Quest of a Scottish Warrior

by Sky Purington

  She put her foot in the stirrup, grabbed the reins and swung up into the saddle.

  Thank God she had seen Erin do this before and that Athdara was kneeling or she was pretty sure she would have fallen off onto her ass. Holding tight, she released a small squeal when the horse swiftly came to her feet and started trotting toward the forest.

  “Oh no, no, no, no.” Cassie pulled on the reins to no avail. If anything, she seemed to be egging on the blasted horse because Athdara was already heading into the woods. Shoot was it dark. What the heck was she thinking? That she would hop on and steer the horse into the barn like an old pro?

  Head lowered, she closed her eyes and tried to regroup…tried to remain calm. Maybe if she said nothing and made no movements, the horse would stop. Yeah, right. Figure the odds. Opening her eyes, she frowned. Why did it almost seem like it was getting light out. Foggy, yes, but still far lighter than it had been moments before. Had she looked at the clock right? Maybe it hadn’t been midnight after all.

  Still, it was getting light far too quickly.

  Not that she was complaining.

  At first.

  Until a strange sound rent the air, almost like a thwap, thwap, thwap before a solid thump sounded against a nearby tree. Cassie narrowed then widened her eyes when she caught sight of what it was. An axe? Thankfully, or not, Athdara had things figured out because she bolted forward. Luckily, Cassie had a death grip on her mane or things could have gone really bad. As it was, she was pretty sure she would be suffering from whiplash later.

  Thighs clamped tight, she ducked low against the horse and tried to make out what was happening around her. It was beyond her wildest imagination. Horses were everywhere and weapons sailed through the air.

  Arrows, axes, sometimes swords.

  But that wasn’t the truly nutso part.

  No, that would be the men riding the horses. Some wore kilts, others trousers, but nearly all were long-haired and pretty damn scary. All were speaking another language. An older version of Scots Gaelic she would say. If all of the above wasn’t daunting enough, Cassie was trying to figure out if these guys were aiming at her or each other.

  If she wasn’t mistaken, she was simply caught in the crossfire though some seemed to be catching on that she was there. The ones in the blue plaids seemed surprised. The ones in the dingy, hard-to-tell-what-color-they-were plaids seemed to see her as an opportunity because one steered his horse up alongside Athdara. Terrified, Cassie tried to bat him away while holding on but, unfortunately, that was a big mistake.

  She would never know how he managed it so quickly, but the man scooped an arm around her waist and hauled her onto his lap. Scared shitless, she was torn between holding on tight and shoving the smelly bastard away. What fresh hell had she been thrust into? Was she having some sort of nightmare her foolish mind hadn’t awoken from?

  Meanwhile, men were sword fighting from horseback while arrows whizzed by. As far as she could tell the grungy plaids were losing and the blue plaids were winning. Though she intended to shut her eyes to the horror, she became morbidly fascinated.

  Or maybe she was just in shock.

  Because she could have sworn she was screaming though nothing came from her mouth. Did it?

  She became vaguely aware of the horses riding on either side as they sped through the forest. More so, she became aware of the men riding them. Both wore blue plaids. The one on her left was a ferocious bit of work with black hair and what appeared to be equally black eyes. He steered his massive steed in such a way that it was slowing down the horse of the grungy guy holding her. It was the man on the right, however, that grabbed her attention. With blue-black hair and pale blue eyes, he was every inch the man who had ridden Athdara when she first arrived at the Colonial.

  There could be no doubt.

  He was Logan MacLomain.

  All grown up.

  Logan released arrows so quickly she couldn’t begin to count how many men were falling. Dagger suddenly in hand, he winked at her seconds before the man holding her cried out in pain.

  After that, it was all a blur.

  Screams of anguish. Blood. The clang of swords. The whiz of arrows. Yet somehow in the midst of it all she was pulled from the grungy guy’s arms into Logan’s then plunked in front of her newfound hero. His strong arm wrapped around her waist as he spurred the horse into a run.

  Cassie wasn’t sure what to think never mind do but decided it best to hold on tight and pray they made it to safety. Then again, she got the sense she had found safety the minute Logan pulled her onto his horse. Even so, he was a complete stranger and she was pretty sure based on the numbness settling over her that she was definitely in shock.

  Maybe that was a good place to be for now.

  There was no telling how long they rode before his horse slowed and the forest fell silent around them. Minutes, hours, days? Everything felt disjointed. Even—no big surprise—her eyesight. Unless Leslie and Bradon were having a good laugh at her expense and staging some sort of reenactment, she knew she wasn’t in New Hampshire anymore. Could not possibly be. But had she really traveled back in time as it was promised she might? Hell and damnation, no. This had to be a nightmare…right?

  “Is the horse I was riding okay?” she rasped.

  “The horse is safe. You will soon be reunited.”

  Lost, trying to make sense of things, she barely processed that they had stopped until Logan swung down and pulled Cassie off the horse. She tried to urge him to put her down, but nothing seemed to be working quite right, especially her vocal chords.

  “All is well, lass,” he murmured. His deep words rumbled like a freight train through her body, the roll of his r’s soothing when he said, “‘Tis a thing you’ve been through. Rest, ‘twill be all right.”

  Though her vision blurred, she could make out the stubble on his strong jaw and the width of his broad shoulders. She felt the heat of his body and smelled the tempting muskiness of his skin. A masculine scent mixed with sinful spices. Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes and rested her head against his hard chest.

  Again it might have been moments or hours before she felt cool water against her lips, cheeks, forehead, and neck. Both relieved and alarmed, her eyes shot open. This time her vision wasn’t blurry but crisp. The lethargy she felt earlier seemed to have vanished and she was very much aware of what was going on around her.

  The leaves overhead were no longer bursting with autumn colors but green and mixed with far more pine trees. For a split second, Cassie almost thought she was back in Maine until her eyes locked with his.

  Their eyes held—more like hers drowned—as she gazed into what she initially thought were simply pale blue eyes. Sure they were gorgeous, you-want-to-study-them-for-hours blue, but more. Seen up close with sunlight shining down, it was clear that tiny golden flecks not only swam in them but formed a thin layer around the blue.

  Mystical eyes.

  Eyes that already owned her until he spoke and sent her into sheer panic.

  “Ceud mìle fàilte. Welcome…” His hand lingered on her cheek. “To medieval Scotland.”

  Chapter Three

  Cowal, Scotland

  1281

  “M-medieval Scotland?” Cassie pushed past her lips, surprised she was able to say as much. The man just about had her tongue tied he was so handsome. If handsome was the right word for it. More like super-gorgeous, I can’t believe I’m sitting on his lap good looking. One eye-roll down his muscled, slightly scarred chest had her nerves raw with unexpected desire.

  He tilted up her chin until her adventurous eyes had no choice but to connect with his. “Aye, medieval Scotland. A place exactly seven hundred and thirty-four years in your past.” His thumb made a slow sweep over her chin as if to comfort. “Do you ken, lass?”

  Not, “Are you serious?” or “You’re outta your mind!” popped from her mouth but, “Shouldn’t you say ‘ye’ not ‘you’?”

  His lips twitched in what she guess
ed was repressed amusement. “‘Tis a way we MacLomains sometimes speak when with our futuristic Brouns. A way to make it a wee bit easier to follow.”

  “Your Brouns,” she whispered. Stop gawking, she preached to herself but was pretty sure she was doing just that. Was she scared witless that he was right and she had traveled back in time? God, yeah. But something about sitting on his lap with his blue-eyed gaze on her made everything seem all right.

  His eyes softened as they roamed her face. Seconds later he clenched his jaw as if upset with himself and sat up straighter. He didn’t set her aside, but she sensed that was out of obligation to her welfare more than anything else.

  “Aye, our Brouns,” he said. “Did Leslie not tell you of all you might expect here?”

  “Um…” Hell, Cassie, untwist your tongue and sound halfway intelligent. “She did.” More words needed. Keep talking because you definitely need answers. Move past the distraction of sitting on his hot-ass lap. “Leslie explained as much as she could, but there’s still a lot hanging.”

  She sputtered the word ‘hanging’ because there was certainly something hanging between his legs based on his…

  As if he sensed her thoughts and was disgruntled by them, Logan swiftly lifted Cassie to her feet. Though he didn’t let her go, he certainly put some distance between them. “Are you well enough to stand without assistance, lass?”

  Confused, she nodded. The pressure of his hands lessened a fraction, as though he didn’t quite believe her. After he eyed her with concern for another moment, he moved away. Unexpected coolness flooded around her that had nothing to do with the temperature of the air.

  “I wet your cheeks,” he murmured, crouching in front of a stream. “But you should do so again, aye?”

  Cassie put a hand to her cheek. Of course, he had dampened her face. Less interested in wetting her cheeks but definitely thirsty, she crouched and scooped some water into her mouth as he splashed some over his head.

  “I’m Cassandra, by the way,” she murmured. "But everyone calls me Cassie."

  “I know.” He nodded. “I’m Logan.”

  “I know.”

  They stared at one another for a long moment before he resumed splashing water over himself.

  “How do you know my name?” she finally asked.

  “Your horse, Athdara told me.”

  “My horse?” She shook her head. “No, she’s not mine…and she told you my name?”

  “Aye.” He cocked a brow. “Did Leslie not tell you I'm a wizard?”

  “Ah, right, that,” Cassie trailed off as she stared at the water. “Gotta say, the concept’s a lot to swallow. Just like the fact that you’re supposedly from the twenty-first century.”

  Logan nodded and stood, holding out a hand to help her stand. “Aye, ‘twould be but ‘tis the truth. I was born and raised in New Hampshire for three winters.”

  When she stood, her breath caught as she looked up and up at him. He was as tall as Darach and Bradon. And oh let the mighty Lord keep her on her feet, he was built like Legolas from Lord of the Rings but buffer. Yes, she and Nicole were movie junkies but still, it provided for good comparisons.

  “Who is Legolas?”

  Oh, darn, had she said that thought out loud? A little sheepish, she replied. “Just a fictional character. Well, an actor based on a fictional character from a book.” She watched him, gauging just how insane he thought her. “He was an elf that could shoot arrows like they were going out of style.” She made a gesture toward the woods and skirted around the truth. “I saw a glimpse of what you could do with a bow and arrow earlier. Pretty impressive.”

  His expression grew dark as they walked toward his horse. “Are you comparing me to an elf?”

  Cassie flinched. “No…not really.”

  He arched a brow.

  She offered a weak shrug and a forgive-me face. “I guess a little bit, but in a good way.” Then she rambled as she had a tendency to do when nervous. “I mean look at you. You were fighting with a bow and arrow and still came off as masculine.”

  Oh, shoot, that didn’t come out right at all.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at her.

  “What I mean is that Legolas was hot in his elfish way just like you’re hot in your…wizardly Scottish…way," she rambled like a damn fool.

  Logan’s brows and lips were lowered now.

  Detour time. Fast. Regrettably, her words were a weak squeak as she peered up at him. “Thank you for saving me?”

  A little smirk crawled onto his face. “‘Twas my pleasure, lass.”

  “So, no hard feelings over the elf thing?”

  Logan swung onto his horse, held out his hand and winked. “‘Tis no hardship to be compared to an elf. They are a noble creature.”

  Like they really existed? But she wasn’t above leaving good enough alone. Sort of. As he swung her up, she said, “Then why let me get all anxious about comparing you to one?”

  He turned his steed into the forest. “Honestly?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Yeah, honestly.”

  His eyes held hers, something indefinable flickering in them. “‘Tis amusing to watch you get flustered.”

  “Is it?” She turned forward, not miffed in the least but using it as an excuse to keep her eyes off of his sumptuous lips.

  “Might I ask you something?” he said a few moments later as they made their way through the forest.

  “Sure, I guess.” She tried to ignore the feeling of his strong body at her back and joked, “I’m at your mercy after all.”

  “My mercy?” There was an edge of humor to his voice. “Nay, lass. You are at no one’s mercy so long as you’re with the MacLomain clan.” Before she could respond, he continued. “My question is, do you often compare those you just met to characters in a book or movie?”

  Cassie chuckled. “Sorry, bad habit of mine. My friends and I sort of formed a movie/song/book club as a way to help us bond over the years and we tend to compare things to them on occasion. Or people in this case."

  What she would not tell him was that they had a very specific reason for doing so. One that would hopefully help each of them cope with what lay ahead. Because they were all facing something pretty big. In Cassie’s case, it was looming blindness.

  Logan remained quiet for a few minutes and she got the impression that he was mulling over what she had said. That he was the sort of guy who thought things through before speaking.

  “I'm not as in touch with the twenty-first century lately as I should be, but I remember Disney…and Handy Manny from my childhood,” he finally said.

  Warmth curled around her heart. Was he trying to lessen her tension or was he sincerely just touching base with his youth? She quirked a lip at him over her shoulder. “Really? What was your favorite Disney movie? And did you learn any Spanish from Handy?”

  “I liked How to Train Your Dragon and Frozen wasnae so bad.” He shrugged. “Good movie about women defending women.”

  “Sisters," she said. "And How to Train Your Dragon was by DreamWorks, not Disney...not that it really matters."

  Seriously, Cassie. He's a medieval Scotsman, not a movie connoisseur. She figured she would leave his lack of response about Handy alone.

  "Speaking of sisters.” His eyes met hers. “Do you have one? Or a brother?”

  “Nope.” She shook her head. “So weird to think you were only two when Frozen came out in 2013.” She turned back to the forest. “Most kids don’t remember being that young.”

  “Most kids aren’t wizards,” he said.

  “Right.” Too curious, she asked, “Do you have a brother or sister?”

  “Nay, I am the only bairn born to my parents.”

  She thought he sounded a little bummed so asked, “Is that a good thing?”

  “‘Tis not a bad thing.” He paused. “But I would have liked a brother or sister.” Before she could feel too bad for him, he said, “Yet I have my kin and they are verra much
my family.”

  “So you’re happy?”

  “Aye, happy enough.”

  Feeling safe and remarkably comfortable with him considering how little they knew about one another, she again looked over her shoulder. “Just happy enough?”

  As if they hadn’t just met, he answered candidly. “Verra happy with my kin but eager to take a wif and have some wee bairns.”

  “Wif?”

  “Bride?

  “Ah. Wife." She turned her focus ahead. “No luck with that yet, eh?” And because she couldn’t leave good enough alone. “I’m surprised.”

  “Why?”

  Oh jeez. Because you’re hot as hell. But she couldn’t say that. Instead, she firmly inserted her foot in her blasted mouth. “Well, you’re not getting any younger, right?”

  A little rumble came from Logan’s chest, but he didn’t quite chuckle. Then he went still and she felt his upcoming response almost like she could feel the wind move a building when nobody else could.

  “Nay, I’m not getting any younger. But it matters naught because I am pledged for betrothal.”

  His words weren’t just a breeze against the walls of a rhetorical building but more like a gale force wind against the cardboard walls of…what? Not her heart. Definitely not that. Way, way, too soon. No, something different but noticeable and cringe-worthy. “Nice.”

  Nice? The word hung between them like a chilled Jello mold left unattended under a hot sun. Not pretty.

  “We were pledged to one another at birth,” he finally continued. “But have yet to meet.”

  “Oh,” she murmured, feeling a little sorry for him. “So an arranged marriage?”

  “Aye, to strengthen our clans.” He surprised her with his next question. “What of you, lass? Are you betrothed or pledged to be?”

  “Definitely not.” She shook her head. “Way too young for that level of commitment.”

  Again, Logan waited several long moments before he murmured, “I see you wear a Claddagh ring. Did you put it on or did it appear on your finger?”