The Highlander's Vow (Loch Moigh #4)

by Barbara Longley

  “You have my leave, Lady Sky.” The countess barely lifted her head from the tapestry before her. “We will expect you for the midday meal.”

  “For certes.” Sky’s mother had left earlier, intending to roust Helen. After tucking her basket into a corner, she left for the great hall. Mayhap one of the servants could tell her where she might find Oliver.

  As she neared the stairs, she heard muffled voices coming from the earl’s solar. Sensing a woman’s anger, Sky moved closer. Her skin turned to gooseflesh, and her heart rose to her throat. She recognized that voice and the bitterness assailing her from behind the heavy oak door. Lady Alice. Tilting her head, she strained to hear what was being said, willing all of her fae gifts to aid her.

  “I mean what I say, Oliver. If you wed the MacKintosh lass, ’twill be the end of us. From that wretched day forward, I will have naught to do with you, for you will have proven yourself faithless where I am concerned.”

  “Now, now, my love, if you would but listen, you would—”

  “I have listened, and I believed all the sweet words and promises you plied me with. We grew up together, Oliver. I have loved you for as long as I can remember, and you said you loved me. You led me to believe that I would be your wife, and now I find I have been deceived. You have played me false,” she wailed. “I am ruined!”

  “Nay. You dinna understand.” Oliver’s tone hardened. “My grandsire holds the title of Mar, but no’ the lands or even this keep.”

  “What? How can this be? Is the property no’ entailed to the title?”

  “Nay. Alexander Stewart took the earldom and estates by force and—”

  “Aye. All ken the story, my lord,” Alice snapped. “Alexander, the bastard son of the Wolf of Badenoch, murdered the countess of Mar’s husband, laid siege to Kildrummy and forced the countess to marry him. He stole the title and the estates. ’Twas long before our time, and your grandsire holds the title now. What has that to do with—”

  “Be patient. Alexander traded the earldom of Mar and all our lands away to King James in exchange for a more appealing title—one that none could claim he’d taken illegally. My line are kin to the original holders of Mar, which is why my grandsire was able to reclaim the title, but King James has refused to grant us back the estates. Grandsire has petitioned the court to have the properties returned to us, but—”

  “Why am I just now hearing of this?” Alice asked accusingly.

  “None but our family are privy to the truth of the matter. Indeed, you must say naught about this to anyone.”

  “Surely your family holds other titles and properties not associated with the earldom of Mar. Lord Robert is laird to the Erskine clan, is he no’?”

  “Aye, we have another holding, but the land is scant and poor. I will inherit very little, and because of my grandsire’s persistence in his suit against the throne, our king is threatening to strip us of even the title of Mar. Our clan’s very future is in jeopardy. Do you no’ see, mùirninn? I must marry the MacKintosh lass.

  “Lady Sky brings both land and wealth to the union, and once we are wed, all that comes to me. Indeed, Grandsire feigned insult against the MacKintosh clan all those years ago for the broken betrothal between Malcolm and my mother. Even then Grandsire sought to gain from the situation. His sole purpose in agreeing to a union between myself and Lady Sky is to gain a portion of what the MacKintosh hold.”

  A chill coursed through Sky, but his words didn’t surprise her. ’Twas the way things were done amongst the nobility, the way nobles advanced their standing and wealth. Only merchants and villeins could wed at will.

  “I’m marrying Lady Sky for us, Alice. You must see ’tis so.”

  “For us?” Alice bit out. “How will your lady wife bring me aught but heartbreak?”

  “Be at ease. I shall not be wed to her for long.”

  “What mean you to do, Oliver?”

  Sky covered her mouth, suppressing the cry threatening to alert the two of her presence. Waves of shock and fear weakened her knees as Oliver’s intent overwhelmed her. She could scarce draw a breath and had to force herself to stay and hear the rest.

  “Think, Alice. Lady Sky shall fall prey to an unfortunate accident or a mysterious illness. Be patient, my dearest. Another year is all I ask, and then we shall be wed and live out the rest of our days in comfort.”

  All the blood left Sky’s head, and spots danced before her eyes. Oliver intended to kill her. Dear God, how had she become embroiled in such a heinous plot? She inched away as quietly as she could. The door behind her opened, and she fled, praying the two conspirators hadn’t seen her.

  She ran to the chamber she shared with her sister, hoping her ma and Helen were still within. Her mother would ken what to do. Sky threw open the door and nearly tumbled through in her haste, only to find the room empty. Mayhap Helen and Ma were out gathering the first shoots of some healing herb or another. Her da and brother would be in the forest hunting. Pacing, she bit her lip. Think.

  Oliver would have to wed her first in order to claim her dowry, and that would never happen. Not now. She could wait until this eve to reveal what she’d learned to her family, but . . . nay. The thought of staying in this place even another moment sickened her.

  What if Oliver realized she’d uncovered his plans? The door had opened behind her as she’d left the earl’s solar. Had he caught sight of her as she fled? If he was ruthless enough to murder her, surely he was ruthless enough to force her into marrying him—like Alexander Stewart had done long ago with poor Isabel, the countess of Mar. Mayhap the Erskines would hold her family hostage at Kildrummy, threatening to do them harm to gain her compliance.

  Panic overwhelmed her. She couldn’t allow anything to happen to her family. She needed to find her da and brother before the Erskines had time to conspire against them any further. She’d tell her sire everything. They’d gather their guards and leave for home immediately before the Erskines had time to act. Aye, haste was of the upmost importance.

  Grabbing her cloak from its peg, she struggled to bring her panic under control. Once she found her da and brother, all would be well. ’Twas a sound plan. Sky raced out of the chamber and down the stairs.

  Dread stole her breath. What kind of accident had Oliver planned for her? Would he push her down a steep stairwell like the one she now trod, or send her plummeting over a parapet? Did he mean to poison her? She hurried across the great hall and out the door. Lifting her hem, she ran to the stables.

  “Good morn to you, my lady.” The stable lad’s eyes widened at her breathless state. “Do ye wish to ride?”

  “Aye. Bridle my mare, and be quick about it. No need for the saddle.” The lad disappeared into the shadows of the stable, and Sky paced again. Her mind turned over every possible way her betrothed could do away with her. The lad returned, leading her horse. She took the reins from him and tossed them over her mount’s head. “Help me up,” she commanded, gripping her mare’s mane.

  He cupped his hands. “Aye, my lady.”

  One of her father’s guards hurried up to her. “Lady Sky, where might ye be off to in such a hurry?”

  “I need to find my father and brother.” Her horse pranced beneath her, and she tightened the bit.

  “Wait but a moment, and I’ll accompany you,” the guard said.

  “Nay. Follow as soon as you can.” She turned to the stable lad. “Which way did the hunting party set out?” He pointed. “Catch up with me,” she told the guard. “The trail will be easy enough to follow.” With that, she kicked her mare into a gallop and set out to find her kin—and safety.

  Once past the heavily trodden ground near the curtain walls, Sky found the newly churned earth caused by the hunting party. She slowed her pace to a canter and followed. She’d been riding but half a league when the trail cut into the forest. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw two MacKintosh guards riding after her, the one she’d spoken to at the stables and another. Some of her tension eased.

>   Pausing until the guards were closer, Sky nodded to them and nudged her mare onto the trail into the wood at a gallop. The need to find her da rode her hard, as if Oliver, rather than MacKintosh guards, gained ground behind her. Keeping her eyes on the signs left by the hunters, she raced on.

  Movement from a clearing ahead caught her eye. Shimmering pale pink and green light rose from the very earth, and she was heading straight for it at a gallop. An unfamiliar energy and the scent of impending rain filled the air. “By the Holy Mother, nay!”

  With all her might, she pulled the reins to turn her mount away. Her mare’s ears flattened, and the whites of her eyes showed. Her sweet, good-natured palfrey planted her hooves, bunched her haunches beneath her and bucked. Without pommel or cantle to grip, Sky flew through the air—straight for the wavering light.

  She tried to twist away, but a powerful force gripped her, drawing her into a gyre of punishing pressure pushing and tearing at her from all sides. Wood and sky disappeared. Utter darkness broken by eerie flashes of light flew by. Sky screamed, closed her eyes and curled into a ball. Saints preserve me! She kent well what held her. Hadn’t she sat at her mother’s knee throughout her childhood, listening to the terrible tales told by her kin of falling through time?

  Just when she could bear no more, she thudded to an abrupt halt upon soft dirt. The smell of fresh dung filled her nostrils. She became aware of pounding hoofbeats drawing near, and the cries and gasps from a crowd filled her senses. She opened her eyes a crack, only to find the large, sharp hooves of a war horse cantering straight for her. Had she survived the excruciating force, only to be trampled to death by a destrier?

  Covering her head and curling into a ball again, Sky closed her eyes. She waited for the pain of being trampled. Instead, the air around her stirred as the horse leaped over her. She dared to open her eyes again. Peeking out from between her arms, she saw a knight in full armor with a jousting lance gripped in his hand. Shouts and screams from the spectators assaulted her ears, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from the knight.

  He turned his mount, gestured to the knight opposing him and spurred his destrier toward her once more. Scrambling up to standing, she panicked. War horses thundered at her from opposite directions, hemming her in and too close for her to make a dash for it. Besides, where would she run to if she could escape? Bloody hell! She’d landed in the midst of a jousting tournament, and she was trapped between the contestants. Did they not see her at all?

  She pressed her arms tight against her sides and tried to make herself as small as possible, hoping to avoid the clash between the two. The first knight dropped his lance, leaned over and snatched her up by the waist. The spectators let out a roar. Confusion swirled through her, as he settled her on his lap.

  He bent his helmeted head close and whispered into her ear, “You are safe with me, my lady. You have my word. Be at ease.”

  Truth. Powerful emotions pulsed from him, and all she could manage was a weak nod. She sensed so much more than simple sincerity. Loss. Regret. Excitement. Disoriented, she placed her hands on his arm and turned her attention to her surroundings.

  Never had she seen a jousting arena such as this one. Where was the keep of the noble who must be sponsoring the tournament? And what of the villagers sitting on the benches surrounding the field? Only a few were dressed properly. Where had she been taken to . . . and when?

  Looking out beyond the field, she gasped. She was in a village surrounded by forest. The buildings appeared . . . false somehow. The fronts didn’t match the rears. The thoroughfare teemed with people in a variety of garments. The smells of roasting meat and sweets filled the air, and more cheering erupted from the crowd as new jousters cantered onto the grounds.

  She studied the gauntleted hand of the knight who held her. “If you please, sir, I must speak with your liege lord immediately. ’Tis of the utmost importance.” He chuckled low in his throat, and the deep, rich timbre of his voice both calmed and stirred her.

  “I have no overlord, so I’ll have to do. I know what has happened to you, for the same happened to me a decade ago. I recognized the shimmering lights.” He guided his mount out of the arena.

  “What the hell, Struan?” an older man cried and grabbed the reins of the knight’s destrier. Peering intently at her, he continued to address the knight. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes . . . You and Michael did a great job of shielding her and making the whole thing look like part of the show.”

  “We need to head for the RVs, Gene,” her knight said.

  Arvees? She had no idea what that might mean.

  The older man, dressed in a tunic and hose, peered up at her. “Who might you be?” He began leading the horse across the park beyond the jousting arena.

  Blinking against the tears filling her eyes, Sky straightened her posture, though every inch of her was shaking. “I am Lady Sky Elizabeth of clan MacKintosh, and the earl of Fife’s eldest daughter.” Swallowing against the tightness in her throat, she asked, “If you please, could you tell me where I am?”

  Her knight removed his gauntlets and helmet. “You’re in Sterling at the—”

  “Stirling? Why, ’tis where our young King James resides. Take me to him at once, and all will be put to rights.” Again the deep timbre of the knight’s chuckle caused her heart to flutter like the wings of a wee hummingbird.

  “As I was about to say, this is the New York Renaissance Faire in Sterling.”

  “New York?” Exhausted and confused, she closed her eyes against the throbbing pain in her head. “What has befallen the old town of York that you must now call it new? Though I’ve ne’er been to the walled city myself, I am well educated, sir. I ken York is near the border between Scotia and England.”

  To add to her misery, sweat trickled down the back of her neck, and the heavy velvet of her gown stuck to her skin under the heat of the blazing sun. The knight must be miserable in this heat clad as he was in armor.

  “Ah . . . not exactly.” He shifted behind her. “I’m afraid you are far, far from your home and your time. This is the year of our Lord 2014.”

  “Nay!” she cried. “I willna hear it.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I have gone from one terror to the next this day . . . and . . .” She lifted her cloak and peered at the dung clinging to her side. Her gown was ruined. Why something so trivial should affect her so, she could not fathom, but the sight of the burgundy velvet covered in horse shite was more than she could bear. “And this is my favorite gown,” she cried. “I chose to wear it for luck, and see you what has befallen me?”

  Her knight chuckled again. “You blame the gown?”

  “Nay! Do you think me simpleminded?” She turned to glare at him. Stunned, her glare turned to a wide-eyed stare. Why, he so resembled a younger version of her aunt Elaine’s husband, a Sutherland, that the two could be brothers. Brilliant blue eyes, blond hair and strong chiseled features, a fine, straight nose—never before had she thought of a man as beautiful, but he was, in a rugged, masculine way. Her face heating, she turned back around.

  “You view the straits I find myself in as a source of amusement, sir? I assure you, I dinna.” Ire stiffened her spine. For certes she’d lost her wits, one moment crying over a gown, the next gawking at the lad’s comely face, then filled with indignation. She needed a good long nap.

  She studied the older man who continued to lead the knight’s destrier. His thick hair was completely white, as was the mustache he wore curled up at the ends in a most peculiar manner. How did it stay fixed as it was? He led them through a gate, which opened up to a large wood dotted with large . . . trucks and trailers.

  Her cousin Robley had drawn her pictures of such after his sojourn to the future, and he’d also explained their use. They approached a grouping of trailers and trucks arranged in a semicircle under a stand of oak trees.

  The knight lifted her down to the ground before he dismounted. Then he and the older man busied themselves with removing his armor, unt
il the knight wore naught but a short tunic and hose. He was every bit as finely formed as she’d suspected, with broad shoulders, muscled arms and chest, and . . . Good Lord, the thin hose he wore did little to conceal his . . . assets. He caught her staring. Her cheeks burning, she averted her gaze.

  Her thoughts spun out of control, flitting to one thing then the next. Every one of her family members who had traveled through time had done so for a specific purpose. Had she been sent here for a reason as well? Was her situation an accident or the caprice of some faerie?

  Anger burned within her. More than anything, she needed to expose Oliver’s plot and Lord Robert’s deceit. With her disappearance, the Erskines would lay claim to her dowry anyway, accusing her kin of secreting her away, thereby once again breaking a marriage contract. Especially if Oliver suspected she’d overheard his plans for her. Aye, the Erskines would accuse her kin of some treachery to hide their own. Her clan would suspect the Erskines were behind her disappearance, and the entire tangle would surely lead to war.

  She’d landed at a fair, like the one where Robley had met Lady Erin. Her mother had also been at exactly the same kind of place when Madame Giselle had sent her through time. Even Lady Meghan had been at a fair such as this when Hunter had snatched her away from her father and brought her back to the fifteenth century.

  Hope flickered to life. Was it possible she’d find Madame Giselle here in this very place? If so, she could go to her and beg the fae princess to send her home. “Pray, tell me. Might this gathering include fortune-tellers and the Romany who read cards and such for coin?”

  “Of course. There are several wagons and tents throughout the festival where fortune-tellers are stationed.” Her knight leaned close again. “Why? Do you wish to have your fortune told? I can assure you, they’re all frauds. They put on a show just like the rest of us.”