Kanyth (Immortal Highlander, Clan Skaraven Book 4): A Scottish Time Travel Romance

by Hazel Hunter

  “Truth,” Elspeth said gravely. “Mayhap I shall have you beaten.”

  Perrin swallowed a chuckle. Despite their very different personalities the McAras clearly adored each other. Watching them together made her feel a little jealous, too. She’d never been loved like that. All she’d ever had was one pitiful, secret affair with a smooth-talking French dancer. He’d turned out to be a lying jerk who had used and then dumped her, making her even more timid around men.

  No, I did that to myself, Perrin thought as she slipped out of the garden room to give them some privacy. I should have listened to Rowan.

  She moved down the hall, peeking in at some of the other rooms, but her heart took her back to New York City, and her first big show. Perrin had been hired as the principal, along with a talented Frenchman named Gaspard Boucher. They’d had to practice every day for six weeks, and Gaspard insisted on them dancing alone to avoid distractions. What he’d really intended was to use their private rehearsals to slowly seduce her.

  “I could dance with you for days, cherie,” Gaspard would whisper against her ear as he lowered her in a dip. “No rest, no food, only you in my arms.”

  Perrin’s mother had never allowed her or Rowan to date, and her shyness had built an invisible brick wall between her and men. Yet Gaspard seemed so sincere. He constantly praised her talent and her beauty, and even confided in her about his own loneliness. When he kissed her for the first time she’d almost run, but he’d held onto her and reassured her. It went on like that until Gaspard’s determination and Perrin’s own curiosity about sex got the better of her. One night he’d walked her to her hotel room, and she’d shyly invited him inside.

  “I will make you feel so good, ma belle,” he’d told her as he’d stripped her out of her leotard and tights.

  The sex had been nice, although Perrin still didn’t understand what the big deal was. Being with Gaspard in bed wasn’t much different than dancing with him. They just used different body parts.

  After that first time she’d had to be careful not to let Rowan find out. Her sister really hadn’t liked the Frenchman, and repeatedly warned him to leave Perrin alone. But sneaking around had made the affair a little more exciting. When they were together Gaspard told her over and over that he loved her. She didn’t know him well enough yet to say it back, but he didn’t seem to mind that. He preferred to do all the talking anyway.

  The show had a solid run, and Perrin considered finally telling Rowan about the relationship. She even imagined her and her lover dancing together across America and Europe as permanent partners on and off stage. After the final performance afterparty, however, Gaspard abruptly left for Paris without so much as a good-bye. Stunned, Perrin had called him, but he told her it was over, wished her luck, and hung up on her.

  Rowan never did find out about the affair, but eventually she did admit to Perrin why she’d disliked her partner so much. According to rumors Gaspard was married to a very wealthy, older Frenchwoman who didn’t care what he did while out on tour. What he liked to do was sleep with his partners, as he thought having sex made them dance better together on stage. He also seduced chorus girls, costumers, hairdressers, and pretty much any other attractive female working on the show.

  “Good thing you never jumped in the sack with him,” her sister said. “The way that guy gets around, he’s probably a walking STD.”

  Once the shock wore off Perrin had quietly gotten herself tested. Thankfully Gaspard hadn’t left any sexually-transmittable parting gifts, but she’d learned a hard lesson. She’d let him get close, and believed every word he’d said. He’d used her like workout equipment. In time the hurt faded, but the lingering humiliation made her withdraw even more. After Gaspard she didn’t trust any man who tried to chat her up or ask her out––even Kanyth, who drew her attention every time he came within a hundred feet of her.

  Perrin found herself standing in front of a small stained-glass window, and stared up into the colored light shining through it. The panel showed a grassy meadow surrounding a loch, by which stood an antlered deer made of milky glass. It seemed to be watching her with its one dark blue eye. She hadn’t noticed it before, so why did she have the oddest sense of recognition now?

  “That stone pendant Emmie brought back from the past,” she murmured, stepping closer. “That had a little white stag painted on it. She said it meant something.”

  Why hadn’t she paid more attention to what her friend said to her? Probably because she’d been brooding over her ridiculous crush on Kanyth.

  “Okay, but I’m over that now,” she told the stag. “I’m going to stay here and help Lady Elspeth and not be such a big lump of stupid.”

  For a moment the sun faded, making it look as if the glass deer had closed its eye, and then opened it again, winking at her.

  “Mistress Thomas?”

  She jumped and turned to see one of the McAra’s guards approaching. “Ah, yes?”

  “You’re wanted in the great hall,” the man said.

  Perrin glanced back at the garden room, but decided against interrupting the laird and his wife. It was probably Emeline, looking for an update on Elspeth. She nodded and followed the guard down the hall.

  Downstairs a crowd of clansmen stood clustered around a hearth, where a man wearing a wet tartan stood talking with them. Whoever he was, he was making most of them laugh. As the guard escorted Perrin over to them, they parted and nodded to her as they dispersed.

  The wet man pulled off the tartan and hung it by the fire before he dragged his gleaming dark hair back from his sculpted features and picked up a thick fur cloak.

  For a moment she thought she was hallucinating. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come for you, my lady,” Kanyth Skaraven said, the smile fading from his handsome face. “I’m to take you back to Dun Mor.”

  Chapter Six

  THE SIGHT OF Perrin enchanted Kanyth. Perhaps it was due only to the flickering from the blazes in the hall hearths, but standing there she seemed gloriously gilded with light. Rose tints shimmered in the gold strands of her hair, and bloomed on the lovely curves of her face. Tiny reflections of the flames flecked her sapphire eyes, as precious as inlaid amber. Why had he never seen all the colors of her brought to such full splendor?

  At Dun Mor he’d always spied her in the shadows, Kanyth realized. She seemed to seek out dark corners, as if she meant to conceal herself from view. Was that why she’d come here? To hide from him?

  As the silence stretched out between them Kanyth discarded the notion. One of the sentries had mentioned the two visiting ladies had rescued some lost children before arriving, which had made him feel oddly proud. He knew Emeline always put the needs of others before her own, but now the dancer had shown the same compassion. It made him see her as he never before had. She might be as delicate as silk lace, but the lass indeed had courage. He wanted to speak of it and praise her—and he would, once she stopped staring at him as if he meant to snap her in half.

  Had he spoken too directly? He’d not even offered her a greeting. “You’re well, my lady?”

  Perrin nodded quickly, too quickly.

  He felt heat prickling the skinwork under his tunic, and clenched his jaw.

  She may do as she wishes. She’s no’ for you.

  It was time to leave, not ponder the lady’s dislike of him. Kanyth offered her the fur cloak he held. Instead of accepting it she took a step back, started to speak, and then shook her head. He cursed himself for not insisting Brennus send another clansman to retrieve her.

  “You’ll want it for the ride to the loch,” he advised her, keeping his tone soft. “’Tis snowing.”

  “I can’t,” Perrin said, her voice a thin whisper, and then hurried away.

  “My lady, wait.”

  Kanyth tossed aside the cloak and rushed to get ahead of her, blocking her path at the stairs leading to the gallery.

  Perrin halted, her eyes shimmering and her lips pressed tightly toget
her.

  “You cannae remain with the McAra,” he told her, shifting his stance when she tried to move around him. “The famhairean attack the midlands each day now. We’ve no’ the men to spare for guarding you away from the stronghold.”

  She dropped her chin and mumbled something, and flinched when he stepped closer trying to hear. He realized then that he was the source of her fear—again—and quickly put more space between them.

  “I ken you dinnae care for me, Mistress, but I mean only to see you home.”

  She looked up at him as she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

  “Dun Mor isn’t my home. I don’t belong there.”

  It was the most she’d ever said to him, Kanyth thought, and it almost gutted him to hear her speak so coldly. How could he convince her to return to safety?

  “Your friends, the ladies, miss you.” So did he. Since she’d left so abruptly he’d felt an aching hollow growing inside him. When they returned he would have to make many, many blades to dispel this damnable longing. “Come now, my lady. ’Twill take but a few moments.”

  She lifted her chin. “Lady Elspeth invited me to stay. She needs help with the, ah, maids and…and…lighting the torches. I said I would. Stay.”

  Exasperation edged his tongue. “They’ve an army of maids here, and you’re no’ a servant.”

  “I’m sorry you came all this way, but I’m not going back with you. I…I can’t.” She pivoted and rushed up the steps.

  More heat suffused him, burning through his veins as he went after her. She made it halfway across the gallery before he caught up and seized her hand.

  She stopped so suddenly he nearly knocked her down, but kept her back to him. Through her touch Kanyth could feel her trembling violently.

  “Please don’t make me leave,” she said quietly.

  He seemed to be in no better shape. His chest heaved as if he’d run ten leagues, and it was all he could do to keep from snatching her up and carrying her off to a room. A room where he might bolt the door, melt the latch and have her to himself. What he couldn’t do was let go of her, or leave her here.

  “’Tis for your protection, lass.”

  Perrin slowly turned to regard him, and gripped his hand tightly. “Why are you so mad at me? I haven’t done anything to you.”

  He blinked. “I’m no’ angry.”

  She nodded at the front of his sodden tunic. “You’re glowing again.”

  “’Tis naught.” And yet it was everything, all that he was, gathering and spreading across his chest in a hot wave. “A trick of the light.”

  Perrin stepped closer. As he stared, her eyes lightened to an opaque white. Her fingers spread as she pressed her palm against his. Suddenly he felt something like a sharp, hot blade impale his hand and stab into hers.

  “You the flame and she the iron,” she murmured to him, her voice so deep she might have been Ruadri. The sound of it made his skinwork seethe across his flesh. “Both shall you burn.”

  “No,” he muttered. The forge had no voice, only power. Never could it have ridden her to speak to him. Then he realized what this was, what his battle spirit had done, and it horrified him. “’Tis a mistake,” he said quickly. “The lass isnae mine. Release her.”

  “Flesh or metal, that which you forge cannae be broken.” Her lips curved. “’Tis done.”

  Before he could say another word, her eyelids fluttered, and she went limp, falling against him.

  Kanyth swept her up, holding her against his chest as he carried her into the nearest room. She weighed no more than a sack of feathers, and yet he staggered, his heart thundering in his skull. The McAra’s steward gaped at him from behind a tall, narrow desk where he worked.

  “Clanmaster.” He shot to his feet and rushed to them. “Has the lady been hurt?”

  “She fainted.” He sat down on the nearest chair, and saw a flare of red-gold light on Perrin’s palm. When the color faded, scars in the shape of flames formed a perfect circle on her skin. He jerked his head up. “Bring cool water and a cloth, and send for Lady Emeline. Quickly now, man.”

  Perrin opened her eyes and began to scream.

  In a thick, white fog Perrin looked down at the huge hand engulfing hers. So many scars covered it that it hardly looked human. On some level she knew it belonged to Kanyth, but that seemed bizarre. She’d admired his hands more than once, and they were big, strong-looking and beautifully smooth…except in her dreams.

  The fog swirled, and all around her long, gossamer threads of prismatic colors slowly fell, forming a shining curtain so bright she wanted to wrap it around them. But that would mean letting go, and she wanted to hold onto the weapons master for as long as she could.

  Choose.

  Perrin didn’t recognize the sonorous voice in her head, but she knew it was talking about the thread.

  “What? Why?”

  That which may be. That you may see.

  One thread looked more golden than the others, and with her free hand Perrin reached out and touched it. The threads and the fog swirled away, revealing the forge at Dun Mor.

  Fire flared up in the furnace behind the Weapons Master, illuminating his wide shoulders and massively muscled arms. He’d stripped out of his tunic again, and the strange tattoos on his chest pulsed with dark blue light. Then she felt the heat of him on her own body, and realized she was standing stark naked in front of him.

  “This is that dream, isn’t it?” Perrin muttered, perplexed now. “Only I’m not on stage in front of thousands of people.”

  “Aye.” He tugged her closer. “’Tis but me, lass. I’ve come for you.”

  The instant their bodies touched Perrin shivered, but not with cold. Kanyth’s skin felt fever-hot, while her own grew cooler, and harder. His form lit from within, turning his arms gold and his torso scarlet. She glanced down to see her own body turning gray-white, and taking on the dull gleam of metal.

  “We’re turning into…what is this?” she asked him, and gasped as he hefted her up off her feet.

  “The forge marked you.” He carried her over to a pile of furs in front of his furnace, and went down on his knees as he lowered her on their softness. Then he picked up her hand, and showed her the scars there. Somehow, they’d shifted into a blazing circle. “Marked you for me, lass.”

  “Oh.” She knew a little about the other women being marked by Skaraven battle spirits. It meant they’d been chosen as a mate. “Why would it pick me? I’m nobody. I can’t even help you with my druid power. It’s broken. Or maybe I have a concussion. Lily hit me really hard.”

  Why was she telling him all that, and why did she sound like a breathless school girl?

  “’Twas my choice,” he said, spreading her hair out around her head. “The night you came to Dun Mor, I felt it.” He covered her breast with his hand, smiling as he felt the fluttering of her pulse against his palm. “So did you.”

  “Okay.” She didn’t think she could move, but her arms lifted and curled around his strong neck. “But my sister would probably be better for you. She’s strong and smart, and nothing scares her. Also, Rowan can–”

  “Hang Rowan,” Kanyth said as he bent his head to hers.

  Perrin closed her eyes, waiting for the heat of his lips. He had a gorgeous mouth, and she liked kissing much more than the actual sex. Maybe he’d keep kissing her.

  Something tore them apart, and Perrin stumbled into the McAra’s great hall, which had been set on fire. Smoke clouded the air as Kanyth and the laird ran down from the gallery with children in their arms. Elspeth huddled with her maids in the center of the hall. Frantic clansmen dashed buckets of water against the walls of fire closing around them. Kanyth put the children with their mother, and strode over to pull her into his arms.

  “I’m sorry, lass.” He pressed her against his burned tunic, and stroked his shaking hand over her hair. “Close your eyes now.”

  The wooden roof overhead cracked and began to rain down burning debris. Then the
entire castle began to collapse. The laird threw himself over his wife and children as fire engulfed them. Perrin felt her gown burst into flame, and the terrible pain spreading over her body. She held onto Kanyth as she heard Elspeth cry out and the children scream.

  A dark oblivion swallowed her, and time ceased to have meaning.

  What seemed like an eternity later Perrin opened her eyes, and saw Emeline’s worried face looking down at her. Her throat felt raw, and her body still burned, but now with a deep, heavy ache like a bad fever. Her right hand throbbed, too, as if she’d fallen on it.

  “There you are,” the nurse said as she gently blotted her face with a damp linen. “No, don’t try to get up, lass. You’ve had a bit of a spell.”

  She felt like she’d come down with the flu, but she didn’t feel sick, which made no sense at all. Turning her head, she saw she occupied a bed in an unfamiliar room.

  “What.” The word came out raggedly, and hurt her sore throat, but she tried again. “What happened?”

  “Kanyth came to fetch you, and one of the guards saw you quarreling in the gallery.” She set aside the cloth. “Ka told me that your eyes turned white, and you fainted. When he tried to revive you, you began screaming. In the end I had to give you a sleeping potion to stop it.”

  That explained why her throat felt as if she’d swallowed broken glass. “How long have I been out?”

  “Only a few hours.” Emeline tucked her arm under her shoulders and lifted her up while she guided a spoon to her lips. “This is honey and some herbs. It will help.”

  Perrin swallowed the dose, which did ease some of the discomfort. “I broke my promise not to be any trouble,” she said, making her friend frown. A rhythmic thumping sound outside the room drew her attention. “What’s that?”

  “Kanyth.” The nurse glanced at the door. “He’s been walking the passage since he carried you in. This is the chamber he uses whenever he visits the laird.”

  Perrin froze. He’d put her in his own bed? “I can’t stay here.” There was something else, too, something that had scared the wits out of her, but she couldn’t remember it.