Highlander's Heart: A Scottish Historical Time Travel Romance (Called by a Highlander Book 3)

by Mariah Stone

  Ian stared into his cup, his back as hard as a tree. “Ye dinna ken, brother.”

  “I ken ye didna deserve to be sold to slavery. I ken ye were unlucky to be on that ship. I ken I’d have come for ye had I kent.”

  Ian nodded. “Aye. I’d have come for ye, too. For every single one of ye. No one deserves that.”

  They kept silent for a moment.

  “How did ye come home? How did ye find the way?”

  Ian chuckled. “’Twas easy to get out of the ruined palace with all the guards dead or on the run. Nae so easy to make it through the city in armor. I stole clothes, food, coins, horses. I fought my way through sometimes. Bought my fare on the ship from Constantinople. Then kept northwest. Stayed in Munich for a month or so, earning my wage by mending armor and weapons. Took care of horses in Cologne. Then took a final ship to Dover. Getting through England was more difficult than the whole rest of the journey. I kent they hated Scotsmen but this…”

  “Aye. ’Tis war.”

  “Hm. I kept away from big roads and from towns and villages. ’Twas only when I inhaled the fresh air of the Highlands, I realized I’d made it.”

  “Ye mean, the freshness of sheep shite?”

  They cackled. Owen hadn’t lost his lightness through the years. But then his face got serious.

  “On the morrow, Craig goes to Falnaird, his estate, to be with Amy. I go with him for a while, until Bruce needs me. He took the Highlands last year, little by little. The English aren’t a threat nae more, it seems. The old King Edward died, and his son, Edward II isna as interested in Bruce as in the troubles in his own court.”

  But that couldn’t be all. Ian was far too experienced of a warrior to think the war was over for Bruce. “What of the remaining enemies in Scotland?”

  “We fought the rest of the Comyns in the west, so his major threat to the throne is gone. Now he chases after the last Comyns in the northeast to make sure no one opposes him again. The English may resume their attack at any time. The MacDougalls are still a threat, also.”

  Ian clenched his fists at the mention of the name. “I hope he crushes them.”

  “Aye.” Owen’s mouth curved in a grimace. “And I will be there when he does.”

  They exchanged a look, bound by bitter experience. The MacDougalls had done enough to hurt the Cambel clan. Kidnapping and raping Marjorie. Selling Ian into slavery. Killing their grandfather. Owen had plenty of his own reasons to want payback with them.

  “For now, Bruce doesna need us as the battles are over for a moment,” Owen continued, “but Uncle Neil who’s with the king may send a message calling us to join the army. Will ye come with us if he does?”

  Ian sighed. “Nae. I took enough lives. I canna take more. All I want is peace. And I pray that God forgives me for what I did. Although I dinna think he will.”

  “And what if the war knocks at yer door?”

  “I hope that it doesna.”

  The evening ended quickly after, as Owen got distracted by a pretty servant girl, and Ian continued to drink until he forgot everything. He thought someone might have helped him off the bench and laid him in the corner, covering him in furs and blankets.

  Then he passed out.

  He sat by his father’s bed every day. Most of the time, Father slept. They talked a little, but it was clear Father was losing his mind. He kept asking Ian why he reminded him of his son, and Ian repeated the same story.

  Three days later, Duncan was lucid enough to ask to be propped up in the pillows. His eyes were brighter than before, and he seemed to be able to focus.

  “My boy,” Father said. “Give me my sword.”

  Ian stood to get his father’s sword, which lay on the chest of clothes. He gave the claymore to his father, who held it with one hand. Father caught Ian’s hand and squeezed it, fixing his eye on Ian’s.

  “I will die holding my sword and my son’s hand.”

  Ian’s eyes burned, and a chill ran through his body.

  “Father—” he began, but Duncan interrupted him.

  “Listen. I will tell yer mother what a great son she gave me. Ye take this sword after I’m dead and give it to yer son when yer time comes. Go back to Dundail and make it great again. Be well, Ian.”

  Father’s hand weakened in Ian’s grasp. His eyes lost focus, and he looked somewhere where Ian couldn’t see. His body went limp and still, his breast no longer rising and falling.

  Ian sat for a while, barely breathing, watching for any twitch, any movement. Any sign.

  Nothing.

  “Goodbye, Father,” Ian whispered.

  His head dizzy, his heart skipping beats, his stomach turning in pain, he rose, kissed his father’s still warm forehead, and closed his eyelids.

  “I will take ye home and bury ye in Dundail, next to my mother. And then I will stay there and live in peace and wait until ’tis my turn.”

  But deep inside, he knew there would never be peace for him—not while nightmares haunted him and guilt the size of a boulder hung around his neck.

  Chapter 5

  Kate needed to find Ian. He hadn’t visited her for the last three days, and something about that brought sadness. Sadness and fear. What if something had happened to him?

  Her head still ached, as well as her arms, legs, and her left side. But after three days in bed, she couldn’t lie in one place anymore.

  The questions about who she was and where she was from were torturing her. Something about the castle, about the clothing everyone wore, about everything around her didn’t ring true. She felt like she didn’t belong here.

  She’d asked the maids—whose room she shared—what year it was, where she was, and what was going on, but they seemed to be frightened by her questions and avoided her, claiming they had work to do or were too tired.

  When she’d first arrived, the healer, Ellair—a stout man in his fifties—had dressed her head wound, stitched it, and given her a bitter drink that numbed the pain for a short while. Since then, the maids had brought her food and water and taken out her chamber pot. She felt bad that complete strangers took care of her. Though they didn’t feel comfortable around her, one of them, Aisling, had been kind enough to give Kate one of her older dresses.

  Kate had inspected her clothes and her purse for any clues. Inside her purse was a water bottle with a label—Highland Source. She also read that it was bottled in Inverness and was good till November 5, 2025. That didn’t make any sense to her. Although the bottle was the one thing that looked out of place in this setting, it was the only item that felt right and familiar to her.

  There was also a pack of tissues. A set of keys. A wallet. Inside, she found some paper money and a credit card in the name of Katherine Anderson, valid till 2024. Was she Katherine Anderson? Probably. She knew it was called a credit card, but she had no idea what to do with it. The money was in American dollars and UK pounds. The years printed on the bills didn’t make any sense, either. No ID. No pictures of herself or her family.

  Nothing.

  All of this had been more confusing than clarifying, and her head pounded again. Someone had begun screaming in her mind. She’d put the purse aside and tried to take calming, cleansing breaths. Finally, the screaming had stopped, exhaustion had taken over, and she’d slept.

  The next day, she’d attempted to look through her clothes. The blue top had a label on it—H&M. The jeans were H&M, too. Made in Thailand, they said.

  Made in Thailand? Wasn’t she in Scotland?

  Washing Instructions: Normal cycle. No bleaching.

  Kate shook her head trying to recall anything, make sense of what any of that meant.

  Nothing.

  The pockets of the pants were empty. Her white shoes had even less information on them. While the clothes looked new, the sneakers looked well worn and had turned gray on the sides.

  When all of the maids had been out, she’d inspected the final thing she could derive any clues from.

  Her body.

&
nbsp; She’d stripped naked and sat on the bed, looking at everything. She wasn’t a thin woman—there were rolls of fat on her belly, her breasts were full, her thighs were round, her ass was enormous. Was she beautiful? She had no idea.

  Was she like this because she liked eating? Because she didn’t move a lot? Or simply because that was who she was?

  The questions had made her headache return.

  She was blond everywhere. There was a light mole on the right side of her belly, almost horseshoe shaped. Her fingernails and toenails were clipped short, and there was some dirt underneath her fingernails and scrapes on her hands. She looked clean otherwise, although she still would’ve loved a shower. Her hair fell to her shoulder blades. She wished she could see her face, but there were no mirrors.

  Again, nothing.

  Kate had beaten her hands against the bed in frustration. Then she’d put on her borrowed dress, fallen back into the bed, and cried. Was she really a thief? What was she doing in a place where no one recognized her? Had she been kidnapped, maybe? But why? And wouldn’t the person who’d kidnapped her have showed themselves by now?

  Enough! She forced herself to her feet, determined to find the one person who made her feel safe in this place.

  Leaving the room, she gingerly made her way down the stairs to the courtyard. She inhaled the sunny air of the castle, the scent a mixture of freshly baked bread, woodsmoke, horses, and wet earth. There was something flowery there, too. Around the courtyard, people were busy carrying baskets with vegetables, heavy sacks, firewood. They stopped and talked to one another. Men with swords and bows strode between the towers and the gates, and she could see some of the archers up on the walls. In one corner of the courtyard, men trained at sword-fighting.

  She stopped a man carrying firewood.

  “Excuse me, do you know where I can find Ian?”

  “Ian?” he said. “Is he a warrior? Warriors are usually on the walls or in the great hall, eating and drinking.”

  “Where’s the great hall?”

  He pointed at a separate timber building next to the biggest tower.

  “Thanks,” she said and went in the direction he’d pointed.

  But she didn’t need to go into the hall, because Ian sat on a bench in front. He was pale, forlorn. It broke her heart to see a physically powerful man like him look so lost, his eyes raw.

  She came to him. “Ian,” she said, and he blinked, focusing in on her.

  “Lass,” he said. “What is it?”

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I…I need to make arrangements…find Kenneth MacKenzie. My father just died…”

  He said it as though he still couldn’t quite believe it. Kate sighed. Something about it felt familiar, as though she, too, knew the experience.

  “I’m so sorry, Ian,” she said, covering his hand with hers and squeezing it reassuringly.

  He blinked again and nodded, then got to his feet. Ian walked towards the southern tower, and Kate followed him.

  “I need to arrange a cart for his body,” Ian said. “I’m taking him home.”

  “Oh. You’re leaving?”

  “Aye.”

  She nodded, hiding her disappointment. She didn’t know him at all, but it felt like she’d be losing the only person who’d cared about her in her life.

  The life that she remembered, at least.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “Home. Loch Awe. ’Tis south from here.”

  “What is it like?”

  He sighed. “I…I havna been there in many years. I dinna ken how ’tis now, but I remember the vast loch, the mountains, the woods. Our house. Crazy Mary would cook haggis…”

  She stopped abruptly as an image flashed in her mind—roasted leg of lamb in an ovenproof glass dish, glazed in honey—mustard sauce, with a filling of oatmeal mixed with minced vegetables and herbs. With the image came a feeling of home, of comfort, of security—and anxiety. Questions, doubts, the feeling of inadequacy…

  “What is it?” Ian said, stopping as well. “Are ye well?”

  “I remembered something,” she said, turning the image in her mind again and again, holding on to it as though it were a lifeline. “Crazy Mary—it’s the lamb roast, isn’t it?”

  “Nae. Crazy Mary is our cook.”

  “Oh…it’s not the name of the roast?”

  “Crazy Mary makes a great lamb roast. Aye.”

  “Yes! I know that lamb roast. When I think of it, it brings me a feeling of home. Maybe Crazy Mary knows where my home is. Or even someone in my family?”

  Ian studied her. “I’ve kent Crazy Mary my whole life. I havna met ye before.”

  The steward walked out of the tower they had been heading towards. He threw an angry, suspicious glance and Kate, making her shrink inwardly, but she only raised her chin. Whatever the man thought, she knew for sure she wasn’t a thief. He greeted Ian, then turned to her.

  “What are ye still doing here?” the man asked Kate. “I dinna want thieves in the castle.”

  “I am not a thief, mister,” she said.

  “Ahearn, ye dinna ken she’s done what ye’re accusing her of. The woman needs help. Clearly, she’s been unwell.”

  “I had thought ye left.” He glared at her.

  “It’s the first day I can stand on my feet.”

  “Good,” he said. “That means ye can go. Ye must leave the castle immediately. Ye’re nae welcome here. Go home, wherever ye came from.”

  Unwanted tears prickled Kate’s eyes. She was now being chased away from the only place she knew. Where would she even go? She had no idea where “home” was.

  “Ahearn, dinna ye think ’tis a little too harsh on the lass?” Ian said.

  “These days, ye never ken who to trust, lord. I’ve been careful with people my whole life. And it’s served me well. I must insist ye leave the castle today, lass. We have given ye enough kindness already. I canna risk thieves, spies, or whores.”

  “Ahearn!” Ian cried. “She’s none of those things.”

  “My apologies, lord. Mayhap nae. Still. No one kens the lass. I canna take risks. Nae in the war.”

  Ian shook his head and looked at Kate.

  His warm brown eyes under thick, ginger-tinged eyelashes seemed like the only familiar and dear thing she knew in this world.

  “If she must leave, she’s coming with me.”

  “What?” Ahearn and Kate said at the same time.

  Ian swallowed hard, the hazy, pained gaze returning. “My father just passed, Ahearn. I was looking for Kenneth to make arrangements, borrow a cart for his body. I want to leave on the morrow and take him with me.”

  The man clasped his hands together. “I am so sorry to hear yer father passed, lord. But the lass?”

  Ian didn’t break eye contact with her, and that sad yet warm gaze gave her hope. Gave her strength. Told her she wasn’t alone.

  “Ye said Crazy Mary might be yer family. Come with me to find out. I’d verra much like to hire ye as a cook. Clearly, ye’re good at it—the bread that ye made was delicious, and the lamb roast was the thing ye remembered. Crazy Mary may be yer family or ken something about ye. And I need someone else to help in the kitchen. Will ye come?”

  Ahearn shook his head. “Lord, please, this isna wise—”

  “Will ye?” Ian interrupted him, still looking at Kate.

  A smile spread on her face, her vision blurry from tears of gratitude. “Yes,” she breathed.

  “Are ye strong enough to travel?” he asked.

  “I think so,” she said. “And thank you, Ian.”

  Being treated kindly was something she had never been used to. She had no idea how she knew that, but this felt strange. It felt unfamiliar. It felt like a rare, precious gift.

  “Thank you,” she whispered again.

  Ian nodded and pursed his lips, perhaps his way of returning her smile. He turned to Ahearn. “Is Kenneth in the tower?”

  “Aye. He was talk
ing to the marshal.”

  “All right. I’ll go find him and ask about the cart. Lass, dinna go anywhere without me. We’re leaving today.”

  As he walked away, Kate couldn’t help but admire his tall, muscular frame and confident stride. She wondered if he was married and hurried to his wife back home, or if he was in love with someone. Was she married? She had no idea.

  But looking at Ian, something in her hoped she wasn’t, and that he wasn’t, either…

  Chapter 6

  Ian took a deep breath, filling his lungs with pure Highland air. Would it be able to finally clear his head of nightmares? The cart shook and wobbled on the road between the mountains of Glen Coe to his left and right. A waterfall streamed down the mountain slope nearby, its rushing cascade like sweet music. The sense of peace he’d been longing for during his years in Baghdad was almost within his grasp. Once he saw the calm waters of Loch Awe at Dundail again, he hoped that peace would finally come.

  But would it really?

  “It’s so beautiful here,” Kate said. “How long till Dundail?”

  He looked at her bonnie profile. She sat by his side in the cart. The bruise at the top of her forehead had purpled. “Two or three days, I think,” Ian said. “We might need to sleep in the woods but there’s one village in between, I will try to get us lodging there.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  He chuckled. He’d started to get used to the strange way she spoke. In the caliphate, he’d heard countless accents and foreign speech from other slaves, so that wasn’t new. But he’d never heard anyone who sounded like her.

  “Did ye remember anything?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Nope. I’ve looked through my things, but they only confuse me and make my head hurt.”

  “Aye. Ye dinna have much with ye.”

  “I’ve banged my head for the last three days trying to figure out who I am and what I’m doing here. I hope Crazy Mary has the answer, or some clue.”

  “Aye.”

  “Thank you again, for helping me. I feel like you’re the only friend I have.”