Haven hid other herbs, delicate bottles, stones, and the thimble into the pockets of her new gown. She shivered at the memory of the old woman’s strange words and piercing gaze. As she dug out her compact flashlight, her hand clasped a bottle of pale green liquid.
What should I do with you?
Fingertips tingled and her palm grew hot. She chewed on her bottom lip while she deliberated the merits of using a love potion near a dance hall full of kilted hunks. Iona would kill her. Haven dropped the bottle in a pocket and promised only to investigate the potion later. Otherwise, she’d be late.
She slipped from her tent. Darkness blanketed the valley. Chirps and hoots echoed from nearby trees and a fire blazed in the camp’s main fire pit. Shadowy forms were hard to decipher, but she assumed Jake lurked around somewhere since he’d volunteered to keep the cooking fire going all weekend.
“Is that you, Haven?” Jake said, crouched next to the heavenly smelling stew.
“It is I, my lord.” She treated him to a deep curtsey. Firelight flickered across his youthful face. His whistle of approval made her smile, and she sashayed closer.
“That’s some dress, Haven. Going dancing?” He rose to his feet then bent in a deep bow.
“I promised Iona I’d at least show up. I love pretending to be a woman of the past. Long skirts and peasant blouses are more comfy than my regular clothes. Warmer, too.”
He grabbed two hammered tin plates and filled them with stew. He handed her one then pointed to a log. “Grab a seat.”
“No thanks.” She accepted the offered plate and spoon but continued to stand. “That log is muddy from last night’s rain and will get drenched, again. when the storm comes back.”
“What storm? I didn’t hear anything on my radio.”
“Jake, you know you’re not supposed to have twenty-first-century stuff up here. Especially when you don’t share.”
“Don’t turn me in.”
“What have you to bargain with, my lord?”
“Oreos?” He immediately looked sheepish. Forcing his plate into her hand, he disappeared into the dark, then returned to her side with a small canvas bag and blanket. After he tossed the blanket on the dirty log, she sat. He collapsed into a cross-legged position at her feet. “I guess it makes sense to share.”
He passed her the opened package of dark chocolate cookies. ”This stew is pretty good, too,” he said finishing the last spoonful. Together, they munched prohibited cookies several yards from the campfire.
“I, too, bent the rules. I brought a can opener. I’m not a cook.”
“Iona tells me different.”
“Well, I’ll amend my statement. I’m not a good cook on an open fire. Try me at home, and—”
“Is that an invitation?”
She didn’t answer.
After two heartbeats of silence, he whispered, “I’m very happy you’re here to cook this year. Iona held the job last year.”
“Want to clarify that statement?”
“Let’s just say she’s best at decorating our camp. This stew was quite good.”
“I wish I had a glass of fresh, cold milk to make this moment complete.” Haven grabbed three cookies and thought about how happy she felt.
Dessert and a guy’s attention? Can’t get much better than this.
“Better go milk one of those sheep.” Jake’s eyes crinkled as he laughed, and the moment died.
Her costume fit well, the stew and cookies tasted delicious, and she vowed to get in the spirit of the weekend by attending the dance. It didn’t hurt she looked rather nice. Iona had also lent her a lovely gray wool cloak after she’d admitted the weather—especially at night—got nippy.
“Oh, goody,” she’d thought at the time, but bad weather didn’t matter. She’d promised to help, and she never broke a promise. As their laughter filled the night, and with her belly full, the tension in her shoulders subsided. Her crushed toes and bruised shin still hurt. When she bent and settled her empty plate on the ground, something pricked her thigh. Haven pulled out the small leather sheath Iona had given her.
“What have you got there?”
“It’s a dagger. Iona wants me to feel safe.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, though after spotting some creep in a long robe staring at me, I’d feel better with a broadsword strapped to my back.”
“A guy in a robe? Did you tell security?”
“No. He was probably lost. I plan to sneak away early from the dance, and will come straight back here.”
“Maybe he’s an admirer.”
“I’m not looking for a relationship right now. Sex might be fun for some, but I never enjoyed it. I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”
“What?” Shock flashed across Jake’s face.
Realizing what she’d said, Haven’s cheeks burned.
“I’m real sorry you haven’t been handled well. It’s a guy’s responsibility to see to your pleasure.” He tossed a broken cookie to the shadows.
Maybe Cal’s lovemaking ability had been less than competent. She’d felt nothing except the thrill of falling in love. Jumping to her feet, she slipped the sheathed dagger down her bodice. “I should get going. Oh, I’m cooking breakfast in the morning.”
“I’ll have the fire going by six.”
Haven nodded, rinsed her hands, then headed to the dance tent. A stroll down the mountain proved uncomfortable with a swollen foot and bruised shin. The gown she wore was much bulkier than Iona’s creation of gold satin, but if Iona hadn’t leant Haven such a beautiful gown, she’d have stayed in her tent all night.
Alone.
The sense that someone watched her lasted until she slipped inside the huge tent. The musicians at the ceilidh filled the valley with music and happy voices. Costumed couples swirled under the great tent. Kilted wait staff dispensed beer and wine while flasks of whisky made the rounds. The sweat of overheated bodies and the odor of damp wool mingled under the canvas ceiling.
Haven enjoyed her evening when she didn’t think of Cal. When a familiar tingle ran up and down her spine, she glanced around knowing she was looking for the stranger with the sensuous mouth. To her horror, she spied the figure in the dark robe. Long, black hair and a boney chin were the only parts visible beneath the robe’s hood, and she knew the moment he spied her. When he pushed his way through the dancers, coming closer, she turned to Iona.
“I’m out of here,” she yelled over the music. She’d watched her flame-haired friend twirl and dip with a different partner every song.
“But, the night is young. How are you going to find—”
“I’ll find him when I find him. Right now, I need some air.”
Iona excused herself from her latest partner. The man actually pouted yet Iona didn’t notice. The woman needed an intervention, but not tonight. Exiting the tent, Haven swallowed gulps of fresh air.
“What I wouldn’t do for another kiss…” Haven’s voice trailed off. She’d thought of the stranger with the tasty mouth, while she should be separating herself from the creep in the robe.
Iona laughed. “Have patience. Keep your eyes open.”
“You are absolutely correct.” Haven had to keep Iona from knowing who she really thought about. “I have until Sunday’s closing ceremonies to find the man of my dreams. Until then, I say who, I say where, I say when.”
“Words to live by.”
They both laughed. Haven glanced at her friend. “A storm is coming. I want a chance to walk in the woods before it rains. Good night.”
Iona stood with hands on hips. Her fine satin gown swirled about her long legs. Wisps of flame-red hair had escaped her upswept bun while emerald-green eyes bore into Haven. A thunder boom rattled across the western sky, reminding Haven of the old crone’s prediction. Iona walked back toward the dance tent.
“If you see lightning, keep away from the trees. Stay safe.”
Slipping her tiny flashlight from her pocket, Haven started up the trail an
d wondered how Iona expected her to keep away from trees while surrounded by a mountain forest. Halfway up, footsteps on gravel thudded behind her. Haven flicked off her light and hid behind a huge pine tree. She pulled out the tiny dagger and slipped it from its sheath. A twig snapped, and she jumped.
“Ouch.” Blood oozed from the fleshy tip of her thumb.
I am such a klutz.
She put the dagger in her pocket. A sticky wetness, other than blood, clung to her fingers. She sniffed. Mint and fresh apples.
Devil’s own luck!
The bottle of love potion had broken open. Pulling a few shards from the pocket, she also found the remnants of the tiny thimble. Haven shook her head.
Iona will go ballistic if I ruin this dress.
She needed a break from stupid potions and scary crones; from men who couldn’t take no for an answer; from a life without love. She wanted no part of men unworthy of her heart or her trust. Haven looked up through crooked tree limbs at a black sky. She hoped the coast was clear.
A gentle rain started to fall as she stepped back onto the shadowy path and resumed her lonely trek up toward the historical encampment. Keeping her head down, she flicked on her light and picked up the pace. Her beaded slippers slid on wet pine needles, slowing her progress. The storm seemed bent on drenching her before she could get to her tent.
“Think about your warm, dry bed. There’ll be time enough to dream.”
“And what would a bitch like you dream about?”
Haven raised her head, then froze. A dark shape loomed straight ahead. She pointed her flashlight’s beam at the face high above her own. Long black hair and a pale, boney chin beneath red eyes stared back. Red eyes? His voice, raspy and low, vibrated with rage. Or lust.
“Excuse me. I meant to say witch.”
“Watch who you’re calling names. Are you following me?”
“Your talent for observation amazes me. Can you tell what I’m thinking?”
“Your arrogance amazes even me. I don’t know you so I don’t care. Move aside.” Her bravado came out through shaky lips.
“You MacKays are evil.”
“What? You’re nuts.”
“I will not allow you to help the Highlander. The entire Gunn clan must perish. Cease to exist. To the last. I am here to take matters into my own hands.” He lunged.
Haven came to life. She swung around and plunged into the forest. Dipping and swerving, she followed the tiny beam of her flashlight while trying to avoid low branches and prickly bushes. Several snagged her cloak, but she ignored the rips and tears as she picked up speed. She tossed away her cloak, gathered up her hem, and listened.
His footsteps echoed in the dark amid breaking twigs and violent curses. Lightning flashed high above the treetops, illuminating her way better than her flashlight’s pathetic beam.
She cut left, beyond a massive black tree, but tripped over one of its gnarled roots. As she tumbled forward, he grabbed her around the waist. She hit the ground and all the air whooshed from her lungs. The robed figure lay spread-eagled on top of her. Without air, or the ability to drag in any, she lay perfectly rigid. Haven felt something, also rigid; it dug into her backside through layers of fabric.
“Get off me.” With a groan, the man released her and slid off. She rolled to her right side. Lightning flickered in his eyes like flames. He pushed slowly to his feet then brushed dirt and leaves from his robe. His hood fell back and his hair lay damp and stringy over broad shoulders. The gentle rain streamed down his sharp nose.
Haven dragged her legs beneath her and managed to kneel before him while she sucked in great gobs of air. She’d rather not stay in such a subservient position, but the fall had winded her as well as bruised her ribs. Tripping over the root added a swollen ankle to her sore toes and aching shin. Her hands were muddy and scratched and her hair tumbled down over one shoulder.
“Though I like you on your knees, get to your feet so we can talk like civilized beings.”
“Tackling me wasn’t civilized behavior.”
She licked clean her still-bleeding thumb as she rose to her feet. Rain dribbled down through the tree canopy. Lightning flashed. No amount of thunder could make her forget her precarious situation. The man appeared calm, but he might attack her when they reached her lonely tent. And why were his eyes flaming like fire?
A roar filled her ears as blood rushed beneath her skin. Her fingers turned to ice. Dead quiet, fractured by thunderclaps, caused a vague memory to bubble up. Hadn’t the old woman said use the storm? Haven focused on him then willed the lightning to strike. A searing flash of hot, white light smacked the earth between them.
Surprised, he stepped back then tumbled head over heels over the same root that had tripped her. A second bolt seared the top of a tall pine, high above them. Haven covered her head with both hands as branches snapped and flame-filled boughs dropped exploding pinecones.
CHAPTER 6
Unconcerned for the man who growled and cursed at her feet, Haven ran. With flames behind her and possible danger looming from every other direction, tears welled up behind her eyes. Sorrow, not fear, threatened her tonight.
“Fine. If this darn storm is here for me to use, so be it!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. She skidded to a stop and raised her damp face to the sky. She simultaneously slid her bloodied hand into the pocket where she’d shoved the broken potion bottle, gemstones, and herbs. She said the ancient words she’d found on the bottle the old crone had sold her.
Rain and fire, trees and grass,
I wish to be in my lover’s grasp.
Hear my plea, so mote it be.
Haven waited for destiny to bring her mystery lover to her while she stood drenched with cold rain and bitten by burning embers. She needed help, and her use of nature’s plants and minerals only made sense. The only unknowns this time were the so-called love potion and the lightning.
Fog rolled up from the muddy earth around her feet, and filled her with hope. A silver cloud plummeted from the sky to connect with the mist and embroil her in the stench of burnt flesh. A clap of thunder made her jump, though her feet couldn’t move. Static energy frizzed loose strands of her hair, which tickled her cheeks. The next white-hot spear of energy hit her, yet the fog encasing her entire body absorbed the lion’s share of the bolt’s heat and power.
Even so, fiery pain flashed across her chest. Her head throbbed. Her toes felt encased in boiling water. She shook off the pain when she realized that the catalyst of energy, joined with earth, water, and her pocket full of charms, might be the answer. A way to escape from the man chasing her, while bringing her back to the man who’d kissed her senseless. Suddenly galvanized with a sense of pride, she yelled the words again.
Rain and fire, trees and grass,
I wish to be in my lover’s grasp.
Hear my plea, so mote it be!
A louder thunderclap split the night. Lightning shrieked from sky to earth. Her fingertips tingled and her neck hairs stood on end. Darkness welcomed her and she happily slipped under its control while someone shouted “No!”
* * *
Andreas Borthwick rose to his feet and pulled the hood over his wet hair. The sudden mist dissipated, leaving him alone in the dark forest. The MacKay woman had escaped. What was worse, she might already be with the Gunn laird.
All my planning, and waiting, has been for naught.
His chance to reenact his revenge on the Gunn clan would have to wait until he got his hands on the amulet. He had wasted too much time waiting for a chance to confront the old crone. She was never alone, selling her little potions and whatnots to people of this century. People trying to be something they are not. Only with the amulet would he have the power to follow the woman.
Unless…
The MacKay woman used a spell or potion to escape his clutches. His visions came true. He had found the linchpin, Haven MacKay, but she had escaped his clutches and had been swept back in time before he could subdue her.
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All I need do is steal the amulet or recreate her time portal…
The comely MacKay wench had spoken words that sounded familiar. Had he read them somewhere? Had she discovered them in the ancient scrolls? Impossible…unless someone aided her. Might someone have helped her open a time portal? The old crone, Dorcas Swann, might have had a hand in helping the bitch. If true, he promised to deal with the traitor later. First, he needed to reposition himself. Wherever—or whenever—she had journeyed. The amulet or the potion was the key. He and the Mackay would cross paths once more.
Soon.
* * *
Haven awoke on her side, dazed and wet with her damp hem twisted about her legs. The wind howled and slithered inside her bodice. She wished she hadn’t lost her cloak. Plastered beneath a soaked dress, her legs rested upon chilly, muddy earth. The air temperature had dropped at least twenty degrees.
When she sat up, a sticky mist shrouded everything. A sudden wave of dizziness flashed an image. Beyond the mist was the lone silhouette of a man. Proud and tall, he sat on the back of a huge horse. The animal shifted sideways as its rider turned and stared in Haven’s direction.
His ragged auburn hair suited him. Loose waves, buffeted by the wind, touched his wide shoulders. Chest hair peeked from beneath his white shirt. A look of abject melancholy darkened the scar bisecting the handsome stranger’s left cheek. Ancient, haunted eyes stared deeply into hers. While she stared, he turned his horse and galloped away. As if she read his mind, his thoughts turned toward an ominous castle at the end of his journey. She could almost see the black clouds that hovered above a tower of reddish stone.
Haven shook her head then snapped both eyes shut to clear the cobwebs. Ever so slowly, the choking fog transformed.
Just a stupid vision.
She hadn’t had one since Cal left. Interesting.
The once-opaque shroud spun into a semi-transparent cloud filled with the scent of flowers and reminded Haven of a crisp spring morning.
Highland Games Through Time Page 6
