Highland Games Through Time

by Nancy Lee Badger

  The future. Where I belong.

  She had accepted the impossible or rather improbable fact; she’d traveled back in time. With replenished supplies, and a bit of luck, she would conjure the potion that had cast her to the Highlands of sixteenth century Scotland. The wish had come true, but not in the way she’d planned.

  “You know what they say about best laid plans. I should have been more careful with what I wished for.” She twirled a loose lock of her hair, hummed a modern day Celtic tune, and waited as the proprietor filled her basket with medical supplies.

  She knocked on Cameron’s door and woke Reid, who yawned as he let her in. With her pockets full of herbs for later use, Haven pointed to her basket as she tiptoed into the sleeping warrior’s room.

  Curtains covered the windows, so she crossed the room and threw back the slips of fabric. She pushed the frame open and inhaled. The scent of salt and pine filled her nostrils.

  “The sea is close by,” Reid said with a stifled yawn.

  “I can taste it.”

  “Aye. We draw near Castle Ruadh. It overlooks the North Sea. This pub lies within its holdings.”

  “You’ve dressed Cameron’s wound?”

  “Aye, but I lacked any herbs to soothe his fever or his pain.”

  She’d brought the very herbs to add to his tankard of water. When she changed the bandage, she’d make a poultice to cleanse away any bacteria.

  “Go get some breakfast. I want to check his wound. How is your arm?”

  “Nearly healed, my lady. The poultice ye gave me has worked wonders. Ye surely are the finest witch I have ever met. I will break my fast and return.” His ruddy cheeks bunched as he smiled, all dimples and freckles. He rubbed his wound, tightened his sling, bowed, and left.

  Haven was too tired to correct the boy. A witch? No, but in the century in which she found herself, she understood his misconception.

  Cameron lay on his side facing the door. Haven sat on the edge of his small bed and stared at his perfect skin, finely chiseled features, and tanned muscles that fueled no physical response. Kirk’s scarred face had filled her thoughts and dreams since the day he appeared in her first vision. She fought the urge to weep. She would miss him. Haven would miss young Reid, Cameron, and poor Balfour. The pain of the storyteller’s loss made tears trickle down her cheeks.

  “Dear, sweet Balfour. He gave his life to save me. Cameron nearly lost his for the same reason,” she whispered. Would her ex, Cal Murchie, have risked his life for her?

  She removed the bandage with delicate attention to the injury in his chest. Someone had removed the arrow by pushing it all the way through his body. She needed to see his back, but he continued to sleep. Leaning over his resting form, she grabbed a wooden bowl then dipped a clean piece of cloth into the scented poultice.

  “Smells like a woman’s bathwater,” Cameron whispered.

  “You’re awake. Did I hurt you?” She quickly wiped away evidence of her tears.

  “Nay. What do ye propose to do with this flowery morass?”

  “Its a solution of rosemary and thistle for pain, as well as ground yarrow root to stop the bleeding.” She spread the mixture over his chest wound. He groaned.

  “Why do ye carry herbs with wound-healing properties?”

  “Would you believe I collected these herbs from the pub owner? The others had been part of a love potion,” She whispered the last statement as she cleansed his wound.

  “A what?”

  “I said Reid has done a wonderful job and you will heal, nicely.” She helped him sit up then spread more medicine on his back. “Your job is to keep still. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to stitch you closed.”

  “Keep yer meat hooks from my skin, witch.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Do not deny it. I witnessed Balfour’s miraculous cure. The bubbled and blackened skin of his burned hand grew pink and fresh within days. He wielded his second sword with no restraint.”

  “I wondered. I thought that maybe he died—”

  “He died because he was outnumbered, not because he could not wield both swords. Do not worry yerself. His death is on my hands.”

  “I don’t agree. Hold still,” she repeated.

  “Fine. But, I must leave before Kirk learns of my—”

  “Your what?” She had an idea. Pain, other than physical pain, wracked Cameron’s body and he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  “Tell me the truth.”

  “I agreed to spy for Lord Mackenzie. There I said it.”

  “I wasn’t expecting that. Mackenzie told me he had a spy in Kirk’s camp, but you? Kirk is family.”

  “An old man wearing a heavy cloak introduced me to The Mackenzie. I’d heard the tales.”

  “You knew he’d killed Kirk’s fiancée? You knew about Kirk’s scar?”

  “Aye. I laughed when Mackenzie marked him. Too proud, he was.”

  “Proud? He still is.”

  “Aye, but not of his looks. Before I knew what I was doing, I was involved.”

  “A cloaked man you said?”

  “Aye. Never heard his name. Sensed he be someone not to mess with so I agreed. Especially when they offered ye as the prize, along with a portion of the treasure.”

  “Cameron!”

  He swung both arms wide then grimaced in pain. “I have laid bare my transgressions and may now die in peace.”

  Haven applied more medicinal herbs to his torn skin then bandaged the wounds.

  He sighed. Quietly, he snuggled down into the furs.

  “I assume you had good reason?” she asked. Silence greeted her. Haven rose from the bedside. She gathered the bowl and dirty dressing. Before she reached the door, his voice drifted her way.

  “Though cousin to the laird of our clan, I had nothing but the clothes on my back and the swords in their sheaths. The Mackenzie promised me gold. And ye. Aye, very tempting, lass, and I was weak. Will ye ever forgive me?”

  She nodded. “I will not reveal your misbehavior to Kirk unless you do not.”

  “Have pity on me. I conspired with our clan’s enemy. I schemed with a man who caused irreparable harm to my laird.” He pushed himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed and the sheets fell away.

  Haven chuckled the precise moment he remembered his nakedness. He was built along the same massive lines as Kirk.

  Cameron blushed.

  Unlike Kirk, he gathered the sheets in one fist to shield his body, then stood on shaky feet.

  “Cameron, you must confess to Kirk, and soon. Do it before Mackenzie tells him. They’re working together, now.”

  Cameron’s eyes bulged wide.

  “Much has changed. For the better, I hope. Good-bye.” Haven closed the door behind her, brushed away a tear, and wondered if she would ever see Cameron again.

  * * *

  Haven handed the used water bowl and bloodied linens to a servant. The young woman had paused in front of Kirk’s door, so Haven traded her nasty bundle for a small tray with two tankards of ale and crept inside their room.

  Our room. Sounds romantic.

  She had missed his warmth the moment she woke alone, yet she fought hard to forget every magnificent moment. This wasn’t her world. He didn’t want her the way she wanted him. She loved him, but she wanted marriage, a home, and a family. He had a clan to lead into an uncertain future. He deserved a lady of wit, fortune, and more bravery than she’d displayed.

  With her heart in turmoil, Haven looked around their empty room as she placed the tray on the side table. Her thirst gone, she slipped down the stairs, and out the door. A walk might help clear her head.

  Shaggy, orange Highland cows mooed as a mud-spattered boy led them toward a field of high grass. The youngster brandished a stick like a pro. Several dozen sheep munched bright green ferns beside a dirt road. Another road led to the craggy top of a cliff, so she walked toward the sound of the sea.

  The keep known as Castle Ruadh stood on a rocky hilltop above t
he North Sea, not far from the River Wick. Last night, Kirk shared a few stories as if trying to seal the hole in her heart once filled by Balfour and his jokes.

  Shadows crept along red sandstone walls towering toward the silver sky. The rock structure shimmered like red sunbeams under the morning sun’s early light. Banners flew over the main entrance, though she couldn’t see more than a swirl of colors from this distance.

  Overhead, clouds thickened, and her mind slipped into an internal weather forecast. Would lightning come? Did the heavens tease her with a chance to replay the love spell, reenact the particulars of her actions, and send her home?

  She gazed toward the castle’s east wing. This section would soon be home for Lady Fia, Lord Marcas Mackenzie, and any children they might have. She rubbed a palm over her abdomen. Could she already be pregnant?

  From the corner of her eye, she spotted a cloaked figure atop the rocky cliff, far in the distance. She squinted at him, but only saw his long, black robe as it billow about his tall, thin form. His cowl hid his features, but his stare chilled her insides.

  Death to all.

  “Who said that?” Haven looked all around, but she stood alone, far from the walls of the keep. She licked her lips and tasted salt on the ocean breeze. She turned back to the robed figure, but he’d disappeared.

  CHAPTER 24

  “How strange. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he spoke to me.” As Haven considered the words echoing in her head, she thought, good riddance. The creep in the black robe wasn’t important.

  The roar of breakers crashing below the cliff made her imagine an even angrier sea when winter storms blew with hurricane-force winds and food failed to grow. People would keep warm under fur blankets, huddled around tiny fires while wind and hail battered their homes. In this time, men went off to war, women died giving birth, or lost children to simple diseases.

  “How can I think to raise children in this environment?”

  “Where there be love, there be hope,” a voice cackled.

  Haven searched the shadows and came face to face with a familiar gray-haired woman. She leaned on a curved walking stick and sported a crooked nose, heavy brows, and wore a gold medallion.

  “I know that yellow stone. It’s you! But, how?” The old woman, the same old crone who had sold her various herbs and a powerful love potion at the New England Highland games, staggered toward her. She had changed somewhat, but Haven recognized her timeworn features and lazy smile.

  Dressed in a period frock, she carried a leather pouch tied above the protruding bone of her hip. She’d piled her silvery hair into a bun atop her head. Several loose strands tossed in the wind. Ancient feet clad in doeskin slippers shuffled toward her.

  “I must be dreaming. I finally convince myself I accidently landed in ancient Scotland, and then I find you. You are from the future.” An idea burst forth. “Can you take me back?”

  “Do ye desire to return to yer time?”

  Her slowly spoken words provided Haven with a dilemma. Until moments ago, she knew how to answer.

  “I don’t know. I think so. I really should go back where I came from. I don’t belong here no matter how much I love—”

  She choked on her words. After a deep, calming breath, she added, “I mean, I have gathered the potions and herbs, and planned to recreate the events that threw me here. If I’m successful, then I will get back.”

  “And leave all ye have come to love?”

  “I really hadn’t thought this through,” she whispered.

  “Time is a fickle lover. I can show ye the way back if going back is what ye want. But, be sure ye are running toward yer destiny, and not in the opposite direction.” The old woman pointed her walking stick toward the castle’s gate.

  Kirkwall Gunn stood beside a beaming Lord Mackenzie. Kirk’s formerly naked chest now sported a bright white long-sleeved shirt. It lay open at the neck, revealing a few tufts of chest hair. Over this, he’d pulled a vest of forest-green suede. He wrapped a faded swath of the clan plaid around his body from waist to knees, then looped it up and over one shoulder, then had pinned it using a large medallion sporting an emerald-green stone.

  His leather belt held everything in place while a silver-trimmed leather sporran rested below his abdomen. He still wore his high calfskin boots. The hilt of a sgian dubh peeked from the top edge. He carried his sword across his back and a dirk hung from his belt.

  Lady Fia stood with one arm wrapped around her lover’s waist. Envy flooded Haven’s chest at the smile on Fia’s face.

  “Devil’s own luck,” she cursed when Kirk turned and glanced her way. Both breasts swelled with desire beneath her frock’s peasant shirt. Her nipples peaked, and pressed against the fabric. Desire dampened her thighs. Heat beneath her cheeks signaled she blushed under his scrutiny. She couldn’t pull her gaze from the sight of her giant.

  My giant?

  Fia’s uncle joined the group. A heated discussion ensued and kept the group from joining her and her odd companion. Haven turned her attention back to the old woman whose all-knowing smile made Haven flinch.

  “The old man will come around. The Mackenzie’s mercenaries will pledge their allegiance to guard the family and their holdings with their lives. Good food, a soft bed, and a few coins will buy a poor man’s troth.”

  “I got that feeling the last time I was a guest in their camp. They are quite loyal, for a band of brigands.”

  “Me thinks they love their lord, though he has engaged them in too many battles. They shall enjoy the rest. Plus, they now have a chance to cavort with a lass. The village whores have missed them.” She laughed aloud while her ancient body rattled.

  “Yes, I have learned all too well how much these men like women. I had the feeling any woman would do.”

  “My lady must remember the time she has entered. Times were different, four hundred years before yer birth. Men were different. The Mackenzie will inherit this keep once he marries the Lady Fia. He has already earned the loyalty of the villagers.”

  “How has he managed such a feat in so short a time?”

  “He has based his raids from their midst’s. This is why he brought ye to the pub. He shares his spoils when successful.”

  “And when unsuccessful?”

  The old woman winked then added, “He has been a good leader, once destined to be a great laird until his father disowned him and banished him from the clan. These people know the truth, yet follow him or hide him from an enemy.”

  “Banished him? He did mention that. How horrible, but Marcas Mackenzie has killed people. He kidnapped Cora, and me.”

  “He did what had to be done. His brother died accidently, and his father’s grief made him blame Mackenzie. He still blames him. I saw Cora’s death in a vision. She tangled with her guard. Her death ‘twas an accident. The Mackenzie will soon rise up and take his rightful, peaceful, place in the world. This I know, my lady.”

  “You seem to know quite a bit.”

  “These two were destined to marry. Laird Kirkwall Gunn got in the way. If not for the battle foiled by a misty vision, Kirk would lie dead in the dirt. Your first spell, me thinks, saved all,” she cackled.

  “Lord Mackenzie will marry his true love and Kirk is free to do what he pleases.” She sighed then turned to stare at Kirk, again.

  The woman hooted. Haven spun back around. The old witch slapped a knobby knee that peeked from beneath the folds of her gown.

  “Happens every day, my young miss.”

  “Not in the real world.”

  “This, Lady Haven MacKay, is the real world. Love is the reason yer spell thrust ye back into this time. Did ye not ask to be sent into yer true love’s grasp?”

  “Yes. I screwed up when I worded it. I’m such a klutz.”

  “I disagree. Besides, word has already spread of yer healing abilities. No one need know of yer witch-like talents. Ye could make a difference in many lives, if ye stayed.”

  Haven glared at her. She had a
lready thought of the people she had helped. Yet, Balfour still died because of her.

  “Ye have been given a gift; the ability to choose yer destiny. Live here, live now, and take a chance at happiness. Or, reverse time and send yerself home again.”

  “What? I can’t—”

  “Ye did it once. Do ye doubt yer power to do it again? Think long and hard before ye make up yer mind to return to the future. As you ponder your decisions remember the words of a dear friend who said, ‘when ye find the man of yer dreams, grab him and hold on tight.’”

  “Iona’s words!”

  Kirk, still near the castle wall, stared at her, obviously worried at the noise she’d made. His own conversation must have ended because he bowed to Lady Fia then walked toward Haven and her companion. The ocean breeze pulled auburn locks loose from his queue and his surefooted steps covered the distance in no time.

  No time. That’s the problem.

  Now she understood what Iona meant. Haven hadn’t really thought about her friend’s adage until Kirk appeared at her side and clasped her hand in his. With a greater strength then she’d ever called on, she turned away from his scrutiny to question the old woman.

  She blinked. She and Kirk were alone. “She’s gone.”

  “Haven? Who is gone. ‘Tis all well with ye?”

  “Sure. I’m fine. I like the smell of the sea, but those clouds look threatening.” He hadn’t seen the old woman? He unlocked his gaze from hers and peered up at the gathering storm.

  “Aye. Me thinks we shall drown if we stay out here.”

  She forced a small laugh, but could not meet his gaze.

  “Come with me, love. We are invited to the betrothal feast.”

  “Oh no. Are ye still engaged to—”

  “Nay. The feast is to congratulate Lord Mackenzie and Lady Fia on their upcoming wedding. Her uncle always wanted her to be happy, but the weight of their clan’s safety hung about his neck as heavy as the yoke I carried.” He turned and walked toward the castle gate.