Highlander Returned: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander In Time Book 9)

by Rebecca Preston

  “Brianna, let’s talk about this,” he said firmly, for all the world as though what had happened was just a brief bump in the road.

  “There’s nothing to talk about, Ben,” she said bluntly. “We’re done.”

  “Don’t over-react.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. If she hadn’t already been operating by pure, blind anger, it would have sent her over the edge. As it was, it just made her laugh. “Seriously? We’re on holiday together and I come back from a walk to find you’re screwing some teenager in our room.”

  “She’s a college student —”

  “Goodbye, Ben. Don’t follow me. I know how to wring your neck and make it look like an accident.”

  The look of fear on his face was absolutely priceless, and she slammed the door hard, turning on her heel and striding down the hallway. She’d have to go back later, of course, to collect her things — hopefully the hotel would be able to put her up in her own room at short notice. And they’d have to figure out who was paying for the rest of the vacation… because she sure as hell wasn’t following him around Scotland. Maybe she’d get on a plane, head for the Greek islands as she’d wanted. Later, she knew, she’d feel sad… but right now, all she felt was white-hot anger… and an odd kind of freedom. It was over. She was free.

  But she couldn’t be around people right now. She found herself striding through the lobby and out into the courtyard, realizing with a start that it was completely dark. She must have been in the bar for longer than she’d thought. She strode across the courtyard, finding the rhythm of her strides soothing, and before too long she was on the same path she’d walked earlier. It was dark, now, and fog curled around her as she strode out into the night, but she knew her way. A quick, angry powerwalk around the manor to get the worst of her anger out would be helpful. Maybe a bit of angry shouting where nobody could overhear her. Then, when she was in control of herself again, she’d head back into the hotel and start sorting out the ruins of her relationship.

  She set off down the path, glad she was wearing her sturdy walking boots. Each strike of her foot against the packed soil of the path was oddly satisfying, and she stomped harder and harder as she walked, imagining that each step was connecting with Ben’s smug, stupid face. Brianna couldn’t believe what he’d done. How utterly self-obsessed did you have to be to pick up a girl at a bar while you were literally on holiday with your girlfriend? What if she’d been in the room when he’d brought her up there? What if she’d come into the bar while he was chatting her up? What an absolute moron. She felt her face burning with embarrassment as she reflected on their relationship, at the red flags and gut instincts she’d ignored in favor of being with him. How had she kidded herself for so long? He’d always been like this… he’d just clearly never had the opportunity to really reveal what an awful guy he was. It was utterly humiliating to think that just a few minutes earlier, she’d been giving serious thought to their future… to marrying him, to coming back to Weatherby Manor for their anniversary! How utterly stupid she’d been.

  She looked up as she came upon an old, dead tree, frowning a little. Her mind had been wandering as she pounded around the path that ringed the manor, but the tree still gave her pause. She couldn’t remember seeing it the first time she’d gone around, and it was quite a striking sight, not the kind of thing she’d have easily forgotten. Instinctively, she reached for her phone, wanting to check the GPS for where the manor was — had she somehow turned onto another path? She was pretty sure that the loop around the manor hadn’t had any branching paths to other places… but her phone had absolutely no signal, and she wrinkled her nose, resenting the countryside for isolating her like this.

  She kept walking… but now that her anger had flared up the way it had, she could feel it easing away, leaving only melancholy and regret in its place. Where before she’d been furious at wasting her time with Ben, now she could feel sadness taking its place, guilt and self-recrimination. How could she have been so stupid? Did she really think so little of herself that she’d accepted such a terrible boyfriend for almost a full year? The more she thought about him, the more repellent and pathetic she found him. She’d let him share her life — she’d even told him she loved him. What was worse… she’d meant it.

  As those feelings sunk in, she could feel a corresponding heaviness in her body and her limbs. She was suddenly exhausted — all she wanted was to lie down and sleep off this anger. Maybe order room service, eat her body weight in the greasiest food they had available… it was Scotland, wasn’t it? Surely they could deep-fry her something… she sped up a little, wanting to get back to the manor as quickly as possible. She’d been walking long enough that the manor ought to be coming back into view by now.

  But her anxiety began to build as she looked around her. She’d just walked this path — but nothing about it was familiar. The twisting fog, the trees that loomed up out of the mist, the surprising darkness… places were different at night, sure, but she didn’t recognize anything around her. And as the minutes went by, she began to worry in earnest that she’d actually gotten herself lost. Had she blundered off the main path? Staring down at it, she noticed that the earth wasn’t as densely packed here as she remembered it. She must have found some other path… frowning, she dug her phone out again, exasperated as it showed her the no signal message again. The torch was of no use, either, barely penetrating twenty feet into the fog all around her.

  Brianna stopped in the middle of the path, real fear beginning to prickle at her for the first time. She was alone in the middle of a foreign country, with no cell service and no way of knowing which direction the manor lay.

  This wasn’t how she wanted to be spending her holiday.

  Chapter 4

  Brianna kept walking after confirming that her phone definitely wasn’t working. Standing still didn’t feel like it was accomplishing anything… surely if she walked long enough, she’d either find a landmark or get cell service, right? Besides, walking was keeping her warm… and the biting cold of the night air was beginning to make her realize that her jacket was a little too light for the time of year. Then again, she hadn’t exactly been expecting to go on a night hike, had she? Frowning, she accelerated, great strides carrying her down the path. By her sense of how long the first walk had been, she should have been back at the manor by now — especially as she’d walked much faster this time, her anger lending speed to her feet. What was going on? Where was she?

  Surely if she walked long enough she’d run into a road or something. She kept checking her phone as she went, worry prickling at her as the signal indicator remained stubbornly blank — it was a little uncomfortable to realize how heavily she relied on technology. And the mist wasn’t helping — thick and dense, it kept curling around her as if it was determined to take her into its arms like some kind of lover. She found herself waving it away, irritable and tense. She just felt so stupid for getting lost like this.

  Finally, after what felt like hours, she heard the telltale sounds of movement — the dull thump of footsteps. But there was something strange about them, and she quickly realized what it was when a strange shape loomed up out of the fog, frighteningly close. It was a man on horseback, and once her initial shock had receded, she felt gratitude take its place. She’d felt so alone for so long — an irrational part of her mind had almost been convinced that she was lost in the fog for good, that there wasn’t another living soul left on the Earth… that somehow she’d been transported into some lonely alternate dimension.

  Putting aside her mild puzzlement at what someone was doing on a late-night ride like this, she raised a hand in greeting, calling out so as not to startle the rider. When he turned to look at her, she blinked, a little surprised by his outfit. He was wearing what looked to her untrained eye like leather armor — Ben would have been able to tell her exactly what century it was from, she had no doubt, but she wasn’t thinking about that scumbag right now — and even a metal helmet on his
head. Some kind of costumed worker from the hotel?

  “Hi,” she said, breathless and grateful to see him. “I’m so sorry — I seem to have gotten lost out here somehow. Stupid, I know, walking at night, but I didn’t realize how foggy it was when I left —”

  The man narrowed his eyes, looking absolutely shocked at her presence. Brianna felt a little annoyed by that. Was it so unusual for a guest of the hotel to go walking at night?

  “Where on Earth did you come from?” the man breathed, and she heard a strong English accent. That was odd — the majority of the staff of the hotel she’d met thus far were Scottish, even though it was an English manor. She got the feeling that they weren’t too fond of the English over here.

  “Like I said,” she replied, a little irritated by how slow he was. “I went for a walk and must’ve got turned around. If you can just point me in the right direction I’ll head back myself.” But the man was still staring blankly at her. A suspicion rose in her — how far had she gotten? “I’m staying at Weatherby Manor,” she said, worried she’d somehow stumbled so far from the hotel that she was on someone else’s land… but at that, the horseman’s face cleared.

  “Ah, of course. My apologies. Lord Weatherby didn’t mention any guests.” In one easy movement, the man swung down from the back of his horse and offered her his hand. “It would be my pleasure to escort you back, my lady.”

  She shook her head, a little amused. She hadn’t realized they had actors on staff. Ben would’ve hated this. “Very kind,” she said, playing along despite not being particularly in the mood for roleplaying. He offered to help her onto the horse, but a childhood spent on horseback served her well, and she was able to climb onto the horse unassisted.

  They set off through the fog, the man leading the horse by the bridle. In the fierce cold of the evening, she was grateful for the horse’s warmth beneath her, and it wasn’t long before a shape loomed up out of the fog…. and she frowned, confused by what she was seeing. A great stone wall, in good repair and clearly recently built — the man led her through a rather ostentatious gate set in the wall, stopping briefly to converse with a couple of similarly armor-clad men who were standing watch with wooden torches in their hands. Was this some kind of performance she hadn’t heard about? And where was she, anyway? The manor didn’t have a wall, did it?

  But the building that loomed up out of the fog as the man (she was automatically thinking of him as a guard) led her horse up the winding path from the gate was unmistakably familiar — though the garden that they walked through definitely wasn’t. But no — there was the manor, sprawling and enormous, with the courtyard she remembered out front — though the buses and cars that had been there earlier were long gone. The man was leading her toward the low buildings that she remembered Ben telling her were stables — and to her shock, when she peered through the doors, she saw stalls and hay, mostly eclipsed by shadow.

  “They’re stables,” she said blankly, and the man on the ground gave her a quick look as though he was worried she’d lost her mind.

  “That’s right, my lady,” he said, carefully polite. “Those are the stables. May I help you down?”

  She slid from the horse, and a man emerged from the fog to take the horse by the bridle and lead it away toward the mysterious stables. She could have sworn those buildings had been repurposed — a gift shop, or something. Hadn’t she seen a family come out with their purchases? Was that a different building, somehow? Everything looked so different at night. Still, she was looking forward to getting inside. The guard led her up the stairs and through the door, and she was so set on getting to the bar and rewarding herself with a stiff drink that she almost didn’t realize that the lobby of the hotel was gone.

  In its place was what looked for all the world like the paintings she’d studied of what the original manor would have looked like. Gone was the reception desk, the stand of brochures of local attractions — instead there was an ornate fireplace, several great suits of armor, an enormous coat of arms on the wall by the staircases… she stared around her, utterly shocked. If it hadn’t been for the room’s dimensions — and the familiar staircases — she’d have sworn she’d walked into the wrong hotel. What was happening? Had they somehow managed to put away the reception desk while she’d been gone? Was this something they did every night?

  The guard had barely paused. He led her through to where the bar had been… but she was in for another rude shock, it seemed. The bar was gone. In its place, another huge fireplace, with rather ornate-looking furniture set around it like an old-fashioned sitting room. Dominating one wall was a huge portrait of an imposing man all in black, leaning on a silver sword, his imposing face lifted as he surveyed the room from his frame. He had dark wavy hair and a foreboding countenance, his hard, dark green eyes seeming to meet hers. And as her eyes traveled from the painting to the large armchair in front of it, she jumped in shock. Sitting there, scrutinizing her as closely as the painted man had been, was a dark-haired man with hard green eyes. A little less handsome than the portrait… but unmistakably its subject.

  “Lord Weatherby,” the guard said, lowering his head.

  Despite her disorientation, she couldn’t help but smile. The hotel had clearly gone all out here — hiring an actor to play the Lord of the manor was one thing, but the painting was quite an exorbitant touch. Had they painted it with the actor in mind, or just hired someone who bore a resemblance to the existing painting?

  “I found this lady wandering the moors in the fog. A guest of yours.”

  “Interesting,” the actor said, leaning forward with a frown. “I’ve never met this woman in my life.”

  Brianna hid her smile, glancing back and forth between the two men. What on earth was going on? It was rather charming, and she might have been having quite a lot of fun if she hadn’t had so much other stuff on her mind. They seemed to be waiting for her to say something, and she cleared her throat, not wanting to be a stick in the mud when they were inviting her into their little game. She’d done a bit of amateur theater in her youth, and the old instincts not to shut down a scene were still with her.

  “Oh, yes, I got lost in the fog out there, I’m afraid.”

  “Who are you?” asked ‘Weatherby’ suspiciously. “How exactly did you find your way to my lands?”

  “My name’s Brianna Kendall, my lord,” she said, sketching a little curtsy and regretting that she was wearing jeans and not a skirt. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  He seemed pleased by that, though his eyes were still suspicious. “You. Fetch Baldric,” he said dismissively to the guard at her side. The man bowed and left, leaving her alone with the man in the armchair. “I can’t say I’m surprised,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her. “You speak just like the others. Same strange accent.”

  “The others?” she said, raising an eyebrow. Were the other guests of the hotel part of this game, too? Perhaps they’d already been brought in and were waiting for her in another room. She was reminded of the murder mystery dinner party games her mother had always so enjoyed — maybe the hotel had organized something like that? She wished they’d have let her know ahead of time so she could have dressed the part a little more.

  “Yes, the other strange women those MacClarans seem so keen on collecting,” Weatherby said with a scowl. “Though you’re the first one to turn up here and not up at the Keep.”

  “Oh, we’ve turned up?” she said, tipping the actor a wink as she caught on to what the game seemed to be. “Almost like time travel or something, hey?”

  “She’s a sharp one,” came a surprised voice from the doorway.

  She turned to see a broad man wearing chainmail armor with a black cloak around his shoulders and a rather real-looking sword at his hip. This actor looked older than ‘Lord Weatherby’ did, with spiky brown hair and close-set brown eyes. He was also absolutely enormous, and looked very much the part of some kind of medieval soldier. The costumes really were impressive, she marvele
d as he approached her. No wonder the hotel charged such an exorbitant rate — the budget for these little shows alone would explain most of that.

  “Sir Baldric,” he introduced himself as he approached — she responded to his bow with another curtsy, grinning despite herself. Just what she needed — a bit of silliness to take her mind off her scumbag of an ex-boyfriend.

  “Lovely to meet you, Sir Baldric. I’m Lady Brianna, of Chicago.”

  The two men exchanged glances. “Never heard of it,” Weatherby said with a dismissive little flick of his fingers. “This one’s polite, at least.”

  “You know what happened, how you got here?” Baldric said, his sharp eyes on her.

  She got the idea that this character was the real brains between the two of them — the Lord’s right-hand man, perhaps? He certainly looked the part of a bodyguard.

  “How?”

  “I just guessed,” she said blankly, worried she’d interfered with their script by suggesting time travel so early. “I mean, when I left the hotel it was still in modern mode, and when I got back you’d redone the lobby and the bar, so…” She shook her head. “Sorry. I didn’t actually know all this was happening tonight or I’d be doing better at staying in character.”

  The men were looking at each other, clearly nonplussed. Weatherby clicked his tongue. “The daft girl thinks she’s in a play or something.”

  Baldric chuckled. “This isn’t the theatre, I’m afraid, Lady Brianna. We’ve a great deal to explain, I think. But first, Lord Weatherby, do you suppose we ought to send word to the MacClarans?”