Highlander Protected: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander In Time Book 3)

by Rebecca Preston

  “There’s word from a nearby county. One of the local lords, his young Catholic wife has a confessor staying with them at the castle. She’s very devout, it seems. But the confessor sounds familiar. A huge man with long black hair. And apparently he wears a mask.”

  Dolores’s eyes widened. “That must be him. You’ve found him.”

  “Seems like it. We’re not sure, of course.” She hesitated a little, and decided to leave out the part about Teodoro having an armed guard around him. She and Eamon were going anyway – and while she didn’t want to lie outright to Dolores, she also didn’t want to give her any extra fuel for the anguish and worry she would no doubt feel, waiting for their safe return. “But we’re going to ride over and investigate. Eamon’s making arrangements now – the plan is to leave tomorrow, if we can.”

  Dolores nodded, looking frightened but determined. “I’ll pack you some extra food. Just in case. Men always neglect that kind of thing,” she added, rolling her eyes a little, and Marianne laughed despite the severity of the situation. “You’ll be careful?” Dolores’s tone hardly shifted but Marianne could tell how important that question was.

  “Dolores, I’m going on this quest to avenge Elena. Do you really think I’m going to rush in like an idiot and get myself hurt or killed before I can even give him a good kick in the—” she caught herself just in time “—shins?” She got the feeling from the way Dolores seemed to stifle a smile that she’d known where Marianne was going with that sentence. “This is just a mission to get information. We’re not going to storm the castle or anything, I promise.”

  “Don’t let him see you. He’ll recognize you straight away. Keep a hood on. Dirty your face.”

  The idea of a disguise hadn’t occurred to Marianne, and she nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a good idea, actually.” She knew a trick or too from her days on the stage – makeup was a complex art, of course, but she thought she might be able to work a little bit of magic in that regard. “And Dolores – you can’t tell anyone where we are.”

  Dolores nodded. “Of course. Ears everywhere. I understand. But if you’ll be gone several days… they’ll notice.”

  “Well, I’ll tell Cora and Ian, of course,” Marianne said thoughtfully. “As for the rest of the castle...”

  “I’ll tell them you’ve fallen ill,” Dolores said suddenly, clapping her hands together. “Dreadfully ill, and you’re not taking guests. I’ll bring food up twice a day, easy enough, I’ve played nurse before.”

  “Great idea!”

  Dolores beamed at the praise and it occurred again to Marianne how unused the woman was to being listened to, to having her ideas recognized and supported. Elena had been her supporter, of course – and the man who’d ruined her life had come back to destroy it afresh by taking her daughter away again. Well, she was back – or at the very least, her champion was. A fresh wave of determination came over her to make sure justice was served.

  They played a hand of cards, talking and laughing, before Dolores ushered Marianne off to bed – she’d need her rest, after all, and Marianne agreed. She lay awake for a little while, watching the fire burn down and listening to the gentle sounds of Dolores in the other room getting herself ready for bed. Despite her trepidation – she needed a little more horse riding practice and a lot more sword fighting – she was looking forward to the adventure that lay in store for her. It felt good to be in motion, finally. And when sleep took her and the now-familiar nightmares crept into her vision, there was something different about them. This time, when the fire rose high around her, and Father Teodoro stood staring at her burning body, there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, something that made Marianne/Elena smile even as her body was burned agonizingly alive.

  Fear.

  Chapter 19

  When Dolores woke Marianne a little after dawn, she almost bounced out of bed – she’d not felt so well-rested since before she’d come to the castle. She realized Dolores was holding a rucksack of sorts. Upon investigation, it was packed with a series of travel necessities – several changes of clothes, socks and underthings especially, as well as emergency rations in the form of some kind of smoked meat, dry to the touch like jerky, well preserved, as well as some dried fruits that reminded her of the trail mix she’d used to snack on between classes at college when she didn’t have time for a full meal.

  “Dolores, when did you get the time to do all this?”

  The woman shrugged. “I don’t need much sleep.”

  “You’re a wonder,” Marianne murmured, and pulled her friend into a hug. Dolores hugged her back, a little stiffly. She wasn’t really one for physical contact, Marianne had learned, but a hug once in a while was an absolute necessity.

  When they broke away, Dolores was looking up at her, a look of determination burning in her eyes. “You’ll keep yourself safe,” she warned her.

  “I promise. We’ll find out what we can, then ride straight back home to you, alright?”

  “Good luck, Marianne. God be with you.”

  They clasped hands one more time before Marianne left, rucksack in hand. She was able to sneak it down to the stables without much trouble – Dolores had timed waking her absolutely perfectly, so that everyone was in the breakfast hall when she left, and what guards were still at their posts were easy to avoid.

  She stashed the rucksack in a pile of straw then stole back to the breakfast hall, where she quickly found Cora and Ian. He was in a cheerful mood – Cora decidedly less so.

  “I can’t move my arms, Marianne,” she moaned the minute her cousin sat down, setting her plate of breakfast in front of her with relish.

  “Me neither, but we’ll live,” she said cheerfully – Ian toasted that sentiment with a twinkle in his eye. “Hey – we got a lead. A familiar-sounding priest is stationed with some Lord and his wife a few counties over. Two days’ ride. We leave from the tavern at midday – but I’m not sure how to leave without the guards seeing me then getting worried when I don’t come back before nightfall.” This particular error in her plan had occurred to her on the realization that the gate was the only way out of the castle – and it was never without guards.

  “Hmm,” Cora said under her breath, eyes far away. “Hey! I know. Ian’s been meaning to take one of the old carriages down to the carpenter to get it repaired. You hide in the back, he can drop you at the tavern. Plus, Ian gets his errands done. Plus-plus, I don’t have to do any more sword fighting,” she added, grinning widely at her husband. “That’s what you think. But it’s a good plan.”

  “Dolores will cover for me to everyone – the plan is to say I’m ill and recovering in her quarters. She’ll bring meals up to make it seem authentic. Maybe you two can ‘visit’ me.”

  Cora nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll get Audrina to bring her herbs down to you as well. Nobody in the castle gets sick without Audrina paying them a visit, she’s a downright miracle worker. We’d better say it’s pretty serious if you’ll be gone for a week.”

  They finished breakfast in thoughtful quiet. Finally, Ian cleared his throat.

  “You’ll be careful, yes? A lot can go wrong on the road. Don’t pick any fights you don’t need to take.”

  “Discretion is the better part of valor,” Marianne agreed.

  “My cousin’s not especially good at that one. Be his brain, will you?”

  She laughed. “Agreed, but I didn’t tell you Eamon was escorting me.”

  Ian winked. “I have my ways of finding things out,” he said with a grin at Cora, who blushed.

  The plan went off without a hitch. After breakfast, Marianne slipped down to the stables again, managing to avoid drawing much attention to herself. She was glad she’d made a bit of a habit of wandering the castle grounds – it made her presence anywhere an unremarkable concept. She sidled into the stables to retrieve her rucksack, stashed it in the damaged carriage that Cora had described to her, some kind of accident involving a drunken dare and a midnight carriage race,
she’d explained, grinning – there was a little more to the castle’s guards than the serious faces they presented to the world, Marianne reflected with a quiet smirk.

  There was an old horse blanket in the stable that she also borrowed – then tucked herself in the carriage and dragged it over her. After a long and rather smelly wait, she heard the tell-tale sounds of hooves and booted feet – Ian, readying the carriage for departure. She heard the jingling of the various straps and buckles as he secured the horse to the carriage, swearing a little as the horse resisted.

  Marianne giggled under her breath, remembering what Cora had said about how much her husband hated horses. But it wasn’t long before the carriage lurched into motion, and they were away. She wished she could sit up and peek out of the window at the castle one last time. Who knew if she’d ever see it again?

  Just as planned, Eamon was waiting for her at the tavern. It was busy again – lots of people in for lunch, or just an afternoon drink – which thankfully meant that their cluster of horses and equipment weren’t especially conspicuous. There were three of the animals, bigger than the ones she was used to, and, she noticed with some relief, very calm. Two of them were bay, one chestnut, and they barely flicked an ear at the hubbub around them, even when Eamon took her rucksack with a grunt and fastened it onto the side of the largest of them – one of the bays.

  “We’ll rotate which ones we ride and which we use for the gear,” the huge man explained, attaching a long length of rein from the chestnut to the pack horse. “And I’ll warn ye, we might have to walk some of the way. Don’t want them getting exhausted before we reach our destination – we may need to leave in a hurry and we’ll need them relatively fresh.”

  Marianne nodded. “I can walk.” She’d brought the most comfortable and hardy pair of boots from the collection Cora had shared with her.

  To her chagrin, Eamon had to help her up onto the other bay – he was a good two hands taller than Sweetpea at the shoulder, but she vowed that by the end of their trek she wouldn’t need assistance to mount him. The horse barely acknowledged her as she settled onto his back. Eamon swung easily up onto the chestnut, flicked a quick glance to her – and with that, they were away. It felt almost anticlimactic, just jumping on a horse and setting off. She almost felt like there should have been a volley of trumpets, or something. The bay had a gentle, rolling gait that seemed to eat up the distance while costing him no effort at all, and she quickly found his rhythm and shifted her weight with him as Cora had taught her.

  Eamon was looking at her out of the corner of his eye, though he pretended to be looking at the horizon when she glanced his way – but there was a definite expression of approval on his face, which delighted her. Making a note to thank Cora sincerely for the tips she’d given her, she loosened the reins just a little, giving the bay room to stretch his head without allowing him quite enough license to nibble at the long grass by the sides of the road.

  “You said it’s two days’ ride?”

  “Maybe a little longer,” he replied, his low voice carrying to her effortlessly even over the sounds of the horses’ feet.

  His voice was made for this kind of thing – to be heard on horseback. Something about that was thrilling, somehow. Focus, Marianne.

  “Like I said, we’ll want to spare the horses as much as possible.”

  “In case we need to run.”

  “That’s right.”

  She hesitated a little – and he seemed to sense that, turning to her with one eyebrow raised.

  “What, ye think I’ll not run if it’s warranted?”

  “I’ve just heard you’ve got a tendency toward – heroics.”

  He snorted. “That’s a polite way of putting it. I’ve been a foolhardy ass in my time, that’s certain. But I’ll not endanger ye. Ye have my word on that. No rushing in.”

  “But you’re armed.”

  “Of course.” He touched one hand to the hilt of the sword that was strapped to the saddle behind him. “But it’s a last resort. Speaking of.” He glanced sideways at her. “Have you a blade?”

  She hesitated. “Not a very good one.” Ian had given her a weapon, but it was an old, worn thing – something used for training more than actual fighting, though he’d promised that it would do the job if it came to it.

  “No swordsman worth his salt would be redeemed or ruined by the quality of his weapon,” Eamon said, and he sounded so much like Ian that Marianne had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing. “Unless it’s rusted through or blunt as a club, it’ll serve.”

  “Sharpened it myself,” she said, a little proudly – that had been a tedious lesson that she’d spent itching to be back outside, trying to knock Cora in the dust.

  “Good. With any luck, neither of us will need them.”

  A comfortable silence fell between them as the village fell away behind them. Before too long, Marianne couldn’t even make out the point on the horizon where they’d come from. Eamon knew where they were going, though (at least, she hoped he did) and it was easy enough to settle into the rhythm of the horse’s gait and daydream as she stared out across the purple-tinged moors they were riding through. It was exquisitely beautiful – and she offered a quiet prayer of thankfulness that the weather was clear and fine.

  When the sun began to dip toward the horizon, Eamon cleared his throat – the sound startled her out of a reverie that may have lasted minutes or hours, she wasn’t sure. Something so peaceful in that, in letting her thoughts just wash out across the horizon. She’d been convinced she’d spend the ride gripped with fear and paranoia about their adventure, but something about the gentle rocking gait of the horse she was coming to think of as ‘hers’ had put all her fears to rest.

  “Best make camp. Nothing worse than trying to set a fire in the dark.”

  They rode a good distance off the road, Eamon clearly searching for a suitable spot – though Marianne had no idea what the criteria for that spot were. The place he settled on looked identical to the last half-dozen he’d checked, to her, and he chuckled at the exasperation on her face.

  “Sheltered from the wind, no big trees to drop branches on us as we sleep, impossible to see from the road, space for the horses to graze,” he explained as she swung down from the bay.

  “You’re the expert,” she acknowledged, taking a few ginger steps to reacclimatize herself to what walking on the ground felt like.

  “Can you light a fire?”

  “I was a Girl Scout for like a week.”

  His blank expression reminded her – with a guilty shock – that she was talking to someone who didn’t know where she was from.

  Stupid girl, she chided herself. She’d been spending too much time around Cora. “I can’t light a fire,” she explained quickly. “But I know what to do with the horses.”

  He nodded, seemingly satisfied with this diversion, and she set about unloading the horses, grateful again to Cora for drilling this into her head despite her complaints at the time. There was a lot more to horse riding than just sitting on the animal and letting it carry you where you needed to go.

  By the time the horses were seen to, Eamon had returned with an armful of firewood and the sun was very low in the sky, casting dusk shadows across their faces. She sat opposite him, watching intently as he nurtured a tiny spark into a tongue of flame that rapidly consumed the thin, flexible twigs he was using for kindling before moving onto larger and larger pieces. Such tiny, gentle movements from such a large man were unexpected, and oddly charming – even the way the fire spread, so reminiscent of her nightmares, failed to worry her the way it would have.

  She thought she’d gotten away with the casual mention of the future, but after dinner, with the sky spread out above them like a dazzling blanket of stars —Could there really be so many? she wondered, over-awed— and the cold air held at bay by a huge cloak that Eamon had draped around both of their shoulders, his gruff voice broke a comfortable silence.

  “What’s a Girl Scout?�
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  She briefly considered inventing something – armies had scouts, right? Maybe she could pretend to have been one of those, but a girl, hence the name? —and then gave up almost immediately. He’d see through the lie in a heartbeat. She tugged the cloak a little closer around her, appreciating the body heat they were sharing and doing her darndest to appreciate his closeness for that reason and that reason alone and sighed.

  “C’mon, lassie. You’ve trusted me this far, haven’t ye?”

  “True,” she allowed, half-smiling. Here she was, miles from anyone she knew, more or less helpless in the Scottish wilderness. If Eamon had wanted to hurt her, he’d had ample opportunity. But he wasn’t going to hurt her. She knew that, clear as day – as clear as her magic ever got, she knew he was trustworthy. “I’m not from around here,” she started.

  He snorted at her. “Oh, aye? What a revelation.”

  “Shut up. I’m from America.” Shit, had it even been discovered yet? And more importantly, had the news spread to this part of Scotland? “Across the sea. And – far, far in the future.”

  He didn’t believe her, she could tell – but he also didn’t say anything. Waiting for her to continue.

  “It’s hard to explain. I think – I don’t just think, I know that Elena – the Elena you knew, the one Teodoro killed – I know that I’m one of her descendants. A great, great, great, great, great granddaughter. I think that at the moment of her death, she reached out through time. She found me, and she brought me here – to avenge her. That’s why I don’t know how to fight, or light a fire, or – do anything useful,” she added, a little defensively.

  “Ye’re from – the future.”

  “Yes.”

  Eamon considered this for a long moment. “What happens?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “To Scotland.”

  She was thrown by this question. He was looking at her in the firelight, his eyes dark, his grim face serious.