worse off than she'd been at the start of the night. Well, that suited her fine. Let the rumor spread that she was easy to fleece at cards… it would bring her more willing victims.

  "Not to worry," she said brightly, jangling the coins in her pocket. "Father sent plenty of money along with me — you won't have me starving on the streets
any time soon."

  There was a roar of laughter, and a couple of the men slapped her on the back, making her grin. It felt good, having some friends around her… even if they were new friends, and probably more interested in the contents of her purse than the contents of her character. Still, a night of drinking and gambling had been just what she needed to feel more at home here… and, of course, a night of robbing everyone around her blind.

  Things were looking up, in this deeply weird new chapter of her life. But she couldn't stop her mind from straying back to the question of Lord Weatherby, of what relation he'd had to her doppelganger Emily… and what he'd say if he discovered her, the spitting image of his lost cousin, hanging out in the pub with the locals?

  Chapter 9

  The days seemed to fly by. She got to know a few of the locals better — the woman who ran the general store down the street from the pub, a couple of the locals who came into the pub for lunch every day. They all knew her as Scarlet, a young woman whose father was indulging her wanderlust by paying for her to travel around Scotland, visiting various family and relatives… she felt a prickle of worry, though, knowing that her affected accent would definitely lead to conclusions that she was here visiting Lord Weatherby. She was still so curious about the man, about his elaborate manor home, and about just what connection he'd had with her doppelganger, his cousin, the woman she so resembled, the woman that Kieran had mistaken her for at first, that first night they'd met…

  They ended up having dinner together, Kieran and Scarlet, a few nights after she'd arrived. After a couple of days spent staking the town out, learning as much as she could about the area and robbing more than a few careless pub-goers blind — in cards as well as by pickpocketing — she was ready to talk with Kieran again… and had more than a few more specific questions for him than he'd managed to answer that first night. He seemed pleased to see her when he turned up at the pub, and she was reminded again of how handsome he was. Well, there had to be some perks to getting lost in time, didn't there?

  "You seem to be settling in well," he commented as they settled in to eat their meals — shepherds' pie, a specialty of the publican and Scarlet's specific request, having enjoyed it so much on her first full day in town. "Are you coping with all the changes?"

  "Coping?" she said blankly, her mouth still full of piping hot mashed potato. "Oh. Right. The time travel. Well, part of me still thinks it's all a very vivid hallucination, but I haven't suffered complete mental collapse yet, so I think I'm coping fine. How are you coping?" she challenged him, raising an eyebrow. "With the spitting image of your wife being back in town."

  "Well enough," he said softly, smiling back at her. "It's been seven years, so the bulk of my grieving is done."

  "And you know that I'm not her, right? You've got that particular fact squared away."

  "I know you're not her. Though I'll admit, the accent isn't helping." He tilted his head to the side, curious. "Why are you speaking like her?"

  She bit her lip. Of course, it would disturb him, hearing her speak with Emily's accent. But what choice did she have? "It's the only European accent I can do reliably," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "I figured it would raise fewer questions among the locals to pretend I was from England, so — here we are."

  "You can't do a Scottish accent?"

  "Not to save my life," she said, in her absolute best attempt at an imitation of his accent. He spluttered laughter, almost choking on the mouthful of food he'd been working on, and she shoved his ale closer to him, grinning ruefully as he laughed and laughed.

  "Good Lord, you weren't joking," he gasped, wiping his eyes. "That was atrocious."

  "Yes, well, you see why I opted for this one."

  "I do indeed," he said solemnly, shaking his head. "My word. Promise never to do that again."

  "I will," she said quickly, sensing a semi-flirtatious little opening she could use. "If you promise to do something for me."

  "And what's that?"

  "Answer some of my questions."

  He smiled, nodding. "Aye, I think I can do that."

  "Alright. First off, I want a rap sheet of all the women who are like me. In order of arrival, if possible. Names, professions, short summary of what happened to them here."

  He blinked. "Off the top of my head?"

  "If at all possible," she said sweetly. "I can wait for more accurate information, if you'd like to run recon before you get back to me."

  "Well, given that I've no idea what that means, I suppose I'd better give it a go now. Alright. Let's see. First was Audrina — she's a nurse," he said, glancing up at her for confirmation that he was giving her what she wanted. "She married Laird Colin. The spitting image of his lost love, so it's said. Then there's Cora, a midwife. Married Ian MacClaran — after almost getting done in by witch hunters, I'll add. Marianne, she teaches the local children to ride, and it's rumored she's a white witch, too. Married to Eamon MacClaran." He was counting on his fingers, and she resisted the urge to make fun of him when he was giving her exactly what she needed. "Fiona, Laird Donal's wife. She's some kind of inventor — always adding strange new things to the castle. Oh, and Karin — she saved us all from the plague when it came through, so it's said. Married William MacClaran, the old grouch. Then the Cortland sisters — Delilah and Bethany. One was a soldier in the old world, so she says, the other studied old stories. Married to…" He frowned. "One of them married Graham and the other Gavin, but I cannot for the life of me remember which."

  "You're doing very well," Scarlet said, raising an eyebrow. "Good memory." Her memory was the most useful among her thieves' tools — she always appreciated that feature in others. "So, you're telling me each and every one of these women ended up married to a MacClaran? Or are you only listing the married ones?"

  "That's how it turned out," Kieran said, looking a little abashed. "Part of the curse, so it's said. These time-travelers are the reincarnations of their lost loves… the witch who placed the curse ensured that their love would survive the ages, too."

  She frowned. "And they were all —"

  "The spitting image of the lost women, yes. Absolutely identical."

  She was no expert in genetics, but she had a suspicion that naturally-occurring identical twins didn't tend to be separated by generations upon generations. Was there a scientific explanation for all of this? Or was it magic? Was she just supposed to accept that magic was a reasonable explanation, now? She was itching to speak to some of these women, wanting to get to the bottom of things — but Kieran was speaking again.

  "There's also Brianna. I've only met her recently. She was a guardswoman in her own time — a policewoman, so she said. Her husband Robert is my cousin — he told me she all but handled a hostage situation at Lord Weatherby's all by herself."

  "Yeah, I heard about that," she said absently, but a cool chill had taken hold of her heart. So, one of the women was a cop. That made things complicated. Sure, they were hundreds of years away from any police precinct that she'd recognize, or that would recognize half her crimes, as tech-reliant as they were these days, but cops didn't change. If this Brianna was a cop, Scarlet wasn't too keen to have anything to do with her. "Not such a fan of the cops, if you ask me."

  "Well, she's retired now," Kieran said with a shrug. But there was a worried look on his face. "You know I'm a member of the Guard, right?"

  "What does that mean?"

  "I keep the law," he said with a shrug. "I protect the Keep and the people of these lands from those who'd do harm and mischief."

  "So, you're a cop, or a security guard?" she wanted to know, narrowing her eyes. She had very different problems with both professions — but she also didn't want to throw away this friendship, not when it was clear that Kieran MacClaran knew a great deal about the curse that brought her here, and would be integral in helping her leave, if that was even possible.

  "Neither," he said, looking ruffled by the question. "And both."

  "Great," s
he said, rolling her eyes. "Let's move on, shall we?" If they kept arguing, she was likely to get annoyed with him — she was only grateful that she hadn't revealed too much about her life back in the future. What would he think of her if he knew she was the kind of scoundrel that he spent his life pursuing? But something struck her. "Wait. If you're a cop, where's your — uniform, or armor, or whatever?"

  He looked a little embarrassed. "Well, I haven't exactly been… in active service, as it were. Not for a while."

  "Yeah?" She had other questions… but this one had intrigued her. "What happened there?"

  "After Emily's death… well, I fell into drink more than I'm proud of," he said softly, gazing down at the flagon in his hand. "I was in no state to do that kind of work. Besides that, there were… well, some hard feelings associated with Emily's death. The Laird wasn't especially keen on letting me charge off and find out what had happened, so…"

  But that had piqued her interest. "What do you mean, what had happened? She died in childbirth, didn't she?"

  His face was shadowed. "Aye, that's the extent of it. But… well. I was so hurt, so broken by her death, I suppose I… thought there was more to it than that. I hoped that someone had been responsible for her death, that I could blame someone. I was… I was a wreck," he added, waving a hand dismissively. To her surprise, there were tears standing in his eyes, and she averted her gaze as he dashed them away, feeling like she was intruding on something that ought to have been private.