To Win a Highland Scot: A Time-Traveler’s Highland Love, Book 3

by Gill, Tamara

  The tapestry, of course. The day Boyd Macleod, Chief of the Macleod clan, faced the Fae Queen and lost everything he had ever loved. "The tapestry you mention that the laird is having made and is due in several months… Does this by any chance depict the day he lost his wife?” If such a thing could be confirmed, and she had access to it when it was delivered, maybe it would send her home, and this nightmare would be over.

  "I believe that is the case, Maya. ’Tis not ready yet, has been years in the making, but we hope to have it here by Samhain." Mrs. Fletcher studied her a moment before she said, "You believe the tapestry will send you home should you touch it again?"

  “I do,” she said, but a little of her hope fled at the woman’s statement. Samhain was months away, that's if the time lined up the same. It had been June when she was in her time. Maybe it was closer to Samhain than she thought.

  "What month are we in?" she queried, praying the woman said late October, which would place her right near the time the tapestry may be ready.

  "’Tis June, lass."

  Maya swallowed the lump that wedged in her throat. It would be no use to anyone to fall into a heap of tears. There was little she could do until the tapestry was ready. Other than the Fae turning up again and sending her home.

  She pulled herself out of her dejected musings and looked over to the older woman. She supposed she had to thank her lucky stars that Mrs. Fletcher seemed like a nice lady. One with an open mind who wouldn't tie her to a pole and burn her as a witch simply because she appeared one night in the Great Hall. "My only chance of returning home is to remain here until the tapestry returns. I can only pray that it sends me back home. I do not belong in this time. I have friends who’ll worry about me. They’ll think something awful has happened."

  Mrs. Fletcher nodded, taking in Maya's words and finding merit in them. "While I doona know all the particulars of time travel, I do believe this to be true. You touching the tapestry and that it sent you here can only mean one thing. You are the key to the clan’s future. You are the way in which our laird will find love and peace."

  "Me?" Maya said, her word coming out as a squeak. She didn't want to be any laird’s great love and certainly not one who was over a hundred years old. Eww. Her lip curled up in disgust at the thought of trying to win his affections. She was only twenty-seven. If he had been cursed a hundred years already and had been married before that, he would be at least 120 years old. "The laird will not be interested in me, and I'm certainly not interested in playing this game. I'm sure other Scottish lasses could warm his bed."

  Mrs. Fletcher's brow furrowed in a confused frown. "The laird may be 127 years old, but he doona look a day over twenty-five. Meet the laird first and then see what you think. He's used to me throwing women in his path, but none have ever captured his heart. You, however, my dear, I think may be different. The Fae Queen cursed him until he found a love greater than the one he had with his wife. We have tried many women of his time, all of them sent home without harm or husband. But the Fae doona think about a woman out of time that may be sent back to claim the laird's heart. You may be just the woman to break this curse and find love while you are here."

  Maya stared at Mrs. Fletcher, wondering if the older woman had lost her mind. She had touched a stupid tapestry, that was all. That did not mean she was destined to break an ancient curse in a bygone time.

  "Come, lass, we'll get you settled in your room and dressed. Canna have you walking around in those clothes,” she said, distaste crossing her features as if her uniform offended her in some way.

  Maya glanced down at her black trousers and shirt, the white apron she still had tied over the front. She debated making a run for it, bolting out the castle and grounds, but then where would she go? She knew no one, and if she really was in 1510, then the time would not be safe for a woman wandering about Scotland.

  No, Druiminn Castle held the key to her returning home, or at least when the tapestry was finished and was finally hung on the walls, it would. She would touch the silk thread again and pray it threw her back into her time. Until then, she would bide her time and her tongue and pray that she would be home soon, and all this would be nothing but a nightmare to forget.

  Chapter 3

  Boyd strode into the Great Hall and started for the dais. His clansmen were enjoying the nightly feast already. The hum of conversation, laughter, and jesting soothed a part of his soul and made his long life worth something, knowing his people were well cared for and content.

  He slumped down into his chair, nodding for a serving wench to pour him ale.

  He'd spent the day out in the fields, looking over the harvest, the crops, and discussing the good yields they should gain this year.

  A bowl of stew, the smell of game, onions, and garlic wafted up to him, and his stomach rumbled, reminding him he'd not eaten since breaking his fast at dawn.

  Boyd ripped some bread apart and dipped it into the steaming hot meal, engrossed himself for a moment with the food's deliciousness when the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking out over the hall. His people sat staring at the archway that led to the spiraling stone staircase leading to the upstairs bedchambers. Boyd frowned, dread coiling in his gut that the Fae had returned, that the queen herself had shown her fickle human form again to his people after all these years.

  But it was not the Fae Queen. It was his housekeeper and another lass, one whom he did not recognize. He shut his eyes a moment, sighing at the sight of the lass who looked as startled as his people.

  It seemed Mrs. Fletcher had found another woman to parade before him like a peahen, ruffling their tail feathers and trying to gain the peacock's attention.

  Well, he had enough of his housekeeper's infuriating meddling, and he'd not put up with it a moment longer. The lass could stay, of course. To send her home to her family without housing her for a time would be a great insult, but he'd not do much else to make her stay here worthwhile.

  He had long given up any hope of having another woman in his life. His wife was lost to him, had never tried to visit with him or give him hope.

  A little part of him hated her for that. Sorcha had meant everything to him, and yet she had never once defied the Fae to try to see him. If only to say a proper goodbye.

  He would never forgive her for that.

  Out the corner of his eye, he could see Mrs. Fletcher walking the woman toward him, and he supposed she would be deposited at the dais to eat dinner.

  He stared out over the hall, glaring at his people when they continued to watch him and his reaction to the intrusion. Understanding dawned on their features, and they turned back to their meals, pretending at least not to be taking notice of what was happening at their laird's table.

  Mrs. Fletcher cleared her throat, coming to stand before him. "This is our clan chief, Boyd Macleod. Laird, this is Maya Harris. She will be staying with us for a time."

  Boyd threw a displeased glance at Mrs. Fletcher before he recommenced eating. "A pleasure," he mumbled, not bothering to look at the lass. He had seen hundreds of them over the years, Mrs. Fletcher's ancestors as nosy and infuriating as the woman before him. Throughout the hundred years his housekeeper’s family had served him, they had also tried to serve up women as often as meals. He was tired of it all.

  "Sit down here, lass. I'll fetch you some food."

  Boyd chewed his meal, ignoring the sweet-smelling scent that wafted over to him when she sat. Citrus, he mused, downing his ale.

  He hoped she could not smell his odor. After the hard day's work, he knew he would stink. He should have bathed before dinner, but he had not expected his housekeeper to produce another lass for him to ignore.

  Mrs. Fletcher brought a bowl of stew and a cup of wine. The lass did not delve into her food straightaway but went for the wine itself. She drank continuously, and when she placed the cup down upon the table, the hollowness of the sound told Boyd the goblet was empty
.

  His lips twitched at the notion she liked her wine, but he frowned instead, making a point to eat, to finish his meal so he could escape and get the hell out of the hall and away from the lass beside him.

  "You're cursed, Mrs. Fletcher said."

  Boyd spat out his ale, turning to face her, and the moment he did, he knew it to be a mistake. Dark-blue eyes looked up at him expectantly, long, dark lashes fanned across her cheeks each time she blinked. He’d never seen the like before. He wanted to reach out and touch them to see if they were real, for never had he ever seen lashes as long as the woman’s beside him.

  Her lips were full, a little too pouty for his liking, and yet his groin flexed at the sight of her luscious lips. He wiped his mouth, staring at her. He knew he had not answered, and yet, the words would not come. He cleared his throat, reminding himself he never dallied with the lasses Mrs. Fletcher brought before him to inspect.

  He wasn't a man who needed a woman in his life. He had a wife, and no matter how bitter he may be at Sorcha for leaving him, he was a patient man. To wait another hundred years to have her in his arms would be a hardship, but one he would bear. He would not touch another female unless it were the woman he had promised to love for all time.

  "Aye, I'm cursed, and if you are a smart lass, you will hie yourself back to your family and never look back toward Macleod land again."

  She shrugged, and his eyes dipped to the blue velvet gown she wore. He clenched his jaw at the sight of her breasts, rising and falling with each breath. She was a comely wench, and yet she wasn't for him.

  No one was.

  "I'm unable to return home at present. Otherwise, I would. I assure you."

  "You are English. Whatever made you think to travel to the Highlands to gain a husband? Are there none in England who will do you very well?"

  She chuckled, poking at her food with a spoon. Had the lass never seen stew before? Was she daft of mind, and that's why her family had sent her here? It was well known in the Highlands that he was cursed, a man not to be crossed. All thanks to the Fae and their shrew queen who ruined his life, his legacy. However, the lasses didn't seem to mind his past and continued to parade through his doors when their family allowed.

  She pinned him with her stare. "No matter what Mrs. Fletcher may have said to you, Macleod, I do not want a husband, but I do need you to allow me to stay here for a few months at least before I return home. If you permit me to stay, I promise not to harass you with the possibility of marriage."

  He turned, staring at her. Was this some kind of game she was playing? Was she trying to fool him into a false sense of salvation? "You doona want to marry me? Am I not good enough for you then?" Boyd wasn't sure why he was so displeased with the notion that the comely lass beside him didn’t want his hand in marriage, but it grated on his nerves. Every lass wished to win the heart of the cursed Laird Boyd Macleod. Over the years, it had become somewhat of a living legend, a game for those who wished to play, not that anyone ever won.

  Only the Fae won this war, and he and Sorcha were the losers.

  But this English lass did not want to win his heart. What the devil? "A Scottish lad not good enough for your pure, sweet, English blood?" Even to Boyd, his tone reeked of sarcasm and annoyance.

  "Nothing of the kind, I promise you. But I do not know you, and I don't particularly like being thrown into situations not of my own making. I don't know about you, but I feel extremely uncomfortable knowing your people think I'm here to win your heart. I would prefer that we could be friends until it is time that I leave."

  The pleading note in her voice pulled at a part of him he'd thought long obsolete. He rubbed his chest, shrugging. What did it matter what this lass wanted to do or not? He had no intention of trying to get her to warm his bed. To occupy his heart. "You may stay, and I promise you in return that I shall not try to molest you in any way either. I doona want to marry you any more than you want to marry me."

  She smiled, sighing in relief, and Boyd stilled. For an English lass, she was comely, more so than any of the women paraded before him in the past hundred years. What was a woman of such beauty doing unmarried? Somebody surely should have handfasted her years ago.

  "It's settled then. We're to be friends and nothing more."

  He stared at her, unsure if the lass was sound. What woman doona want Laird Boyd Macleod to be her husband? Mrs. Fletcher had brought him the only one in England and Scotland who did not.

  His housekeeper must be losing her touch.

  This wee English lass was different. He wasn't sure how he felt about that right now, nor did he care to dwell on the facts. He merely wished to eat his dinner, drink his good ale, and be left alone. He'd been isolated for a hundred years. Of all the women who could accost him now and ruin his dinner, it was this English one. The idea dinna bear thinking over.

  As if his life couldn't get any worse.

  But it just had.

  Chapter 4

  The following day Maya found herself standing out the front of Druiminn Castle, staring back at a building she hardly recognized. Gone was the second tower, the great front doors that joined the original part of the castle with the newer build that still stood today in her time. The bridge that crossed over the slow-flowing river was there, but less ornate than the one that stood today. There was a stone wall that surrounded the castle, kept those who looked out over the ocean safe from falling in.

  The ocean that crashed against the back of the castle's fortifications remained unchanged, as did the forest that lay past the river. Would the small town of Druiminn still be there? Would it be as quaint and welcoming as it always appeared?

  A group of guards strode past her, their Scottish dialect thick and hard to decipher, and yet some words were easy to separate.

  Sassenach. English wench after a rich husband. The laird’s future bride.

  She stared after them, hoping that none of those things became truth.

  She didn't want to marry Boyd Macleod any more than he wished to marry her, even if he was one of the most handsome men she'd ever met in her life.

  The tapestry in her time did not do him justice. When he'd stood after finishing his hastily eaten meal the night before, she'd been shocked mute by his height.

  The size of his pecs was enough to distract her, and she'd drank way too much red wine by then to stop her ogling. Worse was the fact she'd dreamed of him, not a sweet-natured one either. But a hot, dirty dream that made her curious about the man more than she ought to be.

  He was a medieval laird. He was used to getting his way with his servants, his people, and his women. She didn't want to be part of his adoring pets.

  Maya turned to look out over the forest, thinking of her dream. Macleod had stormed her room, finding her in bed, groggy and a little unsure from having been woken up. He had yanked the covers off her naked form before he'd come over her, laying claim to her body and doing so many naughty and delicious things that she'd woken up hot, wet, and bothered. Even now, her skin shivered at the thought of his touch. He'd been magnificent and more satisfying than any of her lovers in the past.

  She could only thank the Lord she'd not come across him at breakfast. She wasn't sure how she would ever look at him again after what she'd allowed him to do to her in her dreams. What he had allowed her to do to him.

  Maya wiped her brow, blowing out a frustrated breath. 1510 Druiminn Castle would be her home, at least until the tapestry was finished. As soon as it was hanging back on the castle walls, she would return to her time, and all of this life would be over.

  She hoped her friends were not too worried about her, not that she didn't think they wouldn’t be. They would've already called the police, and she would've been presumed missing, dead even. However, how would she explain her disappearance when she returned? No one would believe this tall story if she were to tell them the truth.

  A chill ran down her spine at the thought of the tapestry not working. That even with it finished, it may
not be the key that sent her here. Whatever would she do then?

  The laird would not let her stay here forever. Would she be sent off the lands to face life in medieval Scotland? There was little doubt in Maya's mind that she'd be dead within a month. She wasn't made for this time, and she didn't know a thing about survival in the outdoors.

  "Something troubling you, lass?"

  The deep, gravelly voice pulled her from her thoughts. Maya turned to see Macleod striding toward her, the handle of a sword poking up from behind his shoulder. She swallowed. He was everything anyone would want from a Scottish highlander—tunic, plaid shawl over one shoulder, dagger, sporran. Holy shit, trews that hugged his muscular thighs. Damn, he was hot.

  "Nothing at all. Why do you ask?" Maya turned to look back at the forest, hoping he didn't notice her face had turned hot and was no doubt blotchy and red.

  "You are chewing you bottom lip, and you had a pensive frown upon your brow." He reached out, sliding his thumb over her brow and seemingly trying to smooth out her skin.

  She stilled. The breath in her lungs expired. The pad of his thumb was course and rough from manual labor, and yet she knew to her very core she liked what she felt. Liked his hands on her as much now as she enjoyed them in her dream the night before.

  The remembrance of her dirty dream made her skin burn even more. Damn it all to hell. He would ask her about her blushing next, and then she'd be really stuffed.

  "Well," she started, her mind whirling with what to say to him. How to explain her fear without telling him where she was from? Mrs. Fletcher didn't think it a good idea that he know, and the woman would know the laird and how he would react better than Maya would.

  "I cannot sit around your castle for the next few months without anything to do. I've never been a person who sits around and sews all day." Because she was pretty certain from the few history books she had read in the past, this was at least one pastime women partook in to fill the time. "I need employment. Maybe I could help you with the castle upkeep? Or in the gardens?" She would do anything if it kept her occupied, stopped her mind from dwelling on the thought she was hundreds of years from her time and with no possibility of returning there any time soon.