Highland Games Through Time

by Nancy Lee Badger

  She chuckled, and the sweet sound rushed over him like a brush of silky hair. He crouched beside the horse trough as he contemplated the best avenue around the next farm. Just because he had not heard sounds of life did not mean all was clear. He would not endanger Iona Mackenzie. Not until she served her purpose.

  “Okay, Cameron. I’ve thought about the spell. When the mix-up happened—”

  “When the robed figure interrupted us?” Cameron stood, satisfied no danger lurked, and marched off toward the next field. He hesitated enough to allow her to catch up. John paused at the trough, wiping his forehead with a dampened cloth.

  “Yes. I never finished saying the words. That is why the amulet sent us here.”

  “Can ye respeak the spell and send us true?”

  “All I can do is my best. You have the amulet safe?”

  Cameron rubbed the charm through his shirt, nodding. He had strung a longer leather cord around it, tight, and it was now long enough to hide beneath his vest. As his fingers caressed the smooth surface of the gemstone, his vision blurred and his head spun. Strange voices from the past grew louder, and his heartbeat slammed inside his chest.

  “Ye have welcomed a new healer to this village.” The old crone was speaking to Kirk again.

  Cameron listened while trying to loosen his bonds.

  “My herbs and potions are needed elsewhere.”

  Kirk nodded. The village healer had been killed almost one year earlier in the same attack responsible for the scar traversing Kirk’s left cheek. With Lady Haven’s medicinal poultice, the wound had faded to a mere wrinkle across his chiseled face. Lady Haven promised to train a handful of women in the healing arts, assuring their clan would never again go without.

  “I am sorry we have not met afore today. I thank ye for your assistance.”

  “Aye, I arrived soon after ye began your trek toward Castle Ruadh, but I cannot stay where I am no longer needed. I must resume my travels from town to town, offering my wares to heal the sick and injured.”

  “A noble profession,” Kirk added.

  “Aye, but after ye signed a treaty with Clan Keith and told all ye planned to take a MacKay to wife, my quota of injured warriors dried up.”

  Laughter echoed off the smoky ceiling, far above. Cameron listened and understood. His cousin was a great man who had been willing to sacrifice his freedom to marry the daughter of an enemy in order to bring peace. A century-old war had decimated both clans, but Kirk had established peace by signing a treaty and swearing aid to the Keiths and their castle in Wick.

  Kirk had escaped the marriage trap when the chosen bride, Lady Fia Keith, had run away in order to be with the man she loved – Lord Marcas Mackenzie. Once a bitter enemy, he now led a force of mercenaries who also swore to protect her clansmen, the Keiths. The crowd went silent as Kirk spoke once more.

  “Of this we are all glad. If ye must leave us, ye may take this prisoner under yer wing. He has nothing. Is his new poverty an issue?”

  “If he toils, he shall not starve. If he obeys me, he shall have a dry bed in which to sleep.”

  When the old crone winked in his direction, Cameron sucked in a breath. The crowd laughed even louder. His cousin, laird of their people, rose and walked toward his bound prisoner. Cameron straightened his shoulders and spread his feet as wide as his tethers would allow.

  Would his cousin beat him? The man had every right, especially after the way he had openly lusted after a woman he loved and would soon wed.

  His cousin grabbed him in a breath-stealing hug. Tears threatened Cameron’s eyes when he realized Kirk suffered the same bout of emotion, but both men held fast to their warrior image.

  “I leave ye in this good woman’s care. Obey her until ye are far from our lands. Doona attempt to return unless…”

  “Cameron! Were you asleep?”

  John’s voice held fear, and Cameron jumped to his feet. How had he gotten to his knees? He could not recall what Kirk’s words had referred to when he had said “Unless.” Unless what? Had he spoken of redemption?

  Then why can I not recall his words?

  John whispered again, urging Cameron to hide behind the horse trough. “What is it, John?”

  “I heard something. It came from inside the barn. Slaves?”

  “We will not be here to find out. Let’s move.” He grabbed Iona’s hand. She had sidled up beside him, most likely having heard the noise as well.

  I had not.

  As a warrior, death waylaid men who let down their guards. Hunched over, and keeping to the shadows, they ran. They left the proximity of the barn, quietly passed two other outbuildings, and did not slow their pace until they were deep in the forest.

  “I am not certain, but I believe this trail connects to the main road, the road my wife would have traveled in her wee buggy.”

  “This isn’t much of a trail,” Iona said, a slight chuckle followed.

  “ ‘Tis a hunting trail, leading to the hills beyond. Deer, bear, and turkeys are abundant.”

  “I could eat a turkey, feathers and all, right about now,” she said.

  Cameron’s stomach growled.

  He was not familiar with the creature she called a turkey, but food was food. Beside him, Iona’s eyes followed his fingers as they slid down his chest to his belt, in a foolish attempt to quiet the rumbling. Her eyes dipped lower before her head rose in a flash and her hungry eyes widened. When she licked her lips, he stilled as worry replaced desire. Had John noticed her less than passing interest in his finer points?

  “Of course, I have not hunted for many years, but I am fairly sure we are headed in the right direction,” John said, oblivious to their unspoken exchange.

  The three resumed their walk in silence. Cameron picked up a mumbled word or two and assumed Iona worked on the spell. His eyes peered into shadows lining the forest. Through the branches to his left he spied forgotten hay bales in the open fields. The smell of smoke gave way to fresh morning breezes filled with the fragrance of pine trees and rotting leaves.

  When a break appeared in the thick mantle of trees, mountains loomed in the distance, in the direction John headed. They walked for the entire day, stopping only for a short respite to eat from their food stores.

  Iona cursed now and then, causing a smile to pull on Cameron’s mouth. She was a woman accustomed to the finer things in life, to be sure. When she tripped over a root, he was tempted to hoist her over his shoulder once again.

  Had she ever walked anywhere on purpose? Her gown was now wrinkled and muddy along the hem, yet she strode tall and straight as a regal monarch.

  “Are you sure John is heading in the right direction?”

  “Aye. I trust him, lass.”

  “Great. The blind leading the blind.”

  Cameron did not understand her words, but he felt the frustration in her voice. She was not handling the rough life as well as he. She was a fine lady, the daughter of a clan chieftain. If his heart had not been stolen and broken into pieces by Lady Haven, he might have…

  No. I must not think of such things.

  He loved Lady Haven MacKay and would see her in his arms no matter whose bed she warmed. Would it matter that his love had married another? His cousin, Kirkwall Gunn, most likely forced her to stay in the past and tend the sick.

  When she shared his bed, and he pleasured her with his superior lovemaking skills, she would forget all about his cousin. If he had not already killed Kirk before taking Haven back, she would insist he strike the man dead.

  Cameron stumbled, halting abruptly. A soft grunt and a warm body striking his back made him smile. “Sorry, lass.”

  “What’s wrong? Why did you stop?” Iona said. She steadied herself by clinging to his free arm.

  “I say, have ye spotted more danger?” John whispered, “because I am at my wit’s end. I hear predators around every corner.”

  “ ‘Tis nothing. I tripped.”

  “The mighty warrior let a little root nearly do hi
m in?” Iona laughed.

  “Shadows hide things. Many things.”

  He felt her tremble, and smiled. Iona and John crouched close by, their gazes searching the forest for more raiders. Cameron sniffed the air. Nothing moved, and all he smelled was pine and Iona.

  “The forest is thinning. Be wary.”

  “Aye, the trail appears to widen up ahead.” John cupped Cameron’s elbow, then pointed through the trees. “ ‘Tis my wife’s buggy!”

  * * *

  Iona stared at a small open wagon resting crookedly next to a rustic two-story building. An unhitched old nag stood in the shade beneath a small overhang. The horse munched lazily on a mouthful of hay as its tail swatted buzzing insects. A blacksmith’s furnace smoked nearby. Tools, horseshoes, and wagon wheels hung from the walls. The sight immediately reminded her of Jake.

  I miss him so much. Dad, too.

  “This be a traveler’s wayside inn,” John explained.

  She glanced past the lonely horse toward the massive barn behind. Several cats slept in the sunshine beside two huge rolling doors. The aroma of roasting chicken drew her back to the inn where smoke puffed from the single central chimney.

  “I hope this is a nice place. I could use a hot meal.”

  “Ye are in luck, dear lady. My wife must have had to stop.”

  As they walked stealthily closer, still worried about roving bands of ruffians, further inspection of the wagon revealed a broken axel.

  “God’s teeth! I should have traveled with her. If any harm has come to pass…”

  “John Moffat, be calm. We shall inquire after her and take care of any problems.” Cameron reminded him of the hidden bundle of jewels. The sparkly gems made into rings and necklaces would pay for repairs, to get them on their way. Following John, they passed through a large, wooden door and entered a spacious room. A fire snapped and smoked in the fireplace. Comfy chairs, a large couch, and small tables gave the room a well-worn yet welcoming feel.

  “Very homey.” Iona eyed the couch and hoped they’d stay long enough for her to get off her feet. Her soles were numb and her calves throbbed from walking for hours longer than she’d ever walked in her life.

  “Rebecca? Rebecca Moffat!” John called out. He turned back to Iona and Cameron. “I remember this place. ‘Tis despicable to think I sent my poor wife traveling alone. I never thought she would have trouble with the wagon or the horse. Thank the Lord she found this place. I hope she is safe.”

  “Have no fear, John. A welcoming committee awaits. See?” Cameron pointed to the staircase. A bushel of children skipped down the last few steps, then ran toward them. Shouts of “uncle” and “cousin” filled the air.

  Cameron looked about, still wary of soldiers and their loud weapons, but she was hopeful that he saw no one but the innkeeper and John’s family.

  “John! John!” shouted a stout woman wearing an apron tied around her large middle. Her eyes were wide and tear-filled, her hair as red as her own, yet twisted into a neat bun. Iona’s right hand swept loose tendrils off her face, wishing she had stopped to make use of the wrought iron nails Jake had given her.

  Jake. What must he be thinking? Does he even know I’m gone?

  “I can see your thoughts a-tumblin’ round inside ye, lass. What ails ye?” Cameron’s whispered words skittered down her spine, awakening feelings long dormant.

  Her reaction was a mere physical response to his strong, masculine presence. Men were easy to contend with once she broke them down into elements. Weren’t they simply natural predators? He smelled nice, too.

  Keeping her passion curtailed, even when the man beside her made her heart skip a beat, was almost impossible. Her palms dampened, and she rubbed them down her dress.

  No sense giving him ideas. She kept her body and her heart private, and had never felt compelled to fall for any man’s sweet words or polished good looks.

  Until now.

  No! My path is set. I am here with this throwback to the sixteenth century in order to save my best friend.

  Sucking in a deep breath, Iona found her hands pressed into the soft palms of numerous children who pushed her down onto the softest sofa she’d felt in a long time. In her life, in the future, she helped her father every September at the New England Highland Games. She slept in a silly make-believe ancient tent, on a cot without padding, save for the blankets she piled beneath her weary body each evening.

  Maybe if I didn’t always sleep alone…

  Several youngsters joined her on the couch. In the back of the great room stood the largest hearth she’d ever seen.

  “I bet I could stand up in there.”

  “Then you would be all burned up,” said a child with dark gold hair. She sat on a feather-topped stool at Iona’s feet. When Iona smiled at her comment, the little girl climbed into her lap. Peace flowed over Iona, a feeling of safety and family, a feeling she missed since leaving the Highland Games.

  “I worry about Dad,” she said, hugging the child.

  “I suppose that is his Rebecca,” Cameron whispered, pointing his arm past her shoulder toward John and the red-haired woman.

  She hadn’t noticed he’d come around behind the couch. Nodding, she looked out a small window opposite her. A cool breeze played with the dingy lace curtain. Outside, a scattering of squirrels skittered up a tree. Squawking crows peppered the air. They were safe.

  For now, at least.

  Nerves reeling from their ordeal, and from his presence, Iona set the child onto the cushion beside her, then stood. She paced to the window for a better look. Chickens pecked in the dirt, but these held no resemblance to the starved hens she’d seen near John’s abandoned home. A piglet squealed as it escaped the prodding of two small children. Several dogs barked and yipped with utter joy.

  “Iona? Where be ye, lass? Ye look as if ye are in another world.” Cameron’s booming voice brought her out of her revelry. Had he any idea how close to the truth his words were? They had landed in a very different world.

  She returned to the couch and waved a weary hand toward the door. Would he take the hint and leave her be? Closing her eyes, she raised her feet and draped them over the arm of the soft-tick couch.

  “Paradise,” she sighed.

  “Lazy woman.” Cameron’s chuckle was too close. For so big a man, he made no noise when he moved.

  She didn’t care about his opinion at the moment. All she knew was that her feet throbbed, her shoulders ached, and she couldn’t keep her eyes open another minute.

  A tantalizing aroma wafted under her nostrils. She bolted upright, and spilled the bowl Cameron held. Muffled curses accompanied a hastily grabbed piece of linen. She hadn’t noticed stew dribbling down her bodice until his big paw pressed the cloth between her breasts.

  Cameron’s touch hit her like a firestorm. The big man’s eyes locked on her face then trailed down to where his palm tarried on her gown. Suddenly dizzy, she inhaled air scented with his special, familiar aroma. Leather, pine, and musk. His eyes widened as they rose to meet her startled gaze.

  He pulled his hand away as if burned.

  I’m the one on fire.

  CHAPTER 12

  “My pardon, lass. I mean ye no harm.” He turned away and wiped the stew that splattered on his legs, but not before she noticed the ridge pressing against the laces of his leather trews. He had gotten frisky at her expense. He caught her attention right before a blush flashed across his high cheekbones.

  “Right.” Iona swung her feet to the ground and crossed her arms. He slipped from a room oddly empty except for a baby that cooed inside a basket near the fire. Wiping more liquid from her gown, Iona stood up and joined the child. She whipped her gown back and forth as she tried to dry her dress before anyone noticed her nipples.

  “Men are despicable,” Iona said to the child. His chubby cheeks framed his rosebud mouth. Tiny bubbles leaked from the corner of his pink lips and one fist clenched a small wooden object.

  “May I?” she whisper
ed, sliding the object from his tiny fingers. When he didn’t let out a loud cry, Iona turned the item in her hand then gasped. Someone had carved the likeness of a tall man in a kilt, the spitting image of Cameron.

  “What have ye got there, lass?”

  Iona fumbled and the item hit the ground with a thud. The baby hollered, and the burn of a blush swept across her face. He’d snuck up on her again.

  Before she could stoop and grab the item, Cameron crouched, snatched it off the floor with a knowing smile, and placed it in the child’s palm. Heavenly silence again filled the room. Iona stared at the fire.

  “Somebody’s a skilled carpenter. Reminds me of Jake and his ironwork.”

  “I brought ye more stew, lass,” Cameron said, then growled low, beneath his breath.

  Her mouth watered. She accepted the bowl of rich, steaming stew, and stared at the accompanying carved wooden spoon that had seen years of use. Iona paused for two seconds before shoving aside the lack of cleanliness. She was too hungry to care.

  “What I wouldn’t give for a hot cup of coffee,” Iona said after swallowing, followed by a sigh. She returned to sit on the couch while Cameron remained crouched beside the baby.

  “Why are all John’s relatives here? Where’s John?” she asked, more to keep her mind off Cameron than concern for their newfound friend. The Highlander’s rounded backside strained against the leather pants he called trews. Breathing suddenly seemed a chore.

  “He and his woman are discussing the fine items ye carried for them, though I wonder why ye thought they needed wee shiny bowls.”

  “They were engraved with a Scottish crest, so I assumed they were passed down through the family. Those two lost their home. Items so small might mean something.” How dare he think she picked trifles.

  Back in her real life, she dealt with large, uncaring auction houses where she bought family treasures from strangers. She hired others to overlook the store when her father made her traipse between Highland Games. If she still had a business when she got back, she’d work twice as hard and earn enough money to find her own apartment.