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

by Mariah Stone

  Chapter 13

  Ian went to the stables to tack up the horse and go out riding as far away as the day would allow. He needed to distract himself, to stop this nagging, sucking feeling of guilt and desperation. He hated being almost cruel to Kate. The headache after several days of drinking himself to sleep didn’t help.

  He opened Thor’s stall and brushed the animal, then stroked his neck. Thor looked at him with his shiny black eyes.

  “Ye lucky beast,” Ian said. “Nae concerns, nae regrets. Just eat yer hay and gallop around.”

  Thor blinked and snorted gently, as though asking what was the matter.

  The matter was a dark, heavy weight in the pit of Ian’s stomach. He knew in the back of his mind that he’d snapped at Kate with no good reason. He knew he’d behaved like a cold, ungrateful shite. After what she and Manning had managed for the wake, he should have fallen on his knees and kissed her hands. It was she who’d done it, Ian was sure. The spotless great hall, the quick and delicious pastries, the clean cups and plates… Everything had been ready for the guests, neatly organized through and through.

  Manning would have never put in that much effort. Cadha didn’t have the physical strength anymore.

  No, he knew it was all Kate.

  And yet, Ian had hurt her—again. If he’d seen someone else talk to her as he had, the man would lie on the ground with his nose broken.

  It was his cloudy mind, he knew, the hangover that made him act out. As well as his worry about the English invaders who threatened to knock on their doors sooner rather than later.

  He put on the saddle and the reins, then walked Thor out. Summer was glorious in the Highlands, just like he remembered. It was never as hot as in the caliphate. Rather, the sun was warm and the wind brought the fresh scent of water from the bright-blue loch. The mountains and hills on both sides of the loch were lush with trees and grass.

  Ian scratched Thor’s warm neck, inhaling the air.

  Since he’d arrived in Baghdad, he’d had the goal of coming home. Once he’d returned, he’d had to bury his father.

  Now, for the first time since he’d been sold as a slave, he had no purpose. He could take Thor and ride anywhere he wanted.

  Freedom.

  He mounted the horse and let him walk out of the yard slowly. He savored every breath, every movement of the animal, the feel of his own body, still aching from the excess of uisge, but free nevertheless.

  As soon as they were out in the fields of oats and barley, he spurred Thor, and they flew like a wind.

  They passed the village of Benlochy, past the small church. In its backyard, Father had been buried yesterday with the customary wooden plate with earth and salt on it. Earth as the sign that the body would be returned to the earth where it had come from, and salt as the symbol of the eternal soul.

  They galloped for a while—Ian didn’t know how long. But with the effort of the exercise, the trees and ground and sky flashing before his eyes, he was able to forget, his mind going pleasantly empty, full of sunshine and wind and the rush of speed.

  The only thing Ian wasn’t able to forget, was Kate. But she didn’t bother him. On the contrary, thinking of her brought something soothing and calming to his soul. Like a balm on a ragged wound.

  By the time Thor needed a break, Ian had decided he’d apologize the moment he got back. He had been unfair, and she should know that.

  He dismounted and led Thor to the loch to let him drink and graze on the grass nearby. The water looked so good, and suddenly Ian wanted nothing more than to plunge into it. Following the impulse, he undressed and walked in. Chill grasped his feet and ankles, the wind refreshing against his bare chest.

  Ah, it would be freezing. Better not to wait. On with it.

  He advanced even though the cold took his breath away and hurt his skin. He submerged himself completely and felt as if the loch embraced him like a babe against his mother’s bosom. He let the waters of his motherland wash away the horrors of slavery and dissolve the painful memories of every life he’d taken.

  He stayed underwater until his chest felt like it would burst, then swam up and gasped in the sweet air. Lightness he hadn’t felt in a long while filled his body, and he wanted to laugh from the pleasure of it.

  Voices from the shore made him still, then narrow his eyes. Englishmen, judging by their heavy metal armor. There were three of them. One dismounted, walked up to Thor and looked him over, checking his teeth. He lifted the animal’s foot and looked at his hoof, then nodded with approval.

  How dare he look at Ian’s horse as though he was judging its quality? Something dark, ugly, and slippery turned deep in Ian’s gut. Something he’d thought he’d left in the loch. He walked towards the shore, his hands itching for a weapon.

  All three of them stopped talking and stared as he approached.

  “Hey, you!” one of them cried. “Who are you?”

  Ian didn’t stop until he reached the rocky shore.

  “I am the owner of that horse. And I will thank ye to get yer hands off him.”

  “A Scot,” one man said quietly to another.

  Ian raised his chin.

  They looked him over and laughed. “It’s a big demand coming from someone standing naked and dripping water.”

  “I dinna want trouble, man,” Ian said. “Just let my horse go and be on yer way.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Ian Cambel.”

  “Dundail?”

  “Aye.”

  They exchanged amused glances. “Well, Ian Cambel of Dundail, since your estate is the next one King Edward’s coming for, we’ll spread the burden and relieve you of your horse now.”

  He could launch himself at them. He could take the dagger from the belt of the man standing by Thor. It would only take a moment to pierce the Englishman under his chin, then slice the second man’s neck before he knew what hit him, hop onto Thor and gallop away.

  He clenched his jaw so tightly, he thought he’d crush his teeth. Everything darkened and sharpened at the same time.

  No.

  He’d promised himself.

  No life will be taken by my hands again.

  The English chuckled. The man on the ground tied Thor’s reins to his horse’s saddle and climbed up.

  “That’s right, Scot, not a word. And be thankful I’m not taking your balls together with your horse. They aren’t worth much anyway.”

  He spat and they continued on their way, slowly, as though they were already victors.

  Ian shook. From cold, from helpless fury, and from the images of dozens of bodies lying in pools of blood on the Baghdad palace’s dusty courtyard.

  The peacefulness of being in the loch was gone, as though blown away by the wind. His chest tightened, and his stomach churned.

  He refused to fight again. He refused to take another life.

  But what would he do once the English showed up in Dundail? Could he stand by and let them harm the villagers who relied on him? And what of Kate? What would they do to the sweet lass who couldn’t even remember where she came from but still managed to somehow warm his cold stone of a heart?

  That thought chilled him more than the cold loch waters. He pulled on his clothes, then turned and ran towards home.

  Chapter 14

  Kate stared at the sloped ceiling of the garret. Although she hadn’t remembered anything new the whole day, after Ian had left, something had lurked at the back of her mind. Like a shadow she’d seen a thousand times but couldn’t recognize.

  She held on to the vision of the kitchen, turning it in her mind over and over. She looked for more details of the furniture, her mom’s face and voice, her clothes.

  Nothing.

  She turned to her sister and concentrated on remembering the color of her eyes—blue. The shape of her face—oval. Her nose—pointy. Her Mickey Mouse T-shirt was faded, and the seams had holes in them. Her hair was done in two messy ponytails, one on top of her head, the other hanging low
by her neck.

  The expression on her sister’s face was mournful. She was afraid and—

  New visions invaded her mind, so overwhelming all she could do was watch. Kate’s breath was taken away, her heart pounding.

  Kate was older now, probably eighteen. In black clothes, Kate opened the door to her and Mandy’s shared bedroom.

  “Mandy, do you want some cookies?” Kate said to a shape lying under the blankets on Mandy’s bed.

  Silence.

  Kate came in and sat at the edge of her sister’s bed and put her hand on the girl’s back.

  “Maybe a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?” she asked.

  Nothing.

  “Honey, are you sick?”

  No response.

  “The funeral was sweet. Mom’s colleagues came. Her boss from the supermarket paid for the cremation.”

  “She would have wanted me there,” Mandy’s muffled voice came from under the blanket.

  “Yes, but she’d understand you aren’t feeling well. Are you still tired?”

  “Leave me alone.”

  “It’s been three days, Mandy. Something’s wrong.”

  “You’re not leaving me alone. That’s what.”

  “I’m just worried.”

  Mandy turned and peeked out from beneath the blanket.

  “I don’t think we’ll ever get better now that Mom’s gone. We don’t have anyone now.”

  “We have each other.” Kate patted her hand. “I’ll drop out of high school and start working. Don’t worry. I got you.”

  Mandy hid her face in her palms and turned back to the wall.

  “Now you’re ruining your life for me. I just can’t… I can’t live like this.”

  A cold wave went through Kate. “Honey, you’re not talking about—”

  She couldn’t say the words. Losing Mom to cancer was bad enough. Was her sister suicidal?

  Mandy didn’t answer.

  “Talk to me, please,” Kate whispered, desperation creeping through her in a dark cloud.

  But Mandy didn’t respond.

  By the end of the week, Kate had found a job as a dishwasher and another as a waitress. Unlike Mom, she’d dragged Mandy to see the local doctor, who’d said this sounded like depression and recommended a psychiatrist. The shrink had confirmed the diagnosis. Kate had found a third job as a waitress in another town, where a few years later she’d be promoted to a line cook’s position. All her earnings went to keeping the roof over their heads and paying Mandy’s medical bills. Soon, Kate knew exactly how Mom had felt.

  Back in Dundail’s attic, Kate swallowed tears staring at the dark wood of the ceiling. Her mom had died, after a life of hard work, which she’d done to support Kate and Mandy. Kate was a high school dropout. Neither she nor Mandy had been vaccinated when they were children because Mom hadn’t had time to take them to the doctor. Kate had paid for herself and Mandy to be vaccinated when they were already grown-ups, she remembered.

  And then, it was as though a dam had broken, and all the memories flooded through at once, choking her. They came from all ages in no order.

  She and Mandy had moved out of their rental house and started a restaurant, Deli Luck.

  At the age of sixteen, Mandy got knocked up and had Jax, becoming a single mother, just like their own mom.

  Mandy had applied to be featured in Logan Robertson’s Sweet Burn TV show, where he refurbished restaurants that didn’t do well.

  What bothered Kate the most about all these visions was the difference of the worlds. She knew she spoke a different language in these memories, English. She knew there were mobile phones, antidepressants that helped her sister stay afloat, and cars and airplanes. She knew that because she remembered driving, and then flying to Scotland.

  But what had happened in Scotland, she had no idea.

  Mice scratched in the walls of the garret. An owl hooted outside. It was quiet at night in her Cape Haute apartment, despite them living on Main Street, where all shops were. Her window was at the back of the building, overlooking the alley.

  Sometimes, she heard Mandy cry at night from the other side of the wall. She sobbed into her pillow so that she wouldn’t wake up Jax. Every time, Kate knew what this meant. Mandy wouldn’t get out of bed for a week, Kate would need to book an emergency session with Dr. Lambert, and hire a temp to take care of the restaurant. All that meant more costs. During those days, she also needed to be Mom to Jax.

  Her heart weighed heavily for leaving them, for not being there to help. She knew from those memories that her life was dedicated to providing for them, to caring for Jax, to giving him a better future than Kate and Mandy could ever have.

  But where was that world with cars and airplanes and stainless-steel kitchens?

  The most disturbing thing of all was that the checks in the restaurant were dated with the year 2020. So was the plane ticket she’d held in her hand when she was in the airport.

  The small window let in the pink light of sunrise. Kate managed to convince herself the visions weren’t memories. They must be her imagination, no matter how real everything felt.

  But the bottle, she thought. The bottle and the plastic wrapping in her purse. And the money in the wallet. And the credit card…

  There must be another explanation for them.

  If it was all her imagination, the verdict was clear. She was insane. She must be schizophrenic or something. Delusional.

  And a burden.

  Ian had just hired himself a crazy cook who thought she might be from the future.

  And she was falling for him. Far too attached to him. She’d leave one day in any case, but the longer she stayed, the harder it would be to do so. The kindest thing would be to relieve him of her troubles. He was already tortured and clearly wanted to be free. She couldn’t bear to make his life harder.

  She had to leave.

  She’d go back to Inverlochy and try to figure out why she had lain there, unconscious and wounded. There must be some way to convince the steward she wasn’t an enemy. She should examine the underground area where she was found. Maybe there were more clues that would trigger her memory.

  Or her imagination.

  Her head spinning, Kate rose from the bed and dressed. She made her way down into the kitchen to take something to eat for the road. Ian hadn’t paid her yet, and she didn’t want to see him and explain why she was leaving. So she’d take some food as payment. That should be fair.

  She took two loaves of bread, the remnants of the pies from the wake, and a couple of boiled eggs. She filled her water bottle from the well.

  Kate looked around the kitchen for the last time. She’d hoped it might become her home, and despite Manning’s growls, she’d been happy here. In a way, she was happier when she didn’t remember those crazy things about the future, her sister and her restaurant.

  Should she say goodbye to Cadha and Manning? Or Ian?

  She hadn’t seen him since he’d followed her out to the well yesterday morning. He hadn’t asked for lunch or dinner. Had he even come home?

  Didn’t matter. Maybe he had a female friend he’d spent the night with. The thought stabbed her in her chest.

  No, she shouldn’t think about it. It was his business, not hers. She was no one to him.

  But she had to leave some sign that she was all right and hadn’t gotten lost somewhere or drowned in the loch. Not having a pen or paper, she took a handful of flour and sprinkled it over the clean table, then wrote with her finger:

  “Thank you. I’m going home. Kate.”

  With a heavy heart, Kate walked out of the house. It was very early, and the loch stood still like a mirror in the crisp air of the summer morning. Birds chirped in the trees as she walked towards the woods from which Ian and she had arrived several days ago.

  Several blissful days ago.

  Kate turned back to look at Dundail for the last time. The sight was so beautiful it took her breath away. The proud house, the tall, square tower with
the attached one-story building where the main hall was, looked magnificent against the long loch and the mountains, forest and hills on the other side.

  “Goodbye, Ian,” Kate whispered.

  She turned around and continued up the hill and into the woods.

  She always followed the loch, blue water glistening through the trees to her left. It felt good to walk, and her mind cleared as she breathed air scented with wood and leaves and flowers. She had walked till some time in the afternoon, with a couple of short breaks, when she heard voices.

  Her pulse jumped a little, but she told herself there was no need to panic. It was probably just travelers like her. Still, she should mind her business and not attract any attention.

  Her head high, her back straight, she walked. The voices grew louder, and she could distinguish the old English tongue that the knight she and Ian had met on the road had spoken. Through the trees, she saw men laughing and talking. The scent of woodsmoke, grilled meat, and stew hung in the air.

  She could see them now. Most of them wore only tunics and pants, and armor lay on the ground next to them. Red coats of arms with three yellow lions were on banners and shields. Horses grazed here and there. The garrison was probably having a rest.

  Kate’s nape broke out in sweat. They weren’t that far from Dundail. How many were there?

  “Whose lands are these?” one of them asked.

  “Lord of Dundail’s—one of the Cambels, I reckon…” an older voice said.

  “Doesn’t matter whose lands,” a third man broke in. “The instructions of the king and the MacDougalls were clear. We cut through the lands, taking anything we find on the way to Inverlochy. There, we wait hidden for reinforcements and attack.”

  “Bruce got too successful in the east,” the man added. “Our king should have done something much sooner.”

  “What have you heard?” the first one asked.

  “The Lord of Badenoch and all other Comyns were destroyed. With the MacDowells of Galloway gone, and the Earl of Ross having a truce with Bruce, the MacDougalls are the last opposition to Bruce in Scotland.”

  “So King Edward has finally come to his senses?” the older one said.