The Time Traveler's Christmas (Guardian of Scotland Book 3)

by Amy Jarecki

  She blocked thoughts of the future from her mind and thanked the stars for bringing her Sir Lachlan. He’d become her redeemer, her salvation. She shuddered, forcing her mind away from the future. She couldn’t allow herself thoughts of what might come. Every night she clung to Lachlan, their lovemaking indescribably fantastic. He filled her with his strength enabling her to face every day anew.

  March had come and with it the wind and driving rain like it always did, but to Christina it was a new season. Daylight grew longer. The ground thawed and the Moray Firth rose with the melt and rain. Tomorrow marked April first and, today, Ormond Castle had been blessed with sunshine.

  After listening to supplications in the great hall, Christina donned her cloak and headed for the courtyard. No one would be able to keep her inside, not after so many consecutive days of rain. Heading for the garden, she stopped short when she rounded a corner and found Lachlan and Andrew sparring. They had done most of their practicing with the de Moray guard through the winter and this was the first time she’d seen the pair working alone for sennights.

  Goodness, Andrew has improved.

  Afraid she’d interfere, she slipped into the shadows of an archway leading to the chapel.

  The partners swung their blades with sharp precision, the iron clanging with each two-handed stroke. Andrew bared his teeth, moving his feet constantly while Lachlan met his every attack, growling orders and giving praise when warranted. At once, their blades met, screeching together until their cross guards met.

  “A stalemate is the most critical point of a fight,” said Lachlan, his face growing red. “It shows both combatants are skilled. It marks a turning point when you must take charge or submit. What are you going to do, lad?”

  “I’ll bloody show ye,” Andrew hollered, twisting his sword over Lachlan’s.

  For a moment, Christina thought her son had won the upper hand, until the big man moved so fast he blurred while Andrew’s weapon clattered to the ground.

  Lachlan immediately stopped, stepped back and thrust his fist onto his hip. “What the hell have I been teaching you all this time?”

  Andrew’s shoulders sagged. “’Tis best to run.”

  “But before that?”

  “Take out their knee, their groin or hit them in the head.”

  “Right.”

  The lad threw up his hands. “But what if I can run my opponent through?”

  “Why would you want to kill a man when there’s a way to avoid it, instead?”

  “So he does not come back and kill me in my sleep.”

  Lachlan heaved a sigh. “Only resort to killing when there is no other alternative.”

  “Or when ye’re in a war.”

  Christina tapped her fingers against her lips. Was Andrew losing his English accent or was it her imagination? Nonetheless, he was putting up a good argument.

  “But that’s not today’s lesson,” Lachlan continued. “If you are attacked in Inverness, you might be arrested for murder if you killed the man and there were no witnesses.”

  “Who would go against my word? Would I not have the de Moray Clan to stand in my defense?”

  Christina’s heart leapt. Did Andrew realize what he’d just said? He would have his clan’s protection.

  “That is up to you.” Lachlan eyed him. “Are you ready to take your place beside your mother?”

  It was all she could do not to run across the grass and enfold her son in her embrace.

  Andrew stooped to retrieve his sword, then straightened with a scowl. “We must go again.”

  Dropping her jaw, Christina stood there while a hollow chasm filled her chest. Why couldn’t Andrew agree? He was so close. Why must he be so obstinate? Would he ever accept his birthright?

  Clenching her fists in front of her mouth, Christina stood and watched, her mind racing. What more could she do to encourage the lad? What must she do to win his acceptance? Should she step aside? Doing so could put the entire clan in jeopardy if he turned backstabber and invited de Vere north for an English coup.

  Perhaps she wasn’t giving Andrew enough encouragement?

  But he hates me.

  The next time the guards on their swords slid together in a battle of strength, Andrew stepped back. He swung his arms to use his opponent’s power and sent Lachlan stumbling while the lad ran the other way.

  Applauding, Christina stepped from the shadows. “Well done!”

  Andrew lowered his sword. “Aye?” he said in a Scottish brogue. “Ye would applaud a yellow-bellied manure pile?”

  Christina’s face went from happy to stricken in a mere second. “No. Y-ye performed well. I’m merely stating what I witnessed.”

  “I do not need praise from the likes of ye.” Andrew threw his sword to the ground and started off.

  “Just a minute!” Lachlan shouted as he headed after the boy. But he stopped midstride and grasped Christina by the shoulders. “Are you all right?”

  “I…What…He…” Shaking her head, she covered her face with her palms. “I can do nothing right.”

  Pulling her into his arms he squeezed with passion. “Everything you have done is right and that little snot-nosed brat needs to learn a lesson. I’m sick and tired of watching him treat you like thresh on the floor.”

  She pounded her fist on his chest. “But ye could turn him away from me for good.”

  “He’s already been turned away. It’s time he became a man and to do that, I need to take him on a pilgrimage.”

  She nearly swooned at the thought. “To the Holy Land?”

  “No. I call it a Boy Scout trip—a time of challenges in the wild where a young man must learn to live or die. I was met with the same training when I was his age and he needs it now more than anything.”

  Oh, no, she didn’t like the sound of that at all. “Ye say he might die?”

  Steeping back, he grasped her shoulders firmly. “I’ll be there to ensure he doesn’t, but I’ll also make sure he knows he’s a man and where he comes from and who the bloody hell cares about him.”

  ***

  Lachlan planned everything without sharing the details with Andrew. He even knew the site—a place where he and Hamish had hunted mule deer in deep snow. A week after his tantrum in the courtyard, Lachlan approached the lad while he ate breakfast. “Happy Saints Day.” He’d tried to use more archaic language to be better understood. As soon as he’d learned some proficiency, people started trusting him a bit more.

  Andrew beamed—probably because his mother hadn’t come below stairs yet. “My thanks. In two years I’ll reach my majority and I’ll be knighted by…” Looking away, Andrew didn’t finish, but Lachlan knew well enough he wanted to say Lord de Vere.

  Fuck de Vere. Good God, if I ever wanted to fight a man, it would be that vindictive bastard.

  Lachlan cast aside his own internal resentment. It could wait—hopefully forever. “That may be true, but today I’m taking you on a pilgrimage.”

  Andrew rested his spoon beside the bowl. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me.” Planting his fists on his hips, Lachlan continued, “The law might say you become a man at eight and ten, but I say it is time to prove it now, and I aim to put you to the test.”

  The boy didn’t look so smug as his gaze shifted. “Can ye do that?”

  “I can and I will. Now pack a bed roll and meet me in the stables in an hour.”

  Lachlan had every detail worked out. And they’d be roughing it. Thanks to Andrew’s lessons and his own practice, he’d learned to handle a horse as well as any other man at Ormond Castle. The kitchen had prepared bully beef and oatcakes, and loaded parcels of food onto a pack mule along with their bedrolls. He’d gone on such a pilgrimage with Bill Wallace, the twenty-first century man who had acted as his father, who had been his role model throughout Lachlan’s life. It didn’t matter if Bill Wallace hadn’t conceived him, Bill was the greatest man Lachlan had ever known. Bill had encouraged him to join the Special Air Service afte
r he’d graduated from college. Though he’d only served four years, the basic training he’d learned had enhanced his martial arts training and had formed him into the man he was today.

  No one at Ormond Castle had any idea of the extent of Lachlan’s fighting skills. True, he’d taken over training the guard, but being a seventh level black belt took years, and he’d only scratched the surface.

  Andrew de Moray showed more promise than any of the others, but his attitude was in the middens. And now, Lachlan knew what was at stake for Christina. He must do something drastic. Sixteen was a bit young, but these Highlanders lived hard lives, fast lives, and if they didn’t grow up in a hurry, they’d most likely be dead.

  The bottom line? If Lachlan couldn’t cure the boy of his habit of insulting his mother, he just might wring Andrew’s neck and face the consequences. He was done with doing things Christina’s way and, by God, he wouldn’t tolerate listening to another insult from the lad. In Lachlan’s century, it wasn’t okay to kick the shit out of a youth, but the boy pushed him to the edge. If this didn’t work, they might end up facing off. That’s why Lachlan wasn’t even close to teaching Andrew everything he knew. If the lad turned traitor and fled to England, he didn’t want de Moray riding against and murdering Scots.

  I pray that never happens.

  Once they were mounted, Lachlan had Andrew lead the pack mule beside his destrier. Lachlan chose to ride a stout garron pony. Andrew scoffed, but Hamish had shown Lachlan the benefits of the Highland-bred horse. They were tougher and more agile in the rocky terrain.

  They headed south and west avoiding any brushes with humanity, riding around the few towns sprouting through the wilderness between Avoch and Loch Monar. Taking his time, Lachlan rode in circles, making sure Andrew was good and lost. It was dusk when they led the horses through the craggy hills that surrounded the loch and a cave just above the frigid water. Fortunately, the hills were still capped with snow—exactly what Lachlan had wanted. That meant the loch was no more than 40 degrees Fahrenheit. Maybe colder.

  “This is where we’ll make camp.”

  “Good, ’cause I’m starving,” said Andrew.

  “Hobble the horses, then we need to collect wood for the fire.”

  “Yes, sir.” Andrew had taken well to the idea of a rite of passage. At least so far.

  Lachlan watched the lad as he made a fire pit by placing boulders in a circle and in no time they’d gathered enough tow, sticks and wood to build a fire, which Andrew lighted with ease.

  “You passed your first test with flying colors.”

  The boy smirked. “Give me something challenging.”

  Lachlan eyed him. “I don’t know if you can handle the next test.”

  “What is it?”

  “Hypothermia.”

  “Hypo—what?”

  He pointed. “Cold water immersion.”

  “I can handle a dip in a chilly pond.”

  “Not just a dip, but you must stay in until I say you can come out.” Lachlan watched him over the crackling fire. “You will feel like you’re going to die, but if you can’t handle it you will fail and everyone at Ormond Castle will know you’re not ready to be a man.”

  Andrew rubbed his outer arms like a ghost had just walked over his soul. “I don’t want to fail.”

  “That’s what I needed to hear.” Lachlan gestured toward the loch. “Strip down to your braies.”

  “Now? Can we not eat first?”

  “Eating is the reward—it will give you something to think about when your balls feel like they’re about to freeze off.”

  Andrew did as instructed and stood shivering with his arms crossed.

  “Are you ready?”

  “It feels like it’s about to snow.”

  Lachlan looked up to the stars—only a few wispy clouds sailed past the moon. “You’ll be fine. Go on. The sooner you get this over with, the sooner you’ll be able to eat.”

  Andrew hobbled over the stony shore and waded in up to his knees. Turning, he faced Lachlan, his teeth chattering. “T-this i-sna so bad.”

  “Yeah? Go on—up to your neck.”

  Andrew managed to wade to his waist. “God’s teeth, ye cannot expect me to immerse myself further.”

  “Want me to dive in with you and hold you down?”

  “N-n-n-o.”

  He almost wished the boy agreed. “Up to your neck.” Lachlan knew the numbers. There wasn’t a bit of ice showing on the shore, which meant Andrew could last a half hour or more—maybe a little less because he was so damned skinny.

  It actually surprised him when Andrew finally looked to the shore with only his head poking out the water. “There. My cods are about to freeze into stones. May I come out now?”

  “Not yet. Try treading water or swimming if you’re cold.” Lachlan moved the bedrolls into the cave.

  “But I c-c-canna move.”

  Grinning to himself, he couldn’t help but notice how Andrew’s accent was gradually changing. The boy probably didn’t even notice when a bit of a brogue slipped out and Lachlan wasn’t about to say anything. The sooner Andrew ditched the English accent, the better.

  Andrew moved around a bit, his gasps growing sharper. Even from the shore Lachlan heard his teeth chattering.

  “Please,” the lad pleaded. “I can no longer feel my toes or my fingers.”

  “A bit longer.” Lachlan took his time collecting a bit more wood and tossed it on the fire. “Because the night is cold, I’ll let you come out early.”

  Shivering like a wet dog, Andrew hunched over as he made his way to the shore. He clutched his arms against his body and hobbled toward the cave, his head shaking out of control as his teeth chattered.

  “Stop.”

  “What? I need a blanket afore I catch me death.”

  “Stand by the fire.”

  “Why are ye doing this to me? ’Tis cruel.” Andrew crouched over the fire and held out his hands.

  “We are not done yet.” Lachlan stood across the blaze with his hands on his hips. “Stand straight, soldier.”

  “B-but I’m freeeeeezing.”

  “Stop whingeing. Are you in this to become a man or do you want to head home to your ma?”

  Andrew looked up with a hateful, determined glare in his eyes. Christ, Lachlan almost would have preferred it if the boy had asked to go home. Instead, he dropped his arms and clamped his mouth shut while he straightened to his full height—probably five-foot nine. He’d grown a good three inches since November.

  “Have you ever had to survive alone in the wild?”

  Andrew’s arms crossed again with his shivers. “Nay.”

  “How would you feed yourself if you were lost and starving?”

  “I’d kill a deer.”

  “What if you had no weapons?”

  “I’d set a s-snare.”

  “What if you didn’t catch anything?”

  “I’d eat berries—a-a-and dandelion leaves.”

  “Not very substantive, but it’s a start.” Lachlan paced, moving his hands and grasping them behind his back. “What about eating grubs and insects?”

  “Eeeew. Who would do such a thing?”

  “A man trying to survive would do a great many things he normally wouldn’t do otherwise.”

  Andrew swayed on his feet.

  “Are you feeling tired?”

  “No, sir.”

  Lie.

  “Tell me, why are you always so angry?” Lachlan demanded. “What’s eating at your insides?”

  “I am not always angry.”

  Lie number two.

  “I beg to differ…and the sooner you start revealing the truth, you’ll be able to wrap yourself in a warm blanket.” Lachlan stopped pacing and stared across the fire. “Everyone knows you were abducted at the age of two, you were a captive of two kings of England before you came home, and yet you remain loyal to those who would oppress you. Tell me why, Andrew.”

  “I-I…They made promises—they made me f
eel important.”

  “And you do not feel important in Scotland?” Lachlan, held up his hand, stopping the boy’s response. “Tell me again, what’s eating at your insides? What wakes you up at night? What makes you want to tear your clothes and scream?”

  Andrew’s shoulders dropped. “They left me,” he whispered.

  “Who left you?”

  “No one came to fetch me. They locked me in a chamber and no one ever played with me.”

  “You were abandoned?” Lachlan egged him on.

  “She abandoned me. She doesna really love me. And now she thinks she can make up for all the years I spent locked in that room.”

  Dear God, Lachlan wanted to throw up. “She didn’t lock you up, Lord de Vere did. He doesn’t care about you.”

  “He did it because he doesn’t like to be near children until they can work. But it’s all her fault.”

  Stretching his fingers, Lachlan forced himself not to strangle the whelp. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because she let them take me.”

  “You know that’s not true.”

  Andrew rubbed his upper arms and hopped in place. “Lord de Vere told me so—everyone told me so.”

  “When was the last time someone said that?”

  “Right after Lord de Vere thwarted the prisoner exchange on the borders.”

  So de Vere had been the culprit to cause the battle—Christ, Christina had been attacked, nearly killed. “I see.” Lachlan scratched his head. “Do you think your mother loves you?”

  Looking to the dirt, Andrew shook his head. “Not really.”

  “How else would you have her show her love?”

  “I dunna ken.”

  Damn. He wasn’t making any bloody progress. He needed to go deeper. “How would you feel if she died?”

  “I would hold a gathering and celebrate my good fortune.”

  If only Lachlan could knock some sense into that adolescent head. “Honestly? She is your only living relative. Your mother, you may recall, was held hostage throughout the duration of your captivity, and she worked with Robert the Bruce to bring you home as soon as it could be arranged.”