Just Wait For Me (Highland Gardens Book 3)

by Dawn Marie Hamilton

  “Aye. Does.” He sounded like the village idiot.

  “I’m lost. The children told me the Gray Women would help me find my way to a phone or to a town where I could call my brother, but they keep disappearing. Do you know where I can go to make a call?”

  “The women come and go. Mysteriously.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “To heal.”

  “What happened?”

  “Ach. ’Tis a long story.”

  “You’re Scottish. Right? You sound a lot like my business partner’s husband, Patrick MacLachlan. He’s originally from Scotland.” She shook her head, making her braid bob. “Of course, you wouldn’t know him. Sorry. I tend to ramble when I’m nervous.”

  “I dinnae wish to make you uncomfortable.” She kenned Patrick!

  She smiled, and Stephen had to rub an achy spot near his heart. He didn’t ken whether it was because she affected him so or because she kenned Patrick. He missed his cousin terribly.

  “So? About a phone?” she persisted.

  “Phone? Is that something of your future time?”

  Her eyes narrowed, brow furrowed. The look clearly stated she believed him simple in the head. He might strive to be underestimated by an opponent in battle, but he didn’t like the lass thinking poorly of him.

  “Never mind. Where are the children?” she asked before he could defend himself.

  “What children?”

  She rolled her eyes the way some of the young lasses at Castle Lachlan often did. “The ones who brought me here. They were in the other chamber with us earlier.”

  “I did not see any children.”

  “You must have. After I fell in the old train tunnel…” She frowned. “Falling into a well and waking lost in the woods doesn’t make sense. I must have hit my head and wandered away from the bike trail,” she mumbled, as if talking to herself. She ran a hand over her head. “No bumps.” Her frown deepened, and she raised her gaze to him. “I was lost in the woods a couple hours’ walk from here.”

  “You did not travel from Strathlachlan?”

  Jillian perked up. “Is that a nearby town?”

  “Nae. ’Tis a distant village.”

  “The children found me and led me here. Blaney and Mack and Cam? Duff and Keita?”

  “Ah. The changelings. The lost bairns who live in the trees.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The villagers believe that sometimes faeries steal their healthy children and replace them with misshapen changelings. The changelings are later discarded in the forest. Left to fend for themselves or die.”

  “That is beyond cruel.”

  “We live in dangerous times. Those who are impaired perish.” And if his leg didn’t heal, he’d prefer to perish rather than be a burden on others. And if that thought wasn’t enough to deflate his cock—

  “Wait a minute. There are all sorts of laws protecting children.”

  “Not in Scotland. Not in the year of our Lord 1513.”

  The lass’s eyes rolled back, and she slid downward. He grabbed hold of an arm and pulled her onto his lap before her head slipped under the water. Now what was he to do?

  “Lady Jillian, wake up.” He shook her. Her head lolled, but then her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled. He was lost.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “You swooned.”

  “I don’t faint.”

  “Of course not.”

  The feel of her scantily clad bum against the bare skin of his thighs brought him back to life, made his interest obvious. She blushed, but stayed on his lap, smiling. Grrr!

  “Um. I guess I should get out of the pool. I’m probably pruning.” He didn’t remove his arms from around her, and she didn’t attempt to pull away. She lifted her hands from the water and stared at the palms. Her mouth fell open. Closed. She raised a confused gaze to him and frowned. “The skin is clear as if never damaged. I don’t understand.”

  “Fae magic.”

  Her frown deepened. “I don’t believe in faeries or magic.”

  “Then how did your hands heal?”

  She thought for a moment. Ran a finger over one of the scars on his chest, making him shiver with delight. “If magic, then why do you have raw scars and a heavy limp when you walk?”

  “My injuries brought me near to death. ’Tis taking time to heal.”

  “What about the children. Why hasn’t the water helped them?”

  “Fae magic is a mystery. My guess is the children were born deformed. Mayhap if they had been doused in the healing waters at birth, they would have been cured.”

  “Hmmm. Perhaps.”

  Was it the warmth of the water or the way the hmmm left her lips making him feel overheated? Leaning closer, he breathed in her womanly scent and wondered why he was prolonging the torture.

  “Do you actually believe we are in Scotland during the year 1513? Is that part of the fae magic?” Soft-brown brows curved into a graceful arch.

  “Perhaps magic.” He nodded. “Your speech is much like someone I once kenned.”

  “Really?”

  “Lady Laurie MacLachlan. Might you ken of her?”

  Jillian gasped. “You do know Laurie and Patrick. How?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The approach to Castle Torne, the northern most castle in the Highlands

  Urgency goaded Prince Dugaid to push his mount to greater speed. The midnight-black stallion galloped effortlessly through pristine snow. Forest and glen and village blurred when passed.

  They halted at the edge of the North-wood. The fae horse hoofed the earth, snorted, and blew steam into the frigid air. Dugaid leaned forward over the beast’s thick neck and eyed the stone fortress, shrouded in mist, high on the distant sea cliff. To the untrained human eye, Castle Torne appeared a great stronghold, though no more so than many others in Scotland. Something else was at work there. The land and all within charmed by a most powerful fae enchantment.

  Its potency pulsed over Dugaid’s flesh despite the many layers of garments and furs he wore as protection against the cold. A thrill ran through him; eager for the confrontation ahead.

  Prince Torguil, an ancient sithiche prince, held court within those massive stone walls. Although a favorite noble of Dugaid’s mother, Oonagh, the High-Queen of the Fae, Torguil chose to reside on earth in this forgotten northern wilderness instead of Tir-nan-Og. ’Twas said he pined for his human wife, long since dead and buried.

  Dugaid straightened his shoulders. He would need to prove his worth to gain the hand of Torguil’s halfling daughter. ’Twas time to stop waiting and put his plan into action. He wanted Caitrina with every fiber of his being. His mother would never forgive him, which made the match all the more perfect.

  He scanned the approach to the castle. Out in the open for the distance, he would be exposed, though he doubted Torguil’s warriors presented a threat. Dugaid had sensed the fae scouts for the past few days, monitoring his advance. They’d let him pass so far without incident.

  Dugaid walked the fine steed across the open moor at an unhurried pace, keeping his senses alert. With each step, the tingling of magic strengthened, and with it his determination.

  At the base of the rise to the cliff top, he paused and twisted around in the saddle. Movement within the trees revealed the scouts still watched him.

  Ice and loose stones roughened the climb, but the surefooted stallion proceeded unaffected by either the encumbrance or the tremors of magic. If only the enchantment didn’t affect Dugaid. Perhaps shifting into his alternate form…

  Nae. He couldn’t allow others to lay witness to the transformation nor its results. He held the reigns in a tight fist, feeling more lightheaded as they proceeded. He hung on by sheer will alone by the time they reached the massive gates.

  Without command, the outer portcullis slowly rose with a loud grating of metal. Dugaid urged the horse forward. The latticed grille dropped behind them much faster than it had been raised, and th
ey were now caught between the two gates. If Torguil wished him ill, this was where the guards could easily take away his immortality and end his fae life with a single, well-shot iron dart to the heart.

  “Who goes there?” The voice came from within one of the arrow slits cut into the side wall.

  “You ken verra well who I am. Prince Dugaid, son of Oonagh.”

  The inner portcullis finally rose, opening the way into the castle courtyard. The dizziness faded the moment he cleared the gate. The temperature rose, and Dugaid unwrapped multiple scarves in order to breathe in the briny sea air.

  Five muscular fae warriors pounded down the keep steps. The ancient prince wasn’t taking chances with his uninvited guest.

  “Welcome to the home of Torguil.” The leader waved an arm and bowed in greeting.

  Although the blond faerie stood taller than his companions, Dugaid, at six-foot-seven, topped him by a good four inches. If there was trouble, Dugaid had the upper hand. A slow smile curled his lips. “I wish an audience with Prince Torguil.”

  “Our prince is well aware of your presence. If you follow me, I will show you to a chamber where you can make yourself presentable.”

  Dugaid followed the faerie, the other four warriors falling in behind. For Danu’s sake what harm did they think he planned?

  After a much-needed bath and grooming, dressed in his black leathers, he restlessly waited for a summons. After pacing the width of the chamber for the umpteenth time, a knock sounded the arrival of the blond faerie who’d greeted him in the courtyard.

  “Please follow me. I will escort you to Prince Torguil’s antechamber.”

  Upon entrance to the chamber, Torguil strode forward and greeted him with a warrior’s embrace. On separating, the elder prince touched the gilt brooch at Dugaid’s shoulder. “You are of the unicorn brotherhood.”

  “Aye.”

  “Do you bring a message from the high-queen?”

  “I harbor nae love for my mother.”

  Torguil rubbed his chin. “I see. Then why do you grace my hall?”

  “I bring a gift.” Dugaid removed a wee leather sack secured at his hip and handed it to Torguil.

  The elder prince released the thong and dropped the contents onto the table. Thirteen precious gems the size of a man’s thumbnail and the color of deepest purple settled on the tablecloth. The flawless amethysts winked in the flickering light of countless candles.

  “A rare and exquisite gift.” Torguil fingered the stones set before him. “Truly beautiful. Far above par.”

  “An offering for the hand of your daughter.”

  “Ah!” The prince’s eyes narrowed. “Caitrina.”

  “Aye.” Dugaid couldn’t read the impassive expression. Was Torguil pleased with the offer?

  “Why should I grant your request? Allow you control over my greatest asset?”

  “I am the only man capable of protecting her from Oonagh’s wrath.”

  “Your prowess on the battlefield is well known. I would be proud to call you son.” Torguil hesitated. “Yet you dinnae speak of love?”

  “I am fae.”

  “As am I, yet I was verra much in love with Caitrina’s mother.” The emerald of his eyes—the same color as his daughter’s—deepened.

  “There is nae time for human emotion. The third set in Oonagh’s challenge to Caitrina is in play. I will ensure your daughter wins.” Dugaid pounded a fist against his chest. “I will have her as my bride.”

  “She will fight you.”

  “I look forward to the taming.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jillian liked the feel of Stephen’s arms around her. She almost didn’t care he was most probably insane. Pathetic. She was starving for attention. What harm was there in enjoying the feel of his body while she could?

  She hadn’t had a gut-clenching reaction to a man in like forever. Not since…well, since she’d met Finn. He’d had no interest in her, but Stephen seemed to enjoy their interplay.

  “Patrick is my cousin,” he said solemnly.

  “Really?” She jerked her gaze to his, judging his honesty. He seemed sincere.

  “Aye. He married Lady Laurie at Castle Lachlan, renounced his claim as chief to the clan, named his brother Archibald chief, and he and Lady Laurie walked onto the faerie knoll in the Fir-wood and traveled, so I believe, to your time. I miss him.”

  “Archibald you say?” Unbelievable.

  “Aye.” Their gazes held.

  Stephen was serious. He seemed to believe the fantasy. She couldn’t. Yet, Patrick did have a brother named Archie who lived in Scotland. He and his wife Isobell had reportedly visited the family in Anderson Creek a couple of years ago for Christmas. Jillian had been away visiting with her brother for the holidays. Could it be possible? Did time travel exist?

  The terrain she’d traveled with the kids in route to the caves was rather remote. More remote than she’d thought the area around the bike trail should have been. And no one seemed to know about phones. That was just plain weird.

  Her heart rate increased. She took a deep, calming breath. She wouldn’t freak yet.

  Jillian shifted her weight. Stephen groaned. She curbed the desire to smile. He was very sweet.

  Was it possible the tale was true? Her hands seemed to have miraculously healed. Even the calluses from using garden tools were gone. Hmmm. Many strange things went on in Anderson Creek and, more specifically, with the MacLachlan family. Like when Finn MacIntyre disappeared the first night of the Grandfather Mountain Highland Games and returned three days later with Elspeth MacLachlan, both dressed as if they’d been in ancient Scotland, and Finn with blood on his shirt as if he’d been fighting with his claymore for real.

  Perhaps Jillian needed to keep an open mind. She curled into Stephen’s embrace, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I shouldn’t be sitting on your lap, especially considering your state of undress.”

  “You should not.” He caressed her cheek, settling his palm on the curve of her chin, leaned forward and brushed his full lips lightly over hers.

  A heady sensation swirled through Jillian. The taste, the gentle touch—all of him made her feel as if she’d gone to heaven. The kiss was pure magic.

  She twined her arms around his neck. Strong masculine arms pulled her in tight. On impulse, she licked the seam of his lips. The corners quirked upward before parting. Everything faded away except the fusion of their mouths and the twirling dance of tongues.

  Delicious. Heat shot through her system straight to her core. She wanted, needed—

  Giggles near the chamber’s entrance demanded attention and they broke apart, both breathing hard. Several small hands reached from within the shadows along the wall and filched Jillian’s belongings.

  “Stop!” Her scream reverberated within the chamber.

  She leapt away from Stephen and hurried through the water to the other side of the pool. The children were gone. “They took my stuff.”

  In its place sat a drab colored bundle of cloth. Jillian climbed out of the water, grabbed a thin towel from the niche to cover herself, and rifled through the pile—gray wool maxi-dress, thick woolen stockings, an oversized gray tartan blanket, and underneath the pile, a pair of ancient boots that appeared almost new. What the hell?

  “What’s this all about?” she demanded.

  Stephen had followed her across the pool and now floated near the edge, arms crossed in front of him on the stone floor. “Dinnae ken.” He shrugged “The garments left behind are more appropriate to this time than your future clothing. Though you deserve to be draped in satins and silks and jewels more fitting to your station as a fine lady.”

  A warm thrill shot through Jillian. She might like this guy.

  “Hand me a drying cloth, lass.”

  “Sure.” She passed him a towel. “I’m in a bind. I need to go home.”

  It was distressing watching Stephen clamber out of the pool. Pain etched his handsome features. He leaned on the crutch. Jillian
raised her gaze to his face to avoid gaping at the beauty of his physique. The healing scars and some older ones made him look dangerously rugged.

  “You are now my responsibility,” he said, features earnest. “I will help you to the best of my limited ability. We need to travel to Castle Lachlan where you can try to return home from the faerie knoll. Though, I warn you. I have tried to follow Patrick several times. The magic hasn’t worked for me.”

  “How far is it?”

  “A long way.”

  “How can you travel in your condition?”

  His eyes darkened, and he frowned.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to hurt your pride.”

  “Dinnae fash. I nae longer have any pride.” With the towel slung low on his hips, he strode from the chamber.

  As he passed beneath the hole in the ceiling, sunlight glistened over broad, wet shoulders. The muscles of his back flexed with each step. Yup, he was gorgeous. Even with the numerous scars.

  Jillian grabbed the bundle of clothes and scurried after him, having no clue how to navigate the caves on her own. With his slow, clumsy gait, she quickly caught up. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

  “If I bathe in the healing pool a couple of times a day, I suspect I will improve enough to travel in about a fortnight.”

  Jillian wracked her brain. Patrick also used such uncommon words. Was a fortnight one week or two? She suspected it was two. Yeah. A sennight equaled one week.

  “That’s a long time.” She didn’t want to be stranded here for that long.

  “True. I wish I could provide escort sooner, but there are too many dangers. As is, I would be hard pressed to protect you against an armed threat. And my wee man has not returned since I sent him out to search for you and bring you here to safety.”

  “Do you mean the gnarly little man who stole my space blanket?”

  “Aye. I apologize for that. Munn is a brùnaidh, the Maclachlan Clan brownie. He tends to be mischievous. Often causes trouble.”

  “Munn?” She gulped. Little Allison MacLachlan babbled about a funny man named Munn with a wrinkled brown face, like Rumpelstiltskin, who visited the family with her Uncle Archie and Aunt Isobell.