Soul of a Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Arch Through Time Book 13)

by Katy Baker

Together she and Fergus sped off into the trees. Fergus’s eyes were wide, his skin pale, as he panted in fear. They wove through the trees and Sophie risked a glance over her shoulder. Rochford and the bald man were sprinting after them, murder on their faces. Terror clawed its way up Sophie’s throat.

  “They’re coming!” she gasped at Fergus. She realized that they could not outrun their pursuers. “Make sure you get back to the castle!” she shouted at Fergus. “Find the laird!”

  Then she staggered to a stop and turned to face the way they’d come, brandishing the dagger. Fergus halted, watching her with wide, fearful eyes.

  “I willnae leave ye!”

  “You must! Otherwise we’ll both be caught. Go on! Now!”

  Still he paused, eyes darting between her and their pursuers. Then he sprang away, sprinting off into the woods with the swiftness of a deer.

  The bald man gave a loud curse and veered off after him. With a cry, Sophie threw herself at the man, slamming into his chest and taking them both crashing to the ground. The man shouted in anger and tried to scrabble to his feet but Sophie clung to one leg, desperate to allow Fergus time to escape.

  “Get off me, ye daft bitch!” the man growled.

  A blow caught her flush on the temple with enough force to rock her head back. Her grip on the man loosened and he jumped to his feet, looking around for Fergus. Sophie blinked away the ringing in her ears and was pleased to see no sign of him. She breathed out in relief. He’d gotten away.

  The bald man rounded on her with a snarl. He clenched his fists.

  “Stupid bitch! Now look at what ye’ve done!” He raised his hand above his head and brought it swinging down towards Sophie’s face.

  She cowered, throwing up her arms to protect herself, but Rochford grabbed the man’s hand before the blow fell.

  “No,” he said. “None of that.”

  The bald man brandished his gashed arm at Rochford. “See what she did to me? And now she’s let the boy get away. We should slit her throat and be done with it!”

  “Are you really that stupid?” Rochford hissed. “She’s far more valuable to us alive than dead. Think of what she knows about Sutherland and the Order! Think of what she can tell us.”

  The bald man hesitated. He glared down at Sophie, the desire for violence flashing in his eyes. He mastered himself with a visible effort.

  “And ye reckon she’ll talk?”

  Rochford shrugged. “With the right persuasion anyone will talk. But not here. That boy will give away our position. We need to get moving.”

  He gripped Sophie’s wrist and yanked her to her feet. She lunged at him with her dagger but he’d been expecting this and knocked it out of her hand before twisting her arm up her back.

  “Oh no you don’t,” he said. “I’ll give you a choice. If you behave yourself, I’ll not gag you or tie you up. You can walk of your own volition. If you give me trouble, I’ll gag you, bind your hands and feet, and carry you over a horse like a sack of grain. What will it be, sweetling?”

  He twisted her arm further and Sophie gasped. “All right! I’ll do what you say!”

  “I knew you would. Good girl.”

  He released her and stepped back, tapping his thigh with Callum’s dagger. “You will walk between Marlon and I. Try to run and there will be consequences. Understood?”

  “Understood.”

  Her pulse was racing so fast it was making her dizzy. Panic fluttered at the edges of her mind but she refused to let it in. Fergus will find Callum, she told herself. And he’ll come for me. I just have to stay alive until then.

  “Good,” Rochford said with a smile. “Then let’s get moving.”

  He set off through the wood in the opposite direction to Dun Saith. The bald man, Marlon, indicated for her to follow Rochford and then brought up the rear. Sophie trudged after Rochford, trying desperately to devise a way out of this. No plan sprang to mind.

  Rochford set a punishing pace and they’d been walking for around an hour when he halted as a shrill whistle cut through the air. He raised his hands to his mouth and copied the whistle. Several men emerged from the undergrowth, so well camouflaged that Sophie would never have seen them if they’d remained still. One, the leader, approached Rochford and gave a respectful nod.

  “My lord.” The man’s gaze took in Sophie. “Got more than ye bargained for, eh?”

  “You could say that,” Rochford replied. “Our position is compromised. Tell the men to get ready to move out. The woman’s coming with us.”

  The men melted into the trees and Rochford led the way into a clearing that was obviously Rochford’s camp. A fire-pit sat in the center with a few crude lean-tos made from leaves and branches crowding the edges. A group of horses was tethered on the far side.

  Rochford lead Sophie to the fire-pit and pushed her down onto a log. “Stay here,” he commanded before striding off towards one of the lean-tos.

  Sophie glanced around, wondering if she could try to escape as the men broke camp, but Marlon sank onto the log beside her and gave her a humorless grin, putting paid to that idea.

  The men moved efficiently, dousing the fire, packing supplies, loading up the horses, and it was obvious that they’d done this many times before. She watched them, hoping to discover something that would help Callum but they gave away nothing. It was obvious these men were Disinherited, shown by the fact that most of them bore the tattoo on the inside of their wrist. They all had the wiry, lean look of men who spent a lot of time living outdoors and it was clear from the way they’d melted out of the trees earlier that they were used to this lifestyle.

  In no time at all, the camp was packed and they were ready to leave. Rochford nodded to Marlon, who pulled Sophie up and marched over to where Rochford waited, holding the reins of a fine white horse.

  “You will ride with me, my lady,” he said. “Get up.”

  Marlon grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her into the saddle, ignoring her protests. Rochford swung up behind her, grabbed the reins, and set his heels to the horse. They set out, weaving in a line through the wood. Sophie glanced at the ground, pleased when she saw they were leaving clear hoof prints in the mud. Good. Callum and his men would be able to track them.

  But they’d not been riding for more than ten minutes when they entered a wide clearing and Rochford called a halt. The clearing was completely devoid of any vegetation, a perfect circle of blackened soil as if there had been a fire here and nothing had grown back since.

  In the center of the circle rose a single standing stone. Its surface was pitted, cracked, and covered in something dark like oil. The stone seemed to suck all the light into it, making it seem like a hole of darkness in the clearing’s heart.

  Rochford nodded to one of his men. “Trevor, it’s your turn.”

  The man he’d addressed got down off his horse and approached the standing stone. Behind Sophie, Rochford began chanting under his breath. She didn’t recognize any of the words. They were low, guttural, and something about them made her hair stand on end. Trevor reached the standing stone, pulled his dagger from his belt and drew the blade across his palm. Blood welled from the cut and he quickly wiped it down the face of the standing stone.

  Cold realization dawned on Sophie. It’s not oil, she thought. It’s blood. Oh hell, what is going on here?

  Rochford stopped his chanting and nudged his horse closer. The beast balked, not liking the smell of fresh blood, but Rochford controlled it with a few harsh tugs on the reins. The men spread out around him until they formed a circle facing inward, towards the standing stone. Trevor’s blood glistened wetly on its pitted surface.

  “The price has been paid,” Rochford said in a strident voice. “Grant us passage.”

  Smoke began to rise from the blackened and scorched ground. It caught at Sophie’s throat and she doubled over in a cough but it didn’t seem to affect Rochford and his men. They drank the smoke in, breathing deeply as if smelling the most exotic perfume. After a
few seconds, the smoke began to dissipate.

  When it did, Sophie’s jaw dropped. A wide open landscape spread out as far as the eye could see. The woods, the clearing, the standing stone had all disappeared.

  She was miles from Dun Saith. Rochford had brought her to a place where Callum could not follow.

  Chapter 13

  “How am I supposed to feed my children?” Elena Smith demanded, clasping her hands on the table in the little cottage she shared with her husband and three bairns. “Prices have gone up five fold in the market and ye say we canna harvest the crops from the kitchen garden? What are we supposed to eat?”

  Callum winced. It was a story he was hearing all over the district. Hardship was already starting to set in.

  “The castle is giving out food every morning. I’ll see to it that yer family gets its share.” He clasped the woman’s hand. “All will be well. I give ye my word.” He only hoped he wasn’t lying.

  Elena nodded, blinking rapidly to hold back tears. Her husband, the village smith, was one of the ones lying in the infirmary under Rosie, Agatha and Sophie’s care.

  Callum rose to his feet, bid good day to Elena, and made his way outside into the street. He and twenty of his best men had just returned from a circuit of the outlying villages, spreading the word and bringing back anyone who’d fallen ill to be tended at the castle. Yet he knew he wouldn’t be able to help them all. What happened when the infirmary was full? Would he have to begin turning people away? With a heavy heart he swung up onto his horse.

  “Laird Callum!”

  Barric’s boy, Fergus, was pelting down the hill, waving frantically. Callum frowned. Had something happened to Magda, the boy’s mother?

  He turned to Baldir who sat his horse next to Callum’s. “Return to the castle,” he informed him. “Tell Agatha and Rosie to expect more patients.”

  Baldir nodded. “Aye, my laird.”

  Callum pulled his horse out of the line and nudged him in the ribs, sending him cantering through the village, across the plank bridge that spanned the river, and then up the muddy track that led uphill. Fergus was pelting towards him with reckless abandon, slipping and sliding in the mud and waving his hands to get Callum’s attention. If he wasn’t careful, the boy would break an ankle.

  “Easy, lad!” Callum exclaimed as he reached the boy, pulling his horse to a stop and dismounting. “Whatever yer news may be it isnae worth ye breaking yer neck over it.”

  The boy gulped in air. He was red in the face and his chest heaved in and out. Clearly he’d been running at full pelt for quite some time.

  “Lady Sophie,” the boy gasped. “It’s Lady Sophie.”

  “What about Lady Sophie?”

  “The men...” Fergus panted. “Bad men in the woods. They took her.”

  A sudden stab of fear sliced Callum’s stomach. “What men?” he demanded. “Where?”

  The boy pointed to the edge of his father’s fields, where the land gave way to thick woodland. “I went after a plant for my ma. I found a camp. I thought they were outlaws so I sneaked closer to take a look. They caught me. I thought they were going to kill me but Lady Sophie came and helped me get away. But...but...they took her!” He burst into tears.

  Callum knelt in the mud in front of the boy. He squeezed his shoulder and put on his calmest, most confident voice, even though his heart was racing with fear. “Easy, lad. I need ye to think carefully for me. What did these men look like?”

  “I only saw two. One was bald and fat but the other had blond hair. He didn’t seem like an outlaw to me. He talked posh and had fine clothes but there was a long scar down his cheek.”

  A jolt shook Callum. A long scar down his cheek? Could it be—?

  “Ye are doing really well,” Callum said soothingly to the lad. “Can ye remember which direction ye took when ye got into the woods?”

  “Uphill,” the boy answered. “I went uphill. I know I shouldnae have gone off alone but I needed to find a cure for my ma. I’m sorry!” He descended into tears once more.

  Callum squeezed his shoulder. “I need ye to be very brave for me now and do an important job. Can ye do that?” The boy looked up at him and nodded through his tears.

  “Good. Run to the castle and find James, my steward. Ye are to tell him that Lady Sophie has been kidnapped and that I’m going to bring her back. He’s to put the castle on the highest alert in case there are more of these brigands about. Now, in case he doesnae believe ye, ye are to give him a code word. That code word is osprey. Got that?”

  “Osprey,” Fergus said, nodding.

  “Good lad. Off ye go now.”

  Having a job to do restored the boy’s courage and he set off at a run, pelting down the hill towards the castle. Callum watched him go for only a moment before rising to his feet and swinging back up onto his horse. He knew that he ought to wait for reinforcements from the castle, that going after these men alone was a foolish thing to do, but all rational thought had evaporated the moment he learned Sophie was in danger.

  Urgency boiled in his stomach as he set his heels to the horse’s flanks and drove the beast into an urgent gallop. He forced himself to take deep, calming breaths. He needed to be calm and focused if he was to find her.

  Rochford. It had to be Rochford. What other blond man wore expensive clothes and had a scar down his cheek? What was he doing lurking in the woods like some outlaw? And what, by all that’s holy, was he doing taking Sophie prisoner? Surely he realized it would mean war between the Sutherlands and the Rochfords? Surely the fool realized that Callum would tear the world apart to get her back?

  He drove the horse to greater speed, mud churning from beneath the beast’s hooves as he thundered up the hill. Callum reached the tree line and once within the forest he slowed the horse to enable him to look around. He jumped down, eyes scanning the ground, his tracker’s training kicking in.

  It took only moments to find Sophie’s trail. Small footprints that could only belong to Fergus marked the mud and beside them he saw Sophie’s slightly larger ones.

  Callum climbed back into the saddle and kicked the horse into motion. It was reckless to ride so quickly amongst the tangled undergrowth and fallen trunks but he gave no thought to the danger.

  He had to find Sophie.

  “EAT,” ROCHFORD SAID. “I won’t let it be said I let my guests go hungry.”

  Sophie glanced down at the trencher. It was piled high with choice cuts of meat in gravy. She pushed it away.

  “Guest?” she replied. “Don’t you mean prisoner?”

  Rochford was seated opposite her at the table in the large, pavilion like tent that Rochford had brought her to. They’d ridden for another half day as they’d emerged onto the uplands, coming down finally into a valley where another camp had been revealed.

  Rochford chewed his food slowly, watching her. He swallowed then took a long draft of wine from the goblet at his elbow before leaning back in his chair.

  “That depends on you,” he said at last. “This need not be unpleasant. Tell me what I need to know and you will remain my honored guest. Continue to resist and, well, things might have to change.”

  Rochford had kept up a pretense of civility ever since they’d arrived at this place. He’d had Sophie brought to his pavilion, given her water for washing, and had her attend dinner with him. But the guards stationed around the perimeter of the pavilion gave lie to the charade.

  “I’ve already told you,” she said, fixing Rochford with a glare. “I don’t know anything about this ‘order’ you keep going on about.”

  Rochford sighed. “Of course you don’t.” He pushed away his platter, rose and crossed to a small side table with a lock box sitting on it. He turned his back to Sophie as he opened the box but she nevertheless got a glimpse of several rolled scrolls sitting inside before he dropped the lid and locked it again.

  He returned and placed a parchment and quill on the table in front of her. “You are an educated woman,” he said. “I know
you can read and write so here is what’s going to happen. You are going to take that pen and write down the names of everyone in the Order. You are going to write down exactly what Callum Sutherland is planning and what he knows of the Disinherited. Do you understand?”

  Sophie nodded. “I understand.”

  He smiled although it did not reach his eyes. “There’s a good girl. I will return later to see what you have for me. Don’t disappoint me.”

  He strode to the tent flap but paused at the door and glanced over his shoulder. “And don’t think of doing anything stupid. There are guards all around this tent.”

  Then he was gone. Sophie counted to a hundred and then, when she was sure he’d really left, she sprang up and hurried over to the lock box. What was he keeping in here? She found it locked, of course. Biting her lip, she looked around, thinking.

  Her eyes alighted on the eating knife sitting on the table next to her untouched plate of food. It was blunt—Rochford wasn’t stupid enough to allow her near him with a sharp blade—but it might work. She grabbed it off the table and then poked the end into the lock, wiggling it around. She thought she heard a ‘snick’ from inside the lock’s mechanism, but it didn’t open.

  She ground her teeth in frustration and slammed the knife down on the table top. She had to do something! She couldn’t just sit here helpless!

  Where was Callum now? Was he riding after her? Of course he was. In her mind’s eye she saw him thundering through the woods, a column of armed men at his back, his face grim and determined.

  But it won’t do any good, she thought. Even if he finds our trail, he can’t follow. Rochford did...something...at that standing stone. He used...What? Magic?

  If so, it was nothing like Irene MacAskill’s power. It had been dark and twisted, demanding a blood sacrifice. The sight of it had sent a shiver of utter terror through her.

  She returned to her seat at the table. The food on her platter was going cold, the gravy beginning to congeal. She forced herself to eat even though she wasn’t hungry. She chewed on the meat mechanically, not really tasting it, her thoughts on other things.