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

by Rebecca Preston

  She ran into Kieran, too. He was on shift, working on the walls, and when she sauntered out after lunch, she was surprised to see him up there, waving down at her with a broad grin on his face and a helmet on his head. It made him look just like all the other guards, and she felt an ominous chill run down her spine as she looked at him. So many guards… what would they do if they knew she was a thief, that she'd robbed Weatherby and wouldn't think twice about robbing this place if she had to? Calm down, Scarlet, she told herself firmly. They were friendly men, and she had no reason to wrong them.

  Not yet, at any rate.

  Kieran finished his shift just before sunset, and she promised to come back then, to escort him to dinner so they could catch up about how her first day there had been. She didn't have the heart to break it to him that she found the castle boring, that her mind was restless and elsewhere… so she lied, where she could, and improvised in other places, building a picture of a reasonably nice day spent exploring.

  And so the days passed. The restlessness she felt had to be forced down — she knew it was important to build these people's trust, to seem as though she was intending to stay here for the duration. It would rouse too much suspicion to be tearing off to town, asking questions about Emily and Weatherby and the like, turning up with a mysterious amount of currency in her pockets… when Audrina kindly brought her a little pouch full of coins as spending money, saying that she might need some local currency and patiently explaining what each coin was worth, she had to fight back the urge to laugh. She'd stolen and spent ten times that much in the village already… but nevertheless, she thanked her kindly, stashing the coins away. You never knew when you'd need an emergency fund.

  And when she did get bored… well, at least she had Kieran to occupy her time. He was quite besotted with her, she realized with a sinking feeling in her stomach… and to her dismay, she couldn't help flirting back when he approached her. There was just an electricity between them that drew her in despite her determination to keep her cool, to keep a distance… and in the end, she reasoned, what could it hurt? He was going to be upset when she disappeared either way… keeping him at an arm's length would hardly soften the blow, would it? So she let herself be drawn in, let her gaze linger longer than it should, let him steal touches and caresses under the table at dinner, let his eyes light on her across the room…

  And then, one night, she found herself alone with him in his chambers.

  It had started as a silly argument — she'd been telling him that men were all messy by nature, and that nobody could beat that terrible tendency out of them no matter how hard they tried. He, by contrast, claimed to be extraordinarily neat. She'd called bullshit, of course, repeatedly, accusing him of only saying that because he wanted to impress her.

  "Aye, I do want to impress you," he said impatiently, "but I wouldn't do so by lying. My chambers are spotless. Come right now and see. We'll go together, so you'll know I haven't had a chance to run ahead and clean."

  And she'd agreed, before she even really knew what she was agreeing to. There had been an odd charge to the air as they'd walked down the corridors toward his chambers — on a higher floor than hers, and a little roomier, as he'd explained. The castle's population had been growing over the last few years, in part because of all the stranded time-travelers being added to their numbers, but he'd still managed to get installed in a room that was technically intended for two to share.

  "Want to swap?" she suggested brightly. "I'd love a bit more space." The room was lovely — and, she had to admit, very neat. The bed was well made, the floor was swept, and every surface was spotless. She even checked the top of his wardrobe for dust and found none. "Impressive," she couldn't help but say, shaking her head. "I do hate to admit it, MacClaran, but you've beaten me."

  "And what's my prize, then?"

  She looked up at him, suddenly close, those blue-green eyes inches from hers all of a sudden, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to lean up and kiss him, a smile dancing across her lips. What she wasn't prepared for was the heat between them, the spark, the way his hands came to grab at her back and hers were suddenly clutching him by the lapel, the kiss drowning them both as they clung to each other, something thundering through them both… before she knew it he had her pinned against the stone wall of the castle, his hands roaming across her body as they both gasped for breath between kisses, and she pressed herself back against him, giving as good as she got, her own hands digging admiringly into the muscles of his back…

  And then they broke away, both breathing hard. Even Kieran looked shellshocked by what had just happened, and she tried to catch her breath as she stared back at him, entirely unsure of what to say. Sure, there'd been flirtation between them — only a fool wouldn't have noticed that. This was a natural progression. But God, the passion of it… she hadn't felt anything like that before. It wasn't unpleasant, but it certainly was a surprise… and as he leaned in again to kiss her, tilting her head up as his fingertips reached for the laces that held her gown in place, she felt her body tensing up.

  And to her great relief, it seemed, so did Kieran. He froze, drew his hands back quickly from the laces of her gown, pulling away a little as he looked into her face, cautious but not worried, tilting his head a little to the side in wordless enquiry. She relaxed a little as he moved back, feeling her heart beating against her chest, feeling strange and shy and far from the confident, cocky persona she usually projected into the world.

  "I, um. You took me by surprise a little, there," she said, keeping her voice guarded.

  Kieran smiled a little. "I was a little shocked myself. I was wondering whether I was imagining this… this thing I sense between us. Whether I might be… imposing old memories."

  "No," she said, shaking her head quickly. Whatever secrets she might be keeping, she didn't want him to think he was making things up when it came to her attraction to him. Her signals, as much as she'd wanted to be subtle, had been clear as a bell. "No, Kieran, you're not imagining anything, I — I'm attracted to you. I just… it's all — complicated."

  "Of course," he said softly, reaching out to brush her cheek with his fingertips, infinitely tender. "Don't worry. I'm not — I'm no rogue," he said, drawing a half-hearted chuckle from her. "I won't push you anywhere you don't want to go."

  "Thanks," she said, feeling strangely like she was admitting a weakness. Why did it feel like weakness, to establish a boundary about sexual contact, about kissing? God, her last few relationships really had done a number on her. "I talk a big game, and everything, but I'm not exactly — the most experienced woman on Earth."

  He tilted his head, curiously. "Are you a virgin?"

  She blinked, thrown by the question… but there was something so simple and honest about the question that she didn't feel at all strange about answering it. "I haven't done much."

  "Right," he said, smiling simply. "We'll move slowly; if we move at all. May I escort you back to your room?"

  Later, lying in bed and trying to dissect everything that had just happened, Scarlet found herself shaking her head in wonder. Why had it taken travelling five hundred years into the past to find a man who wouldn't try to push her into sex?

  And why did it have to be one she was about to abandon completely?

  Chapter 22

  She didn't have long to brood on the subject, at least. After a long night of restless sleep, interrupted by dreams about Kieran that went a great deal further than the two of them had in his chambers the night before, she woke and slouched down to breakfast, only to find herself confronted with a great deal of gossip. A servant she barely knew grabbed her by the wrist, telling her with wide eyes that Lord Weatherby himself was outside the castle gates in a carriage, insisting on an audience with the Laird. She felt an icy chill run down her spine, certain that this had something to do with her… but not wanting to believe it.

  "Does he do this often?"

  "Not at all!" the servant said breathl
essly. "He hasn't been here in years, ma'am! Especially since all the chaos with the Stuart refugees… what on earth could he want, do you think?"

  "No idea," Scarlet lied, wide-eyed.

  The two of them shared another breathless moment of surprise before the servant excused herself, no doubt hurrying off to find someone who was a bit more fun to gossip with. Shit. Had he found some things missing, maybe? She'd nicked what she'd guessed to be some decent mid-range valuables — worth a lot to someone like her, but so numerous in Weatherby's collection of nonsense that they weren't likely to represent too much of a financial hit. Then again, she was hardly an expert in sixteenth century antiques… they weren't even antiques at the moment, were they? Had she nicked something really valuable, something Weatherby had come all the way across the countryside to bother her for? And what was more — to bother the MacClarans? Weren't they a little bit dark on each other at the moment? Had his anger with her really overcome his anger with the MacClarans?

  She braced herself, reminding herself that as a perfectly ordinary guest of the castle, she had no reason to be worried about Weatherby visiting the MacClarans. She'd just play the role of a completely regular, normal time traveler until someone physically forced her to confess to her crimes. At least she'd been able to stash the little trinkets she'd stolen — they were safe and sound in her room, buried under a false flap she'd sewn into her rucksack for just that purpose. Nobody would find her stolen goods… unless they were deliberately looking for them, of course. But when they reached the point of searching her room, well, she'd have bigger problems to worry about, wouldn't she?

  Still, she felt uneasy when she went into the Great Hall for breakfast. She sought out the other women, noticing immediately that Fiona was not among them — she bit her lip, wondering where the woman and her husband were if not at breakfast. It wasn't unheard of for the Laird to take meals in his quarters, or while having meetings with his staff, but the last few mornings he'd been here, bright and cheerful as he chatted with Fiona and his fellow MacClaran men. She'd still found him a little too intimidating to talk too much — besides, something about those thoughtful eyes of his made her worry he was going to see straight through her.

  And he was nowhere to be found this morning. Gnawing worriedly on her bottom lip, she served herself a bowl of porridge and went to find a quiet corner to eat in. Why did it feel like she was waiting for the hammer to fall? Kieran joined her soon enough, as had been his habit lately, wearing his guard uniform and giving her that bright, cheery smile that always managed to melt about three layers of the ice walls she'd tried to put up around her heart. That was okay. She could build them pretty quickly.

  "Have you heard the gossip?" she couldn't help but ask him, raising an eyebrow.

  "Gossip?"

  "Lord Weatherby's here for a visit, apparently."

  Kieran's eyes widened a little, his mind clearly racing along the same tracks that hers had already covered. Smiling a little, she waited for him to catch up — and his expression was about as worried as hers when he finally looked back at her. "Ah."

  "Yes. Ah." She found herself gnawing at her bottom lip again. That was becoming a bad habit. "I don't suppose he's going to demand that I be handed over to him?"

  "Unlikely in the extreme."

  That was another voice — she blinked a little as she turned to see the gruff Eamon MacClaran, Captain of the Guard, standing behind her with a somber expression on his face. He was an intimidating man, built like a bear, and he sat down heavily at the table with him. He must have just come off a shift — he looked weary as he rubbed his forehead, and he shot her a curious look from beneath his furrowed brows. "What's your relationship with Lord Weatherby?"

  Scarlet felt an odd urge to protest that. But she knew what he meant. "He had a family connection to my — whatever. Ancestor. Descendant. To Emily," she said finally, not liking the way she felt scared to mention the woman's name. It was odd — it made her feel kind of… protective of Kieran. Jealous, almost. As though she didn't want to remind him of Emily's existence in case he… in case he what? Liked her more than Scarlet? Don't be stupid, she scolded herself. Emily was his wife, you're some lookalike he's flirting with on the off chance you'll sleep with him. Don't get it twisted. But somehow, she couldn't bring herself to believe that she meant so little to Kieran. Hmm. Feelings to be wrangled with later, perhaps, once the Weatherby crisis was dealt with.

  "Ah. Right. And you met with him the other night?"

  "Yes," she said, diplomatically refraining to mention the circumstances of that meeting. As far as Kieran knew, no breaking and entering had occurred — she'd simply gone on in, somehow, and met the man that way. As for the fleeing from the guards… well, she wasn't going to bring it up if Kieran didn't. "He was rather shocked to see me."

  "It seems he didn't see enough of you," Eamon said with a raised eyebrow. "My men went out to question him when his carriage pulled up just after dawn. He's insisting on an audience with you. At his estate, preferably."

  A chill ran down her spine. "I'm not going back there," she said, too quickly, remembering the casual way he'd ordered his guards to manhandle her into a room, to trap her before sending her back off to London to be… what, re-educated? No. That wasn't happening. She wouldn't let it. She'd cut his throat before — but Eamon was chuckling.

  "Of course you're not," he said firmly, giving her a meaningful look that served to settle her heartbeat and calm her considerably. "You're a guest here — you're one of us, as far as we're concerned, and Weatherby can rail and demand all he wants, we'll not be handing you over to him. The Laird's with him now," he added, gesturing towards the other side of the castle. "Meeting with him in the special room he hates using."

  "Special room?"

  "Oh, it's attached to the Laird's quarters. Some kind of audience room designed for fancy meetings. Laird Colin never used it, and Donal's followed squarely in his footsteps," Eamon said with a shake of his head. "Most hearings are done either in here, or in the Laird's quarters proper. But Weatherby's a special case. He hasn't set foot in Keep grounds in years."

  "All this fuss for me," Scarlet said drily. "I'd be flattered if it wasn't all so deeply uncomfortable."

  Eamon chuckled. "Well, I'll be stopping in on the two of them presently. Shall I send a message?"

  She bit her lip. What message could she possibly send to Lord Weatherby? Hi, sorry about all the fuss with your guards? "Did you say he was demanding to talk to me?"

  "Aye, that was on his list."

  "Let me come with you," she said firmly, making up her mind. "I'll speak to him at least."

  "Scarlet — you don't have to do that," Kieran said quickly, his eyes full of worry. He clearly thought she was still traumatized from the other night, from nearly being captured by Weatherby's guards… or was it something else? Flashbacks, perhaps, to what had happened to Emily? She steeled her heart against the strange feelings that set off in her.

  "It's okay," she reassured him with a smile. "I'm happy to speak to him, at least. As long as I have your word that I won't be thrown in the back of his carriage like a sack of potatoes and carried off to London," she added with a warning look to Eamon, who chuckled. But Kieran still looked worried.

  "You'll be careful, won't you? Lord Weatherby… he's a laughable figure, but he's rich, and he's influential. He has the capacity to cause a great deal of trouble for everyone on these lands — the village, the Keep, everybody. The peace is so fragile… you'll be careful, won't you?"

  Careful? Scarlet? She had a PhD in being careful, she wanted to snap… but then again, he hadn't exactly seen a lot of evidence of that in her, had he? The woman he knew so far was the one who'd gone sneaking off to a heavily guarded manor against explicit instruction not to, and then been chased through the woods by dozens of guards… hell, she'd been about to wade through an icy river in the dead of the night when he'd found her. Who knew where she'd be if it wasn't for Kieran? So, she just nodded, taking hi
s point. "I'll be diplomatic."

  "Thank you," Kieran said softly, smiling at her. "I trust you."

  She carried that with her like a strange little burning ember in her chest as Eamon escorted her down the hallways of the Keep toward this so-called audience room. He trusted her. Why the hell did he trust her? They'd barely known each other a week, if that — he had no idea who she was, what she was capable of, even what she did for a living. She'd lied to him constantly, misled him, defied his instructions… what kind of idiot would trust her after all of that? And yet, no matter how much she tried to summon scorn and loathing for him, all she kept coming up with was… affection. Fondness. And, she was realizing with disgust, a fair bit of her own trust in him. Stupid girl, she scolded herself with a shake of her head that she hid from Eamon. A brief burst of attraction and suddenly she was forgetting all of her hard-won lessons about men being jackasses who weren't worth her time? Typical.

  Well, she'd beat herself up for catching feelings later. For now… she had a game to play. As they approached a door that was guarded by not the usual two, but four guards, she felt a chill run down her spine. Two of the men were familiar — they were dressed in the armor and livery of Weatherby's manor. The other two were in MacClaran tartan, and a much more reassuring presence… she fought the urge to look the Manor guards in the eye, worried that she'd recognize the men who'd chased her through the woods…

  Eamon led her through with a brief salute to the gathered guards. They seemed to have been expecting her, all four of them stepping back politely to offer her passage to the hearing room. Sure enough, it was more ornate and stuffy than the rest of the castle — there was a huge, framed portrait of a man she didn't recognize in pride of place on the back wall, and a large, imposing chair on which Laird Donal was seated, looking more than a little annoyed about the situation. Opposite him, on a stuffed armchair, fussing with his velvet robes, was Lord Weatherby himself. Baldric was there too, she realized with a flash of relief. At least there was a voice of reason in the room.