Lost in the Highlands, Volume Two

by Lorraine Beaumont

When she got to the bottom of the page, she nearly dropped her cup. Leaning forward, she was sure she 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 her spine.

  With shaking hands, she set her 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,” she told herself. She wasn’t sure what she expected to find, but certainly not something like this that actually verified what she had nearly convinced herself was a figment of her overwrought imagination.

  She 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?" Paige sat back, astonished, not quite sure what to make of the story. A shiver of unease coursed through her and just like in the past she 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 …

  The back door creaked.

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

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

  “Och, lass. What did ye do?”

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

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

  “What?” She 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 her throat. “Of course.” She 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, Paige busied herself with setting things to rights at the cottage, like stopping the mail, etc. and filling all her orders on the off chance they somehow figured out a way to get back in the past. And even though she was busy, every day, she couldn’t help but notice how withdrawn Gavin had become. It made her heart hurt.

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

  When she could, she 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 killed, she couldn’t even find the article she had read, which was just odd.

  ♦

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

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

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

  Her 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,” she said with a combination of relief and irritation. She was relieved he was acting like the Gavin she had grown to love in such a short time and irritated with the effect he had over her.

  “Och, lass, I was only playing.”

  “You seem to be doing that a lot lately,” she said grabbing up her bag with all her makeup inside.

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

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

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

  Her heart started pounding faster. “What?”

  “I’ve enjoyed our time together.”

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

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

  She bit her lip—a nervous habit she had when she 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 her. “Maybe we should wait…” As soon as that suggestion was out of her 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.” She pushed against his chest, trying to get past him. “What was I thinking,” she muttered.

  He didn’t move.

  Her stomach flipped over on itself, just like it did every other time she was this close to him. “We better get going,” she said quickly, just in case she 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, she let out a blubbering sob.

  “Get it together, Paige.”

  Sniffing, she wiped her eyes with her shirt-sleeve 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 her time to stew on things a bit more, which put her in an even worse mood than she was when she started.

  A few hours later, they finally arrived at their destination. A large banner was across the entrance along with a line of cars waiting to get inside the gates. She 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 she wasn’t sure if he was sleeping or just freaked from having to ride in the ‘beast’, which is how he now referred to her car. It also didn’t go unnoticed to her that he was also holding onto the dash in a death grip and would have laughed if she wasn’t so miserable.

  During the ride, they spoke little of what was going to happen once they 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…she was still as clueless as she was at the beginning of their journey. But knowing Gavin as she did from the past, and now, also from the future, she knew he was not telling her the complete truth.

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

  After she paid the fee to get into the games, she pulled her car through and parked at the end of the row on strip of grass where the young female attendant flagged them over to. Stopping, she put her car in park and killed the engine. She unhooked her seatbelt and turned in her seat. Trying to sound upbeat, she 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 her bag out of the backseat, she put her keys inside. “You ready?”

  He swallowed hard. “Aye.” Then nodded.

  Paige climbed out and locked her door. The lot was more crowded than she 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 she was doing the same.

  Shaking the memory from her mind, she walked around to the side of the car where Gavin was standing. His expression was resolute as he looked at all the people in the distance roaming around. Men in kilts and women dressed in the same types of clothing he saw in the past, holding ribbons for the clan they were there to represent.

  “I told ye I should have worn my kilt,” he grumbled.

  “And I told you that it wouldn’t be wise since your kilt is authentic.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “Because,” she sighed. “I thought you didn’t want to draw attention to yourself.”

  “Why would wearing my kilt draw attention? All the men here are wearing kilts.”

  She should have told him it was because none of them looked like he did in a kilt, but didn’t.

  “Fine. If you want to change into your kilt, you can.” She didn’t see the point in arguing any longer because everyone was staring at him anyway.

  He lifted his brow. “Here?”

  “No. There are bathrooms over there you can change in.”

  “Do they have mirrors inside?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Nay.” He shook his head adamantly back and forth. “Mayhap later.”

  “Suit yourself.” She pulled her bag on her shoulder.

  He cut her a sidelong glance. “Are ye upset?”

  “No,” she lied.

  He gave her a doubtful look, one that she was getting used to.

  “Do you want to go now, or just stand here?” Even though she was dreading the outcome, she wanted to get this business over with as soon as possible.

  He shifted, looking unsure suddenly. “Which way do ye think we should go?”

  “I guess up that way.” She pointed toward the tents set up on the hill.

  He nodded. “Ye lead the way, I will follow.”

  “How about if we both walk at the same time,” she suggested, grabbing hold of his hand and tucking it into her arm.

  “If ye like.”

  “Okie dokie.” Taking a breath, she started walking, pulling a reluctant Gavin along at her side.

  They made it about twenty feet from the tents when she felt, rather than saw, several pairs of eyes watching them. When she turned to look, big surprise, they were all women. She knew what effect Gavin had on her and could only imagine what these women were thinking. She felt like yelling, ‘back off, he’s mine’, but didn’t.

  Instead, she kept walking.

  “Och,” Gavin said, making a face. “Look at them.” He pointed in the direction of a few beefy, shirtless, Highlanders, standing off to the side of one of the tents.

  “What about them?”

  “What are they wearing?”

  “Those are plaids.”

  “Humph,” he grunted. “They are wearing them all wrong.”

  “Gavin, they are a modernized version.”

  “I should have worn my own, showed them what a real Highlander should look like.” He sounded indignant.

  She sighed. “I already told you that it would be better if you didn’t since yours is authentic. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves, remember?”

  “Aye, I remember.” His brows creased. “They look like a bunch of hens,” he grumbled under his breath.

  “If you say so.” Paige didn’t think so. They looked pretty hot to her. Not as hot as Gavin, but still.

  “What is that?” Gavin nearly pulled her arm out of socket as he abruptly turned in another direction.

  “Slow down!” she yelled, taking two steps to keep up with one of his large strides.

  Gavin kept right on walking until he was in front of one of the open tents, where knives and swords were displayed on tables and hung on walls. Releasing her hand, he leaned in to get a closer look and promptly made another disgusted sound. “What is that?”

  She thought it was obvious. “It’s a sword.”

  “That’s no sword.”

  “Sure, it is. Look,” she said. The sword in question was beautifully crafted, with etchings in the blade and a pretty set of stones in the handle.

  “Mayhap for a lass.” He shook his head and crossed over to the knives on the table. “And those?”

  “I’m guessing they are knives.” They certainly looked like knives to her.

  “Och, ones made for more lasses.”

  “What’s wrong with them?”

  “They are no even sharp.”

  “I am sure they are made for show, not to cut.”

  “What is the point in having a blade if it is not going ta cut?”

  “To put on display.”

  “That makes no sense ta me.”

  “Well, I can’t help that.” It didn’t go unnoticed to Paige that the a few of the older men working behind the counter gave them peculiar looks as Gavin made faces and grunts at their merchandise.

  Her face burned with embarrassment.

  Gavin made a few more rude comments about the knives and swords before he stepped back out of the tent.

  Giving one of the men watching them from behind the counter an apologetic look, she followed Gavin back outside. The heat of the day was pressing in and she was suddenly thirsty. Spotting a tent with mead, she turned towards Gavin. “How about we get some mead to drink?”

  “Is it good?”

  “It was the last time I had some.”

  He gave her a doubtful look but still
followed her as she made her way over to the tent.

  She pulled some cash out of her bag and stepped in line while Gavin surveyed the area.

  “Two meads, please,” she told the big busted barmaid who was ogling Gavin.

  The barmaid gave Paige a strange look, and then walked over to the back counter, picked up two tankards, filling them to the brim, then brought them both back to the counter. “That will be twenty dollars.”

  After she paid, Paige picked up the drinks. At this rate, she was going to be broke. Good thing she didn’t need any money in the past, she thought. “Here,” she said, walking up to Gavin and handing one of the tankards to him.

  He sniffed the top and wrinkled his nose. “This doesna even smell like mead.”

  “Just drink it.”

  His brow hitched up a notch. “Are ye hangry?”

  It was a joke she made once, about how she would get angry if she didn’t eat and Gavin hadn’t forgotten about it. “No. I am not hangry.”

  “It seems that way ta me.”

  “Just drink your mead.”

  Chuckling, he lifted his drink and took a big swig. Moments later it flew back out of his mouth. “Och, this taste like horse dung.”

  “Gavin,” she scolded, keeping her voice low because several people were looking at them “It does not.”

  “How would ye know? Ye haven’t even taken a drink yet.”

  Just to prove her point, she took a big drink and immediately regretted it. It didn’t taste that bad, but it didn’t taste good either.

  Gavin gave her a smug look. “See, I told ye it tasted bad.”

  “Fine,” she agreed, albeit begrudgingly. It didn’t taste anything like the mead she had drank before.

  After they tossed their drinks in the trash and looked inside a few more tents with various items for sale, Gavin stopped and looked out to the field where the games were being held with a combination of longing and bemusement.

  Paige stepped up to his side. “Did you have games like these in your time?”

  “Nay.” He shook his head, his gaze transfixed on the field.

  Since she didn’t know the history of the games that well or what time frame they were played exactly, she took him at his word, thinking that maybe this kind of stuff happened after his time.