Held by the Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance

by Blanche Dabney

  He could picture his father sitting in the hall at MacLeish castle, nodding to him. “Well done, my son. You are welcome to come home where you belong. You have proved yourself a man and a MacLeish. I am proud of you, my boy. Forgive me for sending you away.”

  The thought made him smile. It was all he’d ever wanted, praise from his father. It had never happened in his lifetime. He’d had more kind words from Andrew than he’d ever had from Duff yet they meant nothing coming from a MacIntyre.

  The candle went out, the light dying away in the chamber. He stood up and crossed to the window. Was it done yet? Was Andrew already dead? When would the message come?

  All he could do was wait. When Andrew had ridden into the castle after his patrols, he had gone off swimming the next morning in that utterly predictable way of his. Derek didn’t need to see him go. He made sure lots of people saw him working hard, guaranteeing him an alibi should it be needed. Rufus and his men would be waiting on the mountainside, watching for his arrival.

  It was only later in the day that he heard she’d gone with him. That didn’t change the plan. Perhaps they’d kill her as well. It wasn’t just because she’d rejected his advances, slapping him across the face just because she knew she was under Andrew’s protection and he could not punish her like she deserved. It was because she was acting more like a laird every day, telling people what to do, getting Rory under her thumb, the steward following her every command.

  What if the mercenaries took her for ransom? They weren’t being paid to do so but maybe they’d use her to try and get more silver out of him. Fat chance. They could keep her as far as he was concerned. And what was left in the treasury would be his to use soon enough. No money wasted on rebuilding an old hall. It would go on feasts and clothes like it was supposed to. What was the point of storing wealth and never using it? Andrew went round in that old baldric. When he was in charge he’d have furs and silks like a proper noble. He’d give feasts the like of which the highlands had never seen before.

  The first feast would be for his father. Duff would give him whatever he wanted for doing this and what he wanted was MacIntyre castle. He’d become laird in all but name. He’d make the rules for a change. He’d waited long enough, being forced to serve the chief of a rival clan for years on end, unable to leave, unable to make any decisions for himself. He’d had enough of servitude.

  He began to pace the room in the darkness, feeling tension rising inside him. He should have had word by now. It had been hours since Andrew had gone.

  They were supposed to send a message straight to the castle once it was done. He was ready, poised to take over. He had his letter ready to send to his father. Duff might have ignored the last one but he wouldn’t ignore one telling him MacIntyre castle was his for the taking.

  That letter sat sealed in the locked wall safe, the only key in his pocket. The moment word came, he would send a messenger with the letter and then it would all be over.

  No longer would he be the servant. He’d be the master. Maybe even take Beth as his wife if she did make it back. She was pretty enough even if she did act too like a man for his liking. She’d have to stop all that master mason nonsense.

  There’d be no time for taking a man’s job when she’d have babies to sire and then raise. That was what MacLeish women were supposed to do. How come no one else seemed to care?

  He stared out of the window, ignoring the cold wind hitting his face. The torches on the walls being rebuilt made it impossible to see beyond. He couldn’t tell if anyone was heading for the castle. Hopefully word would come soon.

  If it happened quickly enough, the MacLeishes would not need to attack at all. He could get the portcullis to stay open by cutting the ropes while the MacIntyres were still deciding what to do about an oncoming army. They could be taken without a siege and it would all be because of him.

  He should be happy about it. Yet when he heard the sound of the portcullis being raised out in the courtyard he didn’t feel happy. He felt an odd sense of dread.

  He ran down the stairs in time to find a horse riding in at full gallop. On its back was no messenger. Holding the reins was Beth and in front of her, slumped in her arms, was the unconscious and badly bleeding body of Andrew MacIntyre.

  Chapter Twelve

  Beth could barely keep her eyes open. She blinked the blood away, looking up and sighing with relief as she saw the scaffolding of the keep in front of her. They had made it. She had no idea how.

  In front of her, Andrew was moving again but only just. She had somehow managed to keep him on the horse as they’d made their frantic dash for the castle. She was glad the horse knew the way home, even with a gash in its side. All she’d had to do was hold on.

  “What happened?” a voice was asking and she had to stare hard to be able to focus, her vision blurring as she slid from the horse and fell to the ground. She pushed herself upright, blinking again and seeing Derek’s worried face peering back at her. “What happened?” he asked again.

  “We were attacked,” she replied. “You must get him to the infirmary. He needs help.”

  A bell was already ringing somewhere. Wiping her face, Beth felt nausea wash over her. A flash of screaming faces ran through her mind. She was back by the lake again. There were six of them and from her vantage point she saw far more than she ever wanted to of the ensuing battle. So much blood.

  “What happened?” another voice asked.

  “James,” Derek said, grabbing the other man by the arm. “Andrew’s been hurt. Help me get him into the infirmary. Tell the blacksmith the horse needs looking at too. Beth, can you walk?”

  “Yes,” she said, her voice coming from far away. The bells faded and her eyes closed again.

  She was back in the clearing by the lake. Everything happening so slowly. She wanted to cry out but she couldn’t say anything as she relived the attack.

  Andrew grabbed his sword and was swinging it at the men. They tried to encircle him but he had his back to the pool and they had no idea how deep it was. With a slash of the blade, he caught one on the arm as he advanced, sending him stumbling away. Two more plunged forward, jabbing and slicing him open at the shoulder and on the thigh.

  She couldn’t stay hidden. She ran out, picking up a rock as she went and hurling it at the attacking group. It caught one of them completely off guard, blood spraying from his nose as he fell back.

  The others came on but Andrew was ready for them. The sound of swords clashing made her ears ring. She picked up another stone and threw it past Andrew at the last attacker.

  He was proving hardest to defeat. The others were laid on the ground moaning, none of them in a fit state to carry on fighting. Andrew had fallen back into the water, visibly tiring, blood pouring down his face from a gash to the forehead.

  Beth sprinted forward, picking up a sword as she went. She had no idea what she intended to do. She could barely lift the thing and as she swung it blindly toward the attacker, he twisted, catching her on the top of the head with his own blade. She ducked just in time but blood poured into her eyes nonetheless, making it impossible to see.

  As she wiped it away she saw in freeze frame what was happening. Her failed attack had distracted the aggressor and Andrew had been able to hurl the tip of his sword forward, catching his opponent in the chest. The sword ran deep as the man’s legs buckled.

  He fell but as he did so, he turned and looked right at Beth, his eyes wide. “You’re next,” he said, his voice echoing around the valley. Suddenly he was standing over her, his sword high over his head, Andrew nowhere to be seen.

  She sat bolt upright in bed, her eyes wild, looking about her for the sword. It took several seconds for her to realize where she was. The attacker hadn’t risen from the dead. He hadn’t spoken to her. It was a dream.

  She was in the infirmary. The place was lit by candles and she could see only shadows moving beyond the glow. People were talking in low voices but they were too far away for her to make out w
hat they were saying.

  “Where is he?” she called out. “Where’s Andrew?”

  “Shush,” a voice said and then James and Derek were at her side. “Try and rest.”

  “Oh God, he’s dead isn’t he?”

  “No, lass,” James said, lifting a horn cup to her lips. “He’ll live. Here, drink this.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s to calm your nerves. Crushed yarrow.”

  She took a sip and winced. “It tastes awful.”

  “Does you good though. Helps stop the bleeding too.”

  “Only when applied to the skin,” said a new voice. “Don’t you know anything, James?”

  Beth turned to the source of the voice. It came from a figure standing in the doorway behind the other two men. “Andrew!” she shouted. “You’re alive.”

  “Aye, thanks to you.” He limped over to her, sitting on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

  “Never mind me. What about you?”

  He was covered in bandages, dried blood still covering his leg and half his face. “I’ll live,” he said, taking her hand in his. “Where did you learn to throw so well?”

  “Baseball practise when I was about twelve.”

  “Baseball?”

  “It’s…never mind. I’ll tell you some other time.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  “Who were they? I didn’t get chance to ask on the way back because…”

  “Because I was unconscious, I know. I thank you once again for getting us back to the castle.”

  “You must be more cautious,” James said, lifting the bandage to examine the wound on Andrew’s forehead. “Someone is out to get you.”

  “Any idea who it was?” Derek asked.

  “They did not wear tartan but I suspect MacLeish had something to do with this.”

  “MacLeish?” Derek sounded shocked. “But why would we…I mean why would they?”

  “I’m going to go and ask him myself. I will get the men together. Derek, you should come with us.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay here and keep an eye on Beth? What if they attack while you’re away?”

  “I suppose you’re right. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He squeezed Beth’s hand. “Rest a while.”

  “Must you go?” she asked. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. Surely you should rest too.”

  “I have to speak to Duff MacLeish first. If he’s behind this he won’t be expecting me to show up apart from as a bloodied corpse. The look on his face when I arrive unannounced at his castle will be all the answer I need as to his part in all this.”

  He turned and left with James and Derek. Beth sank back onto the bed. She wanted to sleep but every time she closed her eyes she was back in the clearing, swords slicing into flesh, men screaming in agony, Andrew’s eyes lit up with a fire and brutality she never expected to see in him.

  She found herself thinking about home, about a warm comfortable bed that wasn’t stuffed with straw, where the risk of death wasn’t around every corner.

  All they’d done was go for a swim and they’d both almost died. What was worse, there was little chance of justice. There was no forensic team heading off to examine the scene. The men, if any survived, would have melted into the night. What was worse was they might come back anytime.

  She tried once more to sleep but again the screams came into her head, echoing around her skull. She got up in the end, walking out of the infirmary to find Derek leaning against the wall in the courtyard as if he’d been waiting for her to emerge.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, wagging a finger at her.

  “I just want to go home,” she replied. “I’ll be safe at home.”

  He looked happier all of a sudden. “And where is home?”

  “The hall at Pluscarden.”

  “You live at Pluscarden? Then why did none of the villagers recognize you?”

  “Can you take me there?” she asked, feeling exhausted, her limbs heavy as if lead weights had been strapped to her wrists. “I can’t stay here. It’s too violent.”

  “Is it any safer at Pluscarden?”

  “Will you stop me going?”

  “On the contrary. Though I cannot take you myself, I can have someone show you the way.”

  “You would do that for me?”

  “Aye.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Wait here.” He crossed the courtyard and vanished into the keep.

  While he was gone, Beth paced back and forth, trying to wake her exhausted limbs. A headache was building behind her eyes. She needed rest and she wasn’t going to get it here. She just hoped when she got home the images of the battle would vanish along with her memories of this place.

  She didn’t want to remember it anymore. She had been mad to think she could stay at all. Andrew was a violent man in a violent world and he fitted in right at home swinging a sword about. She’d just thrown a couple of stones and it was enough to make her feel ill.

  Besides, she should get back to her mother, look after her like she was supposed to, not leave her to fend for herself. She tried not to think about leaving Andrew behind. The thought of being without him did something deep inside her, opened a void that threatened to swallow her whole if she gave it as much as a moment’s thought.

  Get home, she told herself. What happens here is nothing to do with me. It all took place hundreds of years ago if I look at it properly and I shouldn’t be getting involved at all. Butterfly effect and all that.

  She looked up at the walls, seeing the scaffolding that was only in place because of her. She had already changed the future. The place would be far stronger when it was done. She would be sorry not to see the end of the work but this was the right thing to do.

  “Are you ready?” Derek asked, sneaking up on her from nowhere. “Meet Rufus. He was just on his way out and he’s agreed to take you back to Pluscarden.” He nodded to the other man. “Isn’t that right Rufus?”

  “Aye,” the mountain of a man next to Derek said, dark eyes all that were visible from under his even darker hood. “Come on, lassie. Let’s get going.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was a route Andrew knew well. Ancient and covered in scars, it reminded him of himself. He was as worn out and damaged by all this conflict as the road they traveled along. Even the rain sensed his mood, growing heavier the further they traveled, soaking the men and their horses.

  Beth had mentioned rebuilding the roads and the system she’d described made sense but what was the point when the road itself crossed into MacLeish land. Was he supposed to patch up their land as well as his own? If not, there was little point in his tracks draining better if the horses only had to stumble along once more when they reached the borders.

  The ride from the castle took them north, first passing by the ruins of Pluscarden and the old hall. The new building was coming along but he noticed the window in what would become the bedchamber was in the wrong place. It was supposed to be further to the left. He’d have to have a word with the laborers on the way back. Now was not the time to get involved in the master mason’s job.

  He knew mistakes were the price of keeping Beth back in the castle but look what happened when he let her out last time. The two of them had almost been killed. She was safest there.

  The faces of those who attacked were seared into his brain. If he ever saw them again, he would deal with them properly. They were ill trained and poorly fed, that was the only reason why he’d been able to win. Six of them and yet none fit to wield a sword. Were they all dead? He could only hope so.

  It made him nervous to wonder if anyone more competent might be out there. He was taking a risk riding to MacLeish castle but it had to be done. What would it say about a laird if he was too afraid to ride out from his own castle?

  He had only brought Gillis, Finley, and Wallace with him. Given how high tempers had risen the last time he’d seen Duff MacLeish, he wanted to do nothing
to raise suspicions on this foray.

  The road eased left after Pluscarden, taking a lazy path between fields of oats until it reached the great wood at the foot of Am Basteir. The mountain was a jagged lump of gray rock that seemed to point an accusing finger at the sky. He remembered climbing to the top of that peak when he was twelve, proving to the clan that he was worthy of being laird one day, pointing his finger at the sky.

  He had stood on the top for two full days as storms raged around him. He well recalled the fear coursing through him that lightning might strike at any moment. It didn’t of course, exactly as Fenella had foretold. He had climbed back down on the dawn of the third day, his arms aching, his body shaking from the cold and the hunger. Only then was he truly a MacIntyre.

  He smiled as he recalled how scared he’d been by a bit of lightning. So different to the true horrors that were waiting for him when he came of age. A succession of images flashed through his head, one battle after another, his sword cleaving skulls, that mace strike that crushed his arm, rendering it useless for weeks. He’d only survived that thanks to Gillis coming to his aid.

  Then he thought of the attack by the pool and he grimaced, staring into the distance but not seeing anything.

  He thought of the kiss he’d shared with Beth, the hunger it had given rise to inside him. He had wanted more. Much, much more. The moment his lips pressed to hers, he wanted her in her entirety. He wanted her body, her mind, her soul. He felt as if part of her reached inside him and tugged at his heartstrings, wrapping around them and not letting go.

  Poor Beth. She didn’t deserve any of this. He felt a pang of anxiety at the thought of her laid back in her infirmary bed. At least she had Derek and James keeping an eye on her. She should be safe. If only the same could be said for him.

  He had no idea what would happen at MacLeish castle but he needed to know the truth. Was Duff MacLeish trying to get him killed? It didn’t make sense but it was the only possible explanation. Twice an attempt had been made on his life. The first time Duff had denied it and he’d believed him but for it to happen twice? That was too much for coincidence.