Arch Through Time: Books 1, 2 and 3: Scottish Time Travel Romances (Arch Through Time Collections)

by Katy Baker

  Andrew raised an eyebrow. "Of course, if I'd had a proper warrior backing me up instead of my useless little brother, things might have been different."

  "Who are ye calling useless?" Matthew shot back. "Ye were the one who was reckless!"

  Ewan smiled to himself. The two brothers were always like this. They were close but bickered about everything. A shot of sadness went through Ewan. He and his own brother, Connail Murray, were as bad. Or they had been before Ewan had left. He'd not seen his brother in a long time.

  "Can I have a go?" a shrill voice cried.

  David, the youngest of the Harris boys was standing in front of Ewan, looking up at him with his head tipped back. The lad was only six summers old, not yet old enough to begin practicing with weapons, but that didn't stop him hanging around his elder brothers' training sessions whenever he could sneak away from his mother. He was holding a stick in both hands and swishing it from side to side as if it was a mighty weapon.

  "Can I, Ewan?"

  Ewan crouched in front of David. "Now listen, lad," he said. "I couldnae let such a fearsome warrior loose on these two! It would hardly be fair would it now?" He ruffled the lad's hair.

  Footsteps sounded behind them and Ewan turned to see Laird Gareth Harris approaching. He was a big man, slightly round across the middle and with a fringe of gray hair around his head.

  Gareth smiled. "Working these rascals hard I hope?"

  "Aye, lord. They're good lads. They'll make fine warriors one day."

  Andrew and Matthew fairly beamed at the compliment.

  Gareth nodded. "I'm glad to hear it. Now, off to yer studies, all of ye. I need a word with Ewan here. Walk with me."

  As the three boys trudged off, Ewan fell into step behind Gareth. They crossed the bailey to the wall and looked out. Laird Harris's castle perched on a high hill and from here Ewan could see the Isle of Skye spreading out. Below the castle the sea crashed and frothed against high cliffs. The cry of gulls filled the air.

  Ewan stood next to Laird Gareth and waited. He knew Gareth had something to say and was working out the best way to say it. At last he turned to Ewan.

  "We've had word from yer family, lad. A letter came from yer Aunt Jenna this morning. She's asked if I'll release ye from my service so ye may return to yer clan."

  Ewan said nothing but his heartbeat quickened. Word from his family? After all this time? Why now?

  Gareth pulled a letter from his pocket. It was sealed with a drop of red wax that bore the stamp of the Murray clan. "This came as well. It's addressed to ye." He laid his hand on Ewan's shoulder. "Listen, lad. I understand relations between ye and yer kinfolk havenae been easy. If ye choose to stay here, I'll be glad of it. Yer a fine warrior and I couldnae wish for a better captain for my men. Ye will always have a place with us. But if ye choose to return home I'll respect that too."

  "I canna go," Ewan replied. "It's been too long. There are too many wounds. Besides, who would finish Andrew and Matthew's training?"

  Gareth smiled wryly. "I'll just have to find a replacement won't I? Dinna make any hasty decisions. Read yer aunt's letter. Think about it. Let me know what ye decide."

  He patted Ewan on the shoulder and walked away, leaving Ewan standing on the wall alone. Ewan looked out. The wind was fierce, as it always was here, and sent his dark hair streaming out behind him. The sea glinted in the sunlight and children were running and playing along the shore.

  This island had become his home. He'd been here for four years, ever since he'd ridden out of Murray lands without a backward glance. Now they wanted him to come back?

  He glanced at the letter in his hands. Then he broke the seal, unfolded the parchment and began to read.

  Dearest Ewan,

  I hope this letter finds ye well. I'm sorry for not contacting ye sooner but as ye know, my husband, yer uncle, forbade all contact with ye.

  I bring sad news. Yer uncle passed away just after New Year. He was buried with all the Murray honors. I feel pain at his passing but it grows less as the days pass.

  I'm writing to beg ye to return to us, Ewan. All is not well in the clan. Merith leads the clan now, and she wed the Englishman, John de Clare, shortly before her father died. Together they seem bent on following the same path as Malcolm, no matter how much I argue otherwise.

  I'm sure if ye returned, things would be better. Connail and Amy miss ye terribly as do I.

  I long for the day when I see ye riding back through our gates.

  Yer loving aunt,

  Jenna Murray

  Ewan read the letter again. And then a third time. He felt sad at the death of his uncle, but more for the effect on his Aunt Jenna and his cousins Merith and Amy than any particular affection for the man.

  After he and Connail's parents died, his uncle had become their guardian but Ewan had never seen eye to eye with him.

  Ye'll get yourself into trouble one day with yer wilful attitude and outspoken views, his Aunt Jenna used to tell him. She was right. He'd argued with his uncle one too many times and been exiled for his troubles.

  Ewan tensed at the memory. Should he have said nothing as his uncle sanctioned dishonorable raids and skirmishes against their neighboring clans? Should he have kept his mouth shut when his uncle welcomed that malcontent Sassenach, John de Clare, into their midst? Should he have stood idly by whilst his clan slid into disgrace?

  No. It may have earned him exile but Ewan didn't regret standing up to his uncle. The Murray clan had always been known for their honor. It was just a pity that in his final years, Laird Malcolm Murray had forgotten that.

  He looked at the letter again. It seemed things were no better. And Merith had wed that Sassenach John de Clare? What had she been thinking?

  It didn't matter. He wasn't a Murray anymore. His uncle had made that perfectly clear when he'd exiled him. What did he care if his clan was in trouble?

  He shook his head. "I’m needed here. I canna go home.”

  "Talking to yerself is the first sign of madness I hear."

  Ewan jumped at the voice. He spun around to see an old woman standing by the wall next to him. He hadn't heard her approach. She was short, old enough to be Ewan's grandmother, and carried a basket of fish on her back.

  "I...um..." Ewan stammered.

  She smiled up at him. Her eyes were small and dark, like obsidian. Ewan knew most of the castle's inhabitants but he didn't recognize this woman.

  "My apologies," he said. "I didnae hear ye approach. Are ye visiting the Harris clan?"

  "Ye could say that," she replied. "My name's Irene MacAskill. I come here from time to time, when I'm needed."

  She grimaced and shifted the basket on her back.

  "Here, let me help ye with that," Ewan said, stepping forward. "It looks mighty heavy."

  He took hold of the basket and lifted it from her back. "Where would ye like me to take it?"

  "Ye are a gentleman, Ewan Murray," she replied. "I have a donkey tethered by the gate.”

  "To the gate it is then."

  Irene fell into step beside him as they skirted the bailey. For an elderly lady she was surprisingly sprightly on her feet.

  "Yer thoughts looked like they were miles away just now," Irene said. "What were ye thinking?"

  Ewan shrugged. "Of my family. I thought I was angry with them, but now? Now I'm not so sure."

  Irene smiled knowingly. "Aye. Families do that to ye, lad. They drive ye to the edge of distraction, yers more than most, perhaps."

  Ewan stopped walking and turned to look at her. "Ye know the Murray clan?"

  Irene nodded. "I know many things. I know the problems in yer clan are sending ripples through the world. A reckoning is coming that will lead to disaster for all."

  A shiver walked down Ewan's spine. The warm summer day suddenly felt cold. "What do ye mean? If ye’ve heard something ye must tell me."

  But Irene shook her head. "The wounds in yer clan have not healed. In fact they threaten to fester and infect the wh
ole of the Highlands." Irene's expression had gone dark. She stood, seeming to loom over Ewan despite her diminutive size. "Ye have a choice now, laddie. Always a choice. Ye must decide whether ye will steel yer courage and save yer clan, no matter the cost to yerself. Or whether ye'll remain here."

  Ewan's hands tightened on the basket. Who was this woman? Who was she to speak of him and his clan as though she knew them?

  "I dinna ken of what ye speak, woman," he growled. "Nor do I ken why ye would say such things to me."

  "I say them to give ye knowledge," Irene replied. "In the end there is always a choice. Ye will have a difficult task ahead of ye, Ewan Murray but there is help coming. However, ye must recognize that help when it comes to ye. If ye do, and ye open yer heart, mayhap ye'll find yer heart's desire and save yer clan in the process."

  She was standing so close now that Ewan could have reached out and touched her. Her eyes were like smoldering coals, searing right into his soul.

  "Who are ye?" he whispered.

  "A friend," Irene replied. She stepped back and smiled. Suddenly the spell was broken, and she seemed just an eccentric old woman again. "Ah, look. Here's my donkey."

  She took the basket from Ewan, lifting it as though it weighed no more than a feather, and tied it to the donkey's back.

  "Remember what I said, laddie," Irene MacAskill said. "This is the only chance I can give ye. There willnae be another."

  With that she grabbed the donkey's tether and led him away, disappearing around the wall.

  Ewan stood for a moment, a little dazed. Then he raised his head. "Wait!"

  He ran through the gates and paused, looking around. There was no sign of Irene MacAskill or her donkey. Ewan turned in a slow circle, scanning the terrain in all directions. Small fields dotted with sheep spread out as far as he could see.

  But Irene MacAskill had disappeared.

  Ewan ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as if to clear it. What had just happened?

  He made his way back inside the bailey and halted. He still held his aunt's letter in his hand.

  Steel yer courage and save yer clan.

  The old woman's words echoed in his ears. He glanced down at the letter and realized what he had to do.

  He was going home.

  Chapter 3

  GRETCHEN GENTLY PRESSED the brake pedal, slowing the car as she spotted the tourist bus on the road ahead. It was the third such tourist bus she'd seen this morning. Her destination sure was popular. She glanced at the guidebook sitting open on the passenger seat. The title of the page read, Morag's Cave. Local legends claimed fairies lived there.

  Ridiculous twaddle to attract the tourists, of course, but it obviously worked if the traffic was anything to go by.

  Gretchen had arrived in Scotland three days ago. After spending the first night in Edinburgh, she’d hired a car and set out following the trail of crumbs that Irene MacAskill had provided. She’d visited two places already that were marked in the guidebook, each time hoping to find clues to where Darcy might be, and each time she'd been disappointed.

  Gretchen shook her head. What the hell am I doing? she thought. This is insane. Why am I following the advice of some crazy old woman who just happened to appear at my apartment? I should go home, report her to the police for impersonating a police officer.

  But she knew she wouldn't. Although she couldn't quite explain why, being here somehow felt right.

  Darcy would have called Gretchen superstitious and laughed at her so-called 'hunches', but Gretchen had learned to trust her instincts and her instincts were telling her that she was on the right track.

  Up ahead she saw a sign for Morag's Cave and turned in the direction it indicated. She soon caught up with the tourist bus as they pulled into a large parking lot already filled with cars and coaches, groups of tourists spilling out of them.

  Gretchen slid into a parking space, switched off the engine and got out. It was a blustery day, with gray clouds scudding across the sky. Her hair whipped about her face so she pulled it back and tied it irritably into a ponytail.

  Welcome, the wind seemed to whisper. Welcome.

  Gretchen shook her head. Yes, she was definitely going crazy. She grabbed the guidebook from the passenger seat and then joined the procession of tourists making their way from the parking lot and up towards the cave. To start with the path was wide and paved but as it began to climb up the escarpment it became steeper and narrower and was often muddy from the recent rains.

  Gretchen was grateful she'd chosen to wear her walking boots. She was surprised at the number of tourists struggling in sandals or sneakers.

  The path wound through an ancient woodland filled with gnarled oak trees and majestic beeches. Pockets of late blooming flowers grew wherever gaps in the canopy allowed sunlight to the forest floor and insects flitted in and out of shafts of light. It seemed a magical place to Gretchen and she could well imagine why local legend said this was a fairy wood.

  "If you don't behave, you'll go wait in the car!" said a mother to her daughter a few meters ahead of Gretchen.

  The daughter, perhaps eight years old, was busy throwing a tantrum because her mom had refused to buy her an ice cream. Gretchen smiled to herself although the smile was tinged with a hint of regret. When she was a child, her mother had never taken her to places like this and so she'd never had the opportunity to throw any tantrums.

  "You go ahead, dear," said an elderly gentleman as he and his wife stepped aside to let Gretchen pass. "It's a bit steep for us. We'll take a breather." They sank onto one of the benches set along the path and took out their thermos and a pack of sandwiches.

  "Thanks," Gretchen said as she walked by.

  Up ahead, Gretchen saw a shadow looming through the trees and she got her first look at Morag's Cave. A huge cavern gaped in the side of a hill like a hungry mouth. A little hut sat outside with a man from the tourist authority taking payment from the string of tourists waiting to go inside.

  Gretchen joined the queue, feeling a tingle of excitement in her belly. Something told her she'd find a clue to Darcy's whereabouts in this place.

  She happily counted out the entrance fee and then walked under the lip of the cliff and into Morag's Cave. As her eyes adjusted to the gloomy light within, Gretchen's jaw dropped. A series of galleries opened before her, each hung with glittering stalactites hanging from the ceiling. They caught the weak gray light from outside and seemed to amplify it so that the inside of the cave glittered as though it was covered with diamonds.

  Gretchen made her way along the walkways built into the cave to allow tourists safe access to its secrets. Some parts of the cave were flooded and the walkway snaked across the top of clear pools filled with coins that tourists had thrown in for good luck.

  Gretchen halted at one such pool. Digging into her pocket, she pulled out a gold pound coin. Curling her fingers around the coin, she closed her eyes for a moment. She concentrated on the sensation of the coin in her hand and the sound of water dripping somewhere in the cave.

  "Let me find what I came for," she whispered. Then, remembering the words of Irene MacAskill, she added, "please let me find my heart's desire."

  Then she threw the coin into the pool and watched as it sank slowly to the bottom where it sat with the others like sunken treasure.

  Gretchen completed a full circuit of the cave and found herself back at the start. The mother and daughter had reached the entrance and the mother was trying to coax her daughter inside whilst the girl stood with her arms crossed stubbornly, refusing to go in. The elderly couple were working their way up the path along with a steady stream of tourists plodding behind them.

  There was no sign of Darcy. Gretchen sighed, disappointment filling her. She'd been so hopeful. She'd been sure that at Morag's Cave she would find what she was looking for. She stepped away from the entrance but instead of heading back to her car she turned off the path and began making her way around the base of the hill, suddenly needing to be
alone.

  The terrain was more uneven than she expected with broken spires of rock rising from the ground and boulders that must have fallen from the hillside millennia ago piled in higgledy-piggledy formations. Gretchen wandered, not really noticing where she was going, feeling despondent.

  She noticed suddenly that the grass beneath her feet had been replaced by bare rock. She stopped and looked around. She'd climbed higher than she realized and was almost above the tree line of the woods. Above her the hills rose in jagged, heather covered slopes.

  Then something caught her eye. Immediately to her right a tall boulder had fallen from the hillside and another had landed atop it. It formed a natural archway that framed the gray sky beyond.

  Gretchen approached it and looked up. The archway loomed above her, huge and intimidating. She reached out and ran her fingers across the rough stone. A tingling sensation flared up her arm and she snatched it back, startled.

  Puzzled, Gretchen stepped through.

  Chapter 4

  NOTHING HAPPENED. ON the far side of the archway everything was the same: hillside ahead, woodland behind.

  Gretchen laughed shrilly, shaking her head at her own stupidity. "What did you expect?" she asked herself. "For some fairy to whisk you away to find Darcy? You're an idiot, you know that?"

  Gretchen let out a long sigh. This whole trip had been a bad idea. She'd let her ridiculous fancies get the better of her again. Somehow she'd believed that if she only came to Scotland, she'd be able to do what the police couldn't and find her friend. She'd been deluded. Irene MacAskill wasn't some guardian angel come to guide her—she was a cranky old woman with a penchant for drama. Morag's Cave wasn't some fairy grotto where wishes were granted—it was a cheesy tourist attraction.

  Idiot, she chided herself. It's about time you grew up.

  Feeling despondent and annoyed with herself, Gretchen turned around and began making her way back down the hill. The last thing she wanted right now was to have to wade through crowds of tourists so instead of following the path she cut through the woods, aiming for the parking lot.