Falling for the Highlander: A Time Travel Romance (Enchanted Falls Trilogy, Book 1)

by Emma Prince

  Giving herself a little shake, she tore her eyes away and focused on Aileas once again. “Callum already told me that he would find a way to put a stop to this arranged marriage. Knowing that you want the same thing only makes it clearer that you two can’t marry. I’m really helping both of you. But…it’s more than that.”

  “Oh?”

  “This world can be tough,” Caroline said, adding softly, “especially in this era.” She shot Aileas a lopsided grin. “Us girls have to stick together.”

  Aileas gave her a wobbly smile in return. “Thank ye.”

  “Come on,” Caroline said, standing from the bench. “We’d better get back to the great hall. Laird MacConnell is probably in the process of turning Callum into minced meat, and we need him in one piece if he’s going to help us convince your father.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Eagan waited in the east tower stairs just outside the great hall. The rest of the castle’s inhabitants had given the hall and the two quarrelling Lairds a wide berth. But Eagan had lingered within earshot, waiting for his opportunity.

  The Laird and MacConnell had spoken in circles nigh all day. To Eagan’s grave disappointment, Callum was arguing against a marriage alliance—the marriage alliance Duncan had concocted for the betterment of both clans. And in the name of peace, for with the MacMorans and the MacConnells united, the MacBeans would be forced back into their place.

  Callum had truly forgotten his responsibility. And there was only one explanation for why the Laird would do such a thing. It was the woman. Caroline had clouded the Laird’s mind, twisting him away from the right course of action.

  Would the Laird ever take her to her homeland, wherever that was? Based on what Eagan had seen last night, it was becoming increasingly unlikely. Callum would destroy his alliance with MacConnell, all to keep the woman at his side.

  Unless Eagan did something to drive her out.

  And to do so, he needed the perfect moment to set his plan in motion. He’d almost slipped out of the hall earlier during the morning meal, but blessedly he’d hesitated. If he hadn’t, MacConnell’s daughter and Caroline would have come upon him, and his plan would have fallen apart.

  But now that the hours had stretched and the evening meal was nearly upon them, time was almost out. Callum, Laird MacConnell, Aileas, and Caroline were all still rooted at the high table. And Tilly and the other kitchen lasses had turned to their preparations. He wouldn’t get a better opportunity than this.

  With a fortifying breath, he slid from the shadows in the stairwell and skirted the edge of the great hall toward the keep’s doors, trying to avoid notice. To his relief, the four at the high table were still so involved in their discussion—which mostly involved MacConnell demanding that the marriage alliance go forward and Callum suggesting alternatives—that they paid him no heed.

  Once he was out of the keep, Eagan breathed a little easier, but he still glanced around cautiously to make sure no one took note of his presence. Satisfied that he hadn’t been observed, he strode toward the garden. He slipped through the gate, his gaze immediately landing on what he sought.

  Hurriedly, he plucked what he needed, clenching one hand to conceal what he’d taken. Then he hastily crossed through the gate again.

  He glanced at the side door leading to the back of the kitchens. It would be more direct that way, but then again, it would appear suspicious for him to use that door when he normally didn’t. So instead he headed back to the keep’s double doors and ducked inside.

  Somehow he managed yet again to avoid notice as he crossed the hall and pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen. Inside, he found a riot of activity as Tilly and the others prepared the evening meal. It was to be a simple stew, perfect for Eagan’s purposes.

  “How soon until the meal is ready?” he asked Tilly. His hand began to sweat around what he clutched. He only hoped his voice sounded natural.

  “Just as fast as I can make it,” Tilly replied tartly, not even looking up from a carrot she was chopping.

  “The Laird is asking for it to be served now,” Eagan lied. “He doesnae want to keep his guests waiting.”

  Tilly squawked like an aggravated goose. “Gracious me! I suppose I can send the stew out, but the bread isnae ready yet.”

  “The bread can wait. I’d serve the stew now if I were ye.”

  With a mournful cluck of her tongue at being rushed, Tilly tossed the carrot she’d just chopped into a bubbling, fragrant caldron of stew that hung over the kitchen’s enormous hearth. She snapped out orders to several lasses, calling for bowls and a tray. As one lass ladled the stew, another placed the full bowls on a tray, while still more scurried to keep out of the way.

  Margaret took the tray and hastened toward the swinging door to the hall, but Eagan stepped in her path.

  “I’ll take these out. Yer mother needs ye more in here.”

  “Thank ye, Eagan,” Tilly called over the noise in the kitchen. “That’s verra considerate. And aye, Margaret, I need ye to keep an eye on…”

  Eagan turned his back on them, and the bustle and din fell away. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, hard and fast. Balancing the tray on one hand, he hunched over, shooting a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching him. But all in the kitchen were too caught up in their own tasks.

  Quickly, he opened his hand over one of the bowls and dropped in the leaves he’d plucked.

  Foxglove leaves.

  He snatched up one of the spoons placed on the tray and stirred in the leaves until they were suspended in the stew with the other vegetables and hunks of meat. Then he stuck a spoon in each of the other three bowls to make them appear the same.

  Pushing through the swinging door, his feet carried him to the raised dais.

  “…Might consider waiting until I am nineteen,” Aileas was saying, her chin timidly tucked.

  Bloody hell, even MacConnell’s daughter was speaking against the marriage alliance? Thank God Eagan was acting now, lest Caroline manage to warp Laird MacConnell’s thinking on the matter as well.

  Still, Aileas was just a lass, innocent in all this as far as Eagan could tell. Guilt cinched his gut tight. Yet he could not stray from his plan.

  He set the bowl with the foxglove in front of Aileas.

  Once he’d distributed the other bowls, he stepped down from the dais, but instead of hiding away again, he lingered in a corner, watching. He had to be sure his plan worked this time, and it might involve some…guidance on his part.

  He could have simply poisoned Caroline, but that wouldn’t have gotten rid of her—unless he’d sought to kill her. Eagan wouldn’t go that far—not when he had his immortal soul to consider. Nay, he only wanted her gone, and making her ill would likely have the opposite effect, forcing her to remain while she recovered, all the while drawing the Laird’s sympathy and attention.

  But Eagan knew what lay between the Laird and Caroline. And he knew how women could be when they were jealous. Aileas was Caroline’s rival for the Laird’s hand. Wouldn’t it make sense, then, for Caroline to try to get the lass out of her way? That was how it would look when they all realized Aileas had been poisoned with foxglove.

  It was a shame to harm the innocent Aileas, but the matter at stake was bigger than one mere lass.

  He watched, his breath catching in his throat, as the four on the raised dais halted their endlessly pivoting conversation and began eating in taut silence. His gaze locked on Aileas. She lifted the spoon to her mouth.

  But just as she was about to eat, the kitchen door swung open and Tilly came bustling out with a tray of steaming bread. As she stepped onto the dais, she cut off Eagan’s view. Eagan cursed, straining to see around her wide hips, but it was no use.

  “Apologies for the delay, Laird,” Tilly said, setting the bread in the middle of the table.

  When she stepped back, Aileas had lowered her hand and was scooping up another spoonful of stew.

  She must have ta
ken a bite, then. Eagan nearly sagged with relief. All was in motion now.

  Aileas lifted the spoon to her mouth once more, but she hesitated. She swallowed hard, staring down at the stew, then set her spoon back down and rose shakily to her feet.

  Good God, did foxglove truly work so quickly? Was she already feeling ill? Nervousness jolted through him. This was his moment to act.

  He rushed to the high table, plastering a frown on his face.

  “Are ye well, Mistress Aileas?” he asked, infusing his voice with concern.

  “Aye,” she replied, glancing at him. “Or…nay. I believe I need some air.”

  He let his gaze fall casually to her bowl of stew. Amazingly, a foxglove leaf was floating on top. This was too easy. After so many failed attempts to be rid of Caroline Sutton, it was as if fate was handing him the perfect circumstances.

  “What is this?” he asked slowly. He used her spoon to fish out the leaf, then held it up dramatically.

  He felt the eyes of the Laird, MacConnell, Caroline, and Aileas all lock on the leaf.

  “Why…” He widened his eyes in an imitation of shock. “This is foxglove!”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Callum stood so quickly that his chair clattered backward onto the dais. Laird MacConnell did the same less than a heartbeat later.

  “Poison,” MacConnell hissed. “Someone put poison in my daughter’s stew!”

  “Father, I didnae—” Aileas began, but MacConnell cut her off.

  “I’ll have yer bloody head on a pike for this, MacMoran!” he roared, spinning toward Callum.

  Callum had no doubt that he could best the older man physically, but if they came to blows now, any hope of an alliance would be quashed once and for all.

  “Hold, man!” he snapped at MacConnell. He spoke loudly enough that MacConnell started, and Callum used the slim window of the man’s hesitation to gain control of the situation.

  He snatched the leaf from Eagan’s fingers, staring at it closely. Caroline moved to his side to look as well.

  “It is a foxglove leaf,” she breathed, stunned.

  “Who could have done this?” he muttered.

  “Whoever it was, the villain is here under yer roof, MacMoran.”

  “Tilly prepared the meal, Laird,” Eagan offered. “Mayhap we ought to question her.”

  “Tilly!” Callum bellowed, loud enough to rattle the great hall’s rafters. His patience was already threadbare after a day spent arguing with Laird MacConnell. And now someone had put foxglove in his guest’s food. There could be no room for confusion or doubt—he had to get to the bottom of this matter, or else all hope for peace was lost.

  Tilly came scuttling into the hall from the kitchen, her eyes wide. “What is it, Laird?”

  He held up the foxglove leaf as she approached. “This was in Aileas’s stew.”

  As her gaze fixed on the leaf, she blanched. “Foxglove. Good heavens.”

  “How did it get there?” he demanded.

  Tilly’s mouth worked in dumbfounded silence for a long moment. “I-I cannae say, Laird.”

  “Cannae, or willnae?” MacConnell barked.

  “Silence,” Callum ground out. “As ye’ve mentioned, Laird MacConnell, this…incident took place under my roof, so it is my responsibility to root it out. Now, Tilly, how could this have gotten into Aileas’s bowl?”

  “I dinnae ken, Laird. I-I made the stew myself. I would never add such a plant to aught that I cooked in my kitchen.”

  “And the lasses who help ye?”

  Tilly straightened to her full, if paltry, height. “Nay, Laird,” she said firmly. “Those lasses dinnae have a devious bone in their bodies. They would never do such a thing.”

  “Ye said ye made the stew yerself,” Eagan prodded. “Did ye also gather the ingredients?”

  “Nay, I only used what was in the basket that…” Tilly’s gaze locked on Caroline. “…That Mistress Caroline prepared for me from the garden.”

  They all turned to Caroline. Her eyes widened. “Tilly, you couldn’t possibly think I put foxglove in your basket.”

  “Nay, mistress, of course n—”

  “But ye do spend a great deal of time in the garden, do ye no’, Mistress Caroline?” Eagan asked. “And isnae there foxglove growing there?”

  “Let us go find out,” MacConnell said, thumping down from the dais and tromping toward the keep’s doors. Tilly, Eagan, and Aileas all hurried after him, but as Callum moved to follow, Caroline caught his arm.

  “I didn’t do this,” she breathed. “I would never—”

  “I ken it, lass,” he said quickly. “And I’ll fight to prove yer innocence. But we must get to the bottom of this.”

  She nodded dazedly, then they followed the others out of the keep. When they reached the garden, they all filed through the gate and down one of the dirt paths between the raised beds.

  “There,” Eagan said, pointing toward where several clumps of foxglove grew out of one of the beds. “And look—the leaves on that one have been torn.”

  It was true—several leaves were missing from one of the plants.

  MacConnell rounded on Caroline, and on instinct, Callum stepped in front of her.

  “Ye did this, didnae ye, lass?” he demanded, narrowing his eyes on her.

  “That doesnae make sense,” Callum shot back. “Why would Caroline harm Aileas?”

  “Mayhap because she wants ye for herself.” The Laird jabbed a finger at Callum. “Mayhap she thinks if she gets rid of my Aileas, ye will marry her instead. And mayhap she is right, for ye seem all too eager to toss aside the marriage alliance.”

  “Are ye accusing me of being behind this incident as well as Caroline?”

  “Father, ye are wrong about—”

  “I dinnae ken what yer play here is, MacMoran,” MacConnell interrupted, glaring between Callum and Caroline. “But I am no fool. The lass has every reason to go after my daughter.”

  “Caroline isnae one of us,” Eagan said quietly. “Ye mustnae forget that, Laird. Ye dinnae ken what she is capable of.”

  “No’ this,” Callum bit out. “And she may no’ be a MacMoran, but I willnae let these accusations stand.”

  “They arenae mere accusations,” MacConnell snapped, pointing to the foxglove. “There is proof.”

  Tilly wrung her hands in her apron. “Nay, I dinnae believe Mistress Caroline could do such a thing. I ken her, and she wouldnae—”

  “Then how do ye explain that?” MacConnell demanded, jutting his finger at the foxglove once more.

  “I didn’t do it.”

  “But she had reason—”

  “Enough, Laird MacConnell, or so help me—”

  “Might I speak?”

  Everyone fell silent at Aileas’s shrill cry. Sometime during their arguing, she’d been crowded to the side, but they all parted to stare at her now. She stood with her hands clenched at her sides so tightly that they trembled.

  “If any of ye care to know, I havenae been poisoned. I didnae even eat any of my stew.”

  Guilt at his inattention to Aileas’s wellbeing swept Callum, followed by confusion. He hadn’t been paying attention to whether or not she’d eaten the stew earlier—he’d been too focused on his own foul mood after a day spent quarreling with Laird MacConnell. But he did remember her standing from the table not long after the meal was served, looking wan and clammy.

  “Ye…ye are well, then, daughter?” MacConnell asked awkwardly. From the color rising to his face, he felt even guiltier than Callum for completely ignoring his daughter’s health while caterwauling about her being poisoned.

  “Aye, thank ye for yer concern, Father,” she replied tartly.

  “But ye werenae feeling well,” Callum said slowly. “Ye said ye needed some air.” He went over the events again in his mind. Aye, Aileas had risen from the table, which had drawn Eagan over. And then Eagan had noticed the foxglove in her stew.

  “That is true, but no’ because of the stew, which
I didnae eat,” she repeated.

  “What do ye mean, ye didnae eat the stew?” Eagan said, his gaze fixing intently on Aileas. “I saw ye take a bite.”

  “Nay, I felt queasy at the first whiff of it. I tried to have a spoonful, but I couldnae.”

  Tilly huffed a wee breath and patted down her wild nest of red hair. “There was naught wrong with the stew, I can assure ye that. Well, other than the foxglove in it.”

  “Aye, I’m sure it would have been excellent without the poison,” Aileas said impatiently. “That is no’ the reason I felt ill.”

  “Then what is?” MacConnell demanded, his bushy gray brows drawn together in confusion.

  Aileas hesitated, casting a glance at Caroline. Callum still stood halfway in front of her, but she leaned out from behind him. Like MacConnell, her brows were knitted together, but they slowly eased and lifted as realization dawned across her features.

  “Aileas…?” she murmured.

  Aileas gave her a little reassuring nod, then turned back to her father. “I was ill because…because I am pregnant.”

  “What?” MacConnell breathed.

  But Aileas continued before MacConnell could sputter more.

  She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Aye. With Terek MacBean’s bairn.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Laird MacConnell stumbled backward, and he would have fallen if Callum hadn’t darted forward and gripped the man by the front of his tunic.

  For her part, Caroline’s breath left her in a hard whoosh.

  Of course. When Aileas had dashed from the great hall that morning and thrown up in the garden, it wasn’t just nerves or distress over her father’s brash behavior.

  She was pregnant.

  But Terek MacBean…

  A memory of the man, dark-haired, keen-eyed, and of an age with Caroline, flashed through her mind. Caroline hadn’t paid much attention to him, for Laird MacBean had dominated their brief meeting. But she did remember that Terek had tried to calm his father when he’d become heated with anger.