Lost in the Highlands, Volume Two

by Lorraine Beaumont

  He looked relieved. “That’s mighty kind of you. But I understand if you don’t want me to come…”

  “Nonsense.” I waved my hand, cutting him off. “It’s the least I can do for you taking care of everything while I am gone.”

  “Do you know when you will be back?” He shoved his hand in his pocket, jangling his change.

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Oh.” His frown deepened.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. It’s none of my business, as the Misses would say.”

  “Come now, Mr. Tomkins. We are more than employer and employee, we are friends.”

  “Well, I was just wondering if your leaving has to do with that fellow you brought back with you?”

  I was surprised he even knew about Gavin. “Yes.”

  “Well…” He shifted his eyes to the side. “Is he a good man?”

  “Yes,” I said, even though I couldn’t help but wonder why Mr. Tomkins asked such a thing. “Why?”

  “Well…” he began and then shook his head. “ Nothing.”

  “Come now, Mr. Tomkins. Surely, you can tell me.”

  “Well,” he hemmed. “It’s just that he seems a might odd, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. “He’s from Scotland.”

  “Oh.” He looked relieved. “That explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “Why he carries a sword with him everywhere he goes, fighting with imaginary creatures and such. And he talks to himself, too.” He shook his head. “Not just a word or two, but entire conversations.”

  I tried not to laugh at his expression. Apparently, Mr. Tomkins was a mite put out with Gavin’s behavior.

  “I’ll tell you this, too,” he said, suddenly. “He takes a dip in the stream, afterwards.” He rolled his eyes heavenward, like he couldn’t believe such a thing.

  “He does?” Of course, I already knew that.

  “Yes. And I’ll tell you something else.” He widened his eyes, and leaned in conspiratorially. “He swims…naked.”

  My face flamed. Not from what he said but the fact that he knew about it. And if he saw Gavin swimming naked, did he also see me with him? Having sex? “Oh. Well, um…”

  “It’s just seems odd.” He shook his head disparagingly.

  “It’s a custom,” I blurted.

  He seemed to ponder my lie for a moment.

  “Hmm, well, that’s seems to be an odd custom.”

  Not knowing what else to say, I shrugged my shoulders.

  He scratched his head. “Well,” he exhaled. “Who am I to judge,” he muttered. “I’m the one spending all my hard-earned money on bird and squirrel food.”

  “I am sure it’s nice to watch them.”

  “Humph,” he grunted. “I don’t much care for birds and squirrels,” he grumbled.

  “Oh.” I didn’t know what to say to that.

  “Well, I better get. You have a safe trip. Don’t worry about your place; I will keep an eye on it for you.” He picked up the bucket of vegetables, and then made his way back down the stairs.

  “Thank you,” I called after him and shut the screen door.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND

  Sometime during the reign of King James

  Thirteen highlanders, now free, if one could call it that, gathered in a semi-circle on a ridge not too far away from Loch Morar. A cold wind blew in from the north. Gavin pushed up in his saddle and looked across the strip of land that separated one piece of land from the other. Large boulders were scattered about, as well as trees that twisted in awkward angles from the harsh winds.

  “Why do ye ken the gypsy wanted us to come up here?” Callum asked.

  Muir scratched his head. “I canna say but it is preferable ta that stinking pit we were in, aye?”

  “Aye, I agree.” Callum nodded.

  Gavin glanced over at Callum and then at the other men. Five he knew: Callum, Muir, Morgan, Alec, and Graham, they were his men but the other six he had no idea where they came from or what they were incarcerated for. Still, he could not let them die, so he had bargained for their lives with the witch as well. He only hoped he didn’t make a mistake.

  Callum cleared his throat. His horse shifted uneasily as he tightened his hold on the reins. “Do ye ken what we are looking for?”

  “The gypsy said ta wait here,” Gavin, responded. It was true. That is what she said. She said a lot of other things as well. “When the bridge appears before us, we are ta cross it ta the other side and retrieve what she has left for us.”

  “What do ye ken will be waiting for us on the other side?” Callum asked, looking skeptical.

  “I can no say for certain but I think we are retrieving a person.”

  Callum looked around at the desolate landscape. “How’d ye suppose they are going ta get here?”

  “Bloody Hell, Callum!” Gavin exclaimed. “How am I supposed to know that?”

  Callum’s face reddened. “Well, ye are the laird. Ye should know.”

  “Well, I don’t,” Gavin, snapped.

  Callum made a face and turned back towards Muir. “Psst, Muir?”

  Muir, in the midst of picking a scab off his hand, reluctantly lifted his gaze to Callum. “What?”

  “Did ye hear that?”

  “Aye.”

  “Well?” Callum gaped at Muir. “What do ye think about all this nonsense o’ waiting?”

  “I think ye ask too many questions.”

  “Och, Muir, ye are lying.”

  “Nay.” Muir shook his head solemnly back and forth. “I’m no liar Callum. I would only be lying if told ye I cared what ye think.”

  “Well, ye should.” Irritated, Callum turned his horse around, so the backside was facing Muir.

  ♦

  Gavin rubbed his forehead and sighed. He neglected to tell the men that the ‘supposed’ gypsy was really a witch. And that by doing her bidding he was likely damning his soul as well as theirs. But at least they were free, for now; he would figure out how to get them out of this mess later—or so he told himself repeatedly.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  BLOWING ROCK, NORTH CAROLINA

  The Cottage Property- Present Day

  After saying goodbye to Mr. Tomkins, I made my way back into the kitchen and poured another cup of coffee. Repeating my earlier ritual, I added sugar and cream, stirring it until a nice froth was on the top. To delay the inevitable, I tried to think of what else I could be doing. Laundry, cleaning toilets, sorting socks, scrubbing floors, attempting to cook, anything other than what I knew I should be doing, which was to look up what happened to Gavin’s men.

  Dragging my reluctant feet, I forced myself to walk back over to the table. I sat down in front of my computer. Taking a deep breath, I typed in, Scottish Clans, Grey.

  Moments later a number of results popped up with the color of their plaids, lineage, etc. There wasn’t anything overly useful, though.

  Sighing, I took another sip of coffee and set it back down. On a whim, I typed in monster, Loch Morar. I really didn’t think I would find much but to my astonishment, I did find something.

  According to the article, a researcher discovered early writings on the creature, which was considered the lesser-known cousin of the Loch Ness monster or as some like to call her, Nessie.

  And it was said, if someone saw this monster of Loch Morar, it was seen as an omen for death. Some even went as far to say that the monster itself changed forms; some saw it as an old woman. Some saw it as a half- human- half fish, a mermaid type creature, and a few others would see it as a monster, just like Nessie. But in every event, no matter who told the story, each sighting was still considered an omen for death.

  Taking another sip of coffee, I slowly read the post, digesting the information that was relayed in the article.

  When I got to the bottom of the page, I nearly dropped my cup. Leaning forward, I reread, sur
e, I had read it wrong.

  “I’ll be damned.”

  The name of the creature was Morag.

  That couldn’t be right. Wasn’t that the name of the gypsy too?

  A shiver of dread raced down my spine.

  With shaking hands, I set my coffee back on the table, and had to do a double take. At the bottom of the page, there was a small blurb about the infamous treasure of Loch Morar with a link to another post.

  “Calm down,” I told myself. I wasn’t sure what I expected to find, but certainly not something like this that actually verified what I had nearly convinced myself was a figment of my overwrought imagination.

  I clicked on the link.

  The post was about King James and his lost treasure. He believed that the sinking of his ships that nearly took his life, along with his brides, and his lost gold, was rumored not to have been from the storms themselves but instead because of witchcraft.

  For months after, James began to use the dark arts to circumvent the stealing of his gold and to stop the sinking of his ships. However, when he finally returned to Scotland with his bride, he wanted his men to collect his subjects on suspicion of witchery as well as a “wanderer” which was an old beggared crone, who was thought to be the one in charge of the witches, ‘the ringleader’ of sorts, and had them all interrogated.

  This took months to do. However, when he finally interrogated the crone, it was said that he especially took ‘great delight’ in her torture. And he was ‘dismayed’ when she called a halt to the proceedings and beckoned him to her side. King James stopped his man and reluctantly walked over to listen to what the crone had to say.

  Crooking a gnarled finger, she begged him to come closer.

  The King bent over to listen. The reporting’s relay that whatever she whispered in his ear that day made his face drain of all color.

  (it was said that the witch had apparently repeated the very conversation between the King and his bride on their wedding night on the ship while they were out to sea—things that no normal human could possibly know)

  Upon hearing this, he sentenced her to death, along with thousands of his subjects but for some reason, there is no record of that execution ever-taking place.

  “What the hell?" I sat back, astonished, not quite sure what to make of the story. A shiver of unease coursed through me and just like in the past, I had a feeling that something was not quite right. Hell, at this rate, there were a lot of things not right. Time traveling Highlanders, deals made with a gypsy and …

  The back door creaked.

  Startled by the noise, my hand jerked. Hot coffee sloshed over onto the table.

  As the sound of footsteps drew nearer, I guiltily slammed my laptop shut and stood. Crossing the room, I grabbed a roll of paper towels, walked back over to the table, and began cleaning up the mess.

  “Och, lass. What did ye do?”

  I looked up. Gavin looked just as gorgeous as ever. “Just spilled some coffee.” I averted my eyes and kept wiping up the mess.

  Gavin frowned and walked closer. “Did ye ruin it?”

  “What?” I looked up again. Big mistake. “Uh, no. I don’t think so.”

  “I missed ye.” He nuzzled her neck and wrapped his arms around her waist.

  “Oh, uh, that’s nice.”

  “Didn’t ye miss me?”

  The scruff of his beard tickled my throat. “Of course.” I pushed his hands away and finished cleaning up the coffee she spilt.

  “Hmm.” Gavin contemplated her response, noting the flush of red that climbed to her face. If he didn’t know better he would think she was lying to him, but that couldn’t be right. Why would she do that?

  Why indeed?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  BLOWING ROCK, NORTH CAROLINA

  The Cottage Property- Present Day

  The following week leading up to their trip to the Highland Games, I busied myself with setting things to rights at the cottage, like stopping the mail, etc. and filling all my orders on the off chance we somehow figured out a way to get back in the past. And even though I was busy, every day, I couldn’t help but notice how withdrawn Gavin had become. It made my heart hurt.

  I was hoping with him being in my time that it would bring us closer together but it ended up having the opposite effect. We hadn’t even slept together, in the physical sense, since the night he had woken me up in such a state that I had to wonder if he was having a nightmare. I asked him about it, but he just brushed away my comment saying he just had a lot on his mind. I had a feeling there was more to it than that, but I was too wrapped up in setting the cottage to rights to bother pressing him on the on the subject.

  When I could, I did more research on his missing men, but didn’t find anything useful and as for the witch, the one that the King tortured and ordered to have killed, I couldn’t even find the article I had read, which was just odd.

  ♦

  When September arrived, with the help of Gavin, the car was loaded down with our clothes, toiletries and a snack bag. I bought extra jeans, t-shirts, boxer briefs, shorts, and sweats— the works for him to wear for the trip, which he said he didn’t need but I couldn’t seem to help myself.

  After boxing up the last of the orders for my buyers, I stood in the kitchen looking around to see if I had forgotten anything.

  “I don’t much care for these,” he said, walking out from the bathroom, showing off his new pair of jeans.

  As usual, my mouth dropped open of its own accord.

  “If ye don’t close yer mouth, lass, something is bound ta fly into it.” A twinkle entered his eyes as he smiled mischievously.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” I said with a combination of relief and irritation. I was relieved he was acting like the Gavin I had grown to love in such a short time and irritated with the effect he had over me.

  “Och, lass, I was only playing.”

  “You seem to be doing that a lot lately.” I grabbed up the bag with all my makeup inside.

  “I can no help it,” he said, still smiling.

  “Grab that bag and let’s go.” I turned to walk away but he placed his hand on my arm and pulled me back.

  “I want ye ta know…” he began, all humor gone from his expression.

  My heart started pounding faster. “What?”

  “I’ve enjoyed our time together.”

  “We have more time,” I said, trying to keep the quivering edge from my voice.

  “Aye, that we do,” he agreed, his eyes sliding to her lips.

  I bit my lip—a nervous habit I had when I was feeling anxious.

  He groaned. “Och, lass, if ye keep doing that we won’t ever get to our destination.”

  A glimmer of hope unfurled inside of me. “Maybe we should wait…” As soon as that suggestion was out of my mouth, his entire demeanor changed.

  “Nay, lass.” He shook his head solemnly back and forth. “I wish I could, but I cannot.”

  “Of course, you can’t.” I pushed against his chest, trying to get past him. “What was I thinking,” I muttered.

  He didn’t move.

  My stomach flipped over on itself; just like it did every other time I was this close to him. “We better get going,” I said quickly, just in case I started bawling like an idiot.

  “Aye,” he agreed. “I suppose we should.”

  He lifted the last bag off the table and placed it over his shoulder. With one last look around the cottage, he headed outside.

  Once he was out of sight, I let out a blubbering sob. “Get it together, Paige.”

  Sniffing, I wiped my eyes with my shirtsleeve and then followed Gavin outside.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  HIGHLAND GAMES, WEST VIRGINIA

  The Festival - Present Day

  The ride to West Virginia was an uneventful one and gave me time to stew on things a bit more, which put me in an even worse mood than I was when I started.

  A few hours later, we finally arrived at our destination.
A large banner was across the entrance along with a line of cars waiting to get inside the gates. I glanced over at Gavin—his face was white as a sheet. Most of the ride he had kept his eyes shut and spoke as little as possible. Half the time I wasn’t sure if he was sleeping or just freaked from having to ride in the ‘beast’, which is how he now referred to my car. It also didn’t go unnoticed to me that he was also holding onto the dash in a death grip and would have laughed if I wasn’t so miserable.

  During the ride, we spoke little of what was going to happen once we got here. Only that Gavin was going to look for the gypsy, the one with the same name as the damn monster of Loch Morar, to see about something.

  What that something was…I was still as clueless as I was at the beginning of our journey. But knowing Gavin as I did from the past, and now, also from the future, I knew he was not telling me the complete truth.

  And to top it off, I felt sick to my stomach for most of the ride, and now that we were actually here, it was worse. I was half-tempted to tell him that I was too sick to go inside but then I thought about him going alone and quickly squashed that down because I had a feeling that if he did I might not see him again. Taking a breath, I made up my mind. I would just have to ‘bite the bullet’ so to speak.

  After I paid the fee to get into the games, I pulled my car through and parked at the end of the row on strip of grass where the young female attendant had flagged us to. Stopping, I put my car in park and killed the engine. Unhooking my seatbelt, I turned in my seat, facing Gavin. Trying to sound upbeat, I said, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  Gavin cracked an eye open. Once he saw that they had stopped moving, he released his death grip on the dash. “Aye,” he struggled, taking deep breaths. “It was no so bad.”

  Grabbing my bag out of the backseat, I put my keys inside. “You ready?”

  He swallowed hard. “Aye.” Then nodded.

  I climbed out and locked my door. The lot was more crowded than I would have thought considering how late in the day it was. The games themselves were on the next plateau ahead in a clearing; just like on Grandfather Mountain there were brightly stripped tents set up as well as a Maypole, which had a group of young girls swarming around it with young admirers standing on the sidelines. It seemed like a lifetime ago when I was doing the same.