Highland Games Through Time

by Nancy Lee Badger

  A pretty woman holding a fiddle threw her free arm around Bull, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. Several others clapped him on the back or fondled the medal hanging from a ribbon around his neck. The noise level in the pub grew as the customer count rose.

  When they were alone again, Jake glared at Bull.

  Bull stilled. “Come on, Jake-O, What’s bugging you?”

  “You’re an expert on sixteenth-century Scotland?”

  “I ought to be, since I teach history at Falconscroft College. They pay me to teach it to some of New England’s brightest students and…,” he paused, smiling wider, “they pay me pretty well.”

  “Money isn’t everything.”

  “True, but I get my weekends to myself.”

  Jake sipped his ale and pondered his friend’s attitude. He babied his first glass because he wanted a clear head when he questioned Ross Mackenzie. Should he take Bull into his confidence?

  “Tell me about the time period, Bull, especially about life in the eastern highlands.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Bull set his empty glass aside, swiveling on his stool. His eyes bored into Jake, but he paused again, as if waiting for Jake’s next words.

  Would Bull know enough about the time period to help Jake learn more about the fates of Haven, Iona, and Skye?

  Skye? Why do I care what happens to her? She threw me forward in time before I had a chance to help find Haven.

  “Wanting a little history lesson?”

  “I’m serious, Bull.”

  “I get that. Why? Is this because of a woman?”

  Jake must have looked stunned, because Bull laughed, then slapped him on the back.

  His aching back.

  His skin felt foreign, as if something else lived beneath the surface. Jake brushed the feeling aside as he had for the last several months.

  “Let’s see,” Bull said, “for centuries, the Highland clans stole cattle, sheep, and the occasional laird’s daughter.”

  Bull’s chuckle, at what he assumed was a joke about the period, turned Jake’s stomach. He knew some of the people who lived during those times. He knew Skye was a beauty, and the sister to a chieftain. She’d make a great prize.

  “Stick to the facts, okay?” Jake’s growled response made Bull’s lips stretch tight and thin. Had Jake infuriated his friend?

  Fine.

  “King James VI ruled during a difficult time in Scotland’s history. Battles among clans were the norm. The king wanted to stop the resulting bloodshed, so he ordered the Highland lairds to make peace by offering protection to smaller tribes. This kept his royal army free to guard him and his holdings.”

  “So, this peace effort made it common for a clan’s leader to marry a woman from another tribe?” Jake thought of the story Iona shared about Kirkwall Gunn and Fia Keith. The resulting attacks and kidnappings—choreographed by Marcus Mackenzie—made for a great insight into life in the late sixteenth century. What would it feel like to live in that period? Skye’s spell sent him home before he’d had a chance to know.

  “Very usual. Once the marriage took place, the clans would learn to tolerate each other. Once an heir was born, they were joined forever.”

  “Battles ceased?”

  Bull laughed and gulped his beer. “Oh, reivers continued to steal animals. What I mean is, young males would steal a cow or sheep, then return it while boasting. Festivals, including strength trials, wrestling, and archery turned into our modern concept of Highland games.”

  “Interesting.” An image filled Jake’s head; a young woman staring at him as he worked with steel. Why would he suddenly think of Skye Gunn, five years later? Heat boiled in his veins and perspiration dripped from his forehead.

  He wiped away the sweat with a napkin, then faced Bull. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find the words to explain what he needed. Not to Bull.

  Ross Mackenzie was the obvious one with whom he should discuss his concern. Where was he? His message was clear, but he hadn’t noticed him anywhere inside the lodge. He kept checking the entrance, but now spoke quietly to Bull.

  “Listen, I have to go. I’ll call you later.”

  Bull picked up the unused third glass. “No, no, no, my friend, You were expecting someone besides me. Something’s on your mind.” Bull jumped off the stool and smoothed the back pleats of his colorful kilt. Several nearby women followed his movements.

  Jake whistled, half with relief, half with regret. Bull meant well, but he was ruining a perfect chance to spend time with Ross and discuss his problem. Jake glanced around the crowded bar. If they stayed much longer, Bull could have the phone numbers of numerous admirers.

  “Let’s go, Jake. I’m sticking to you like glue.”

  His loss.

  Jake pushed his glass away and headed toward the exit. He snaked through the wall-to-wall crowd of laughing, drinking volunteers and performers.

  Once outside the lodge, and into the waning sunlight, he yearned for nightfall to hurry up and get there. The days grew shorter as they headed toward another bleak winter, but the heat that mysteriously engulfed his entire body yearned for a sudden snowstorm.

  No such luck, he thought.

  Jake dreaded spending another winter not knowing the fate of both Haven and Iona. Iona had shown him a letter. years ago; the year she had also disappeared from the New England Highland Games. The letter was burned into his brain.

  Dear Iona;

  The night of the dance—the night of the storm—I found myself transported to a distant land. No, I had not planned on this. I would never leave you in the lurch, but an odd man in a hooded black robe chased me and I did what I had to do. Please don’t look for me except in the history books.

  I have married a handsome Highlander named Kirkwall Gunn, laird of Clan Gunn, in northern Scotland. He is a gruff sort of man. A giant, actually, who keeps me on a short leash.

  Ready or not, I look forward to the birth of my child and I plan to end my days with my children, here among these harsh people. If anyone asks, please lie and say I am happy and ran off with a Scottish visitor to the games. My possessions are yours, little as they are.

  Kiss Jake and tell him I’m enjoying stew and fresh milk with my new clan. He will understand.

  Be well, dear friend, but also be cautious, especially of a demented creep in a long, black robe.

  I took your advice and held on tight. Now, take mine. Time is fleeting…careful what you wish for!

  Love,

  Haven MacKay Gunn,

  21 December 1598

  Jake brushed against a Highland Cow as its owner led it toward a livestock truck. The animal’s scent was soothing. It smelled of hay, grass, and sunshine. When he swept his hand over its heavy orange coat, he thought of another time when he spied similar animals grazing in a field outside the walls of the Keith stronghold in Wick.

  Back in 1598 Scotland.

  Should he tell Bull about the time Dorcas Swann and Skye Gunn had mumbled a bunch of odd words, rubbed their necklaces, and thrust them all into the past?

  “I’d sound insane.”

  “You keep talking to that cow and people will think you need to spend a week in a psych ward,” Bull said above Jake’s left shoulder.

  The man was huge, and blocked the sun.

  “I thought I left you with your many admirers. Why are you following me?”

  “I want to accompany you when you talk with this mysterious stranger. Unless you are meeting a woman?” Bull’s eyebrows rose and fell, and his smile made Jake laugh.

  “No, I am meeting an old man who I hope will share some information with me, that’s all.”

  “After you finish, I can help you with your tent. I’m kind of strong, you know.” Bull bent his arm at the elbow, raised it, and made a fist.

  When Bull wiggled his left eyebrow, Jake smiled. He could use the help, but how would he keep a conversation with Ross secret? Until he formulated a plan, he didn’t want Bull involved.

  “I’m prett
y well packed. Just need my Jeep. Here,” Jake said. He tossed Bull his keys.

  Bull caught the key ring mid-flight, his concern evident in his hesitation. “What’s this?”

  “Make yourself useful and fetch it for me. Meet me at the historical village. Take the back road.” Jake told him where he’d parked, and rattled off the license plate number.

  “Fine, but we aren’t finished. You’re hiding something. Something that makes you sad. Or worried. ”

  Bull was too intuitive for an athlete, but spot on for a college professor. How much Jake would share, depended on how his talk with Ross Mackenzie ended.

  ***

  Bryce Buchanan folded his kilt beneath him, as he settled into the open-sided Jeep’s driver seat. He worried about Jake, but wasn’t sure how to make his friend unload. Harboring secrets wasn’t healthy. He’d counseled several struggling students, offering the same suggestion to open up.

  Get it off their chests.

  If his words helped them, he had no idea, but not one student had dropped his course this semester.

  He didn’t want to think about next semester. He had shunted a majority of the work on his assistant. That had not been the plan. Things had changed. He had changed.

  I might not want to go back, he thought.

  Something was missing in his life; something or someone. Solving his personal problems would have to wait.

  First things first.

  He’d help Jake close up his shop. Stacking boxes and cleaning out the tent might give him an opening. He’d come up with a way to ask the right questions in order to help figure out his friend’s problem.

  Bryce turned the key and started the engine. He played with the shift lever before figuring how to move into reverse. It had been awhile since he drove anything without an automatic transmission.

  The Jeep slipped out of the parking spot, and he aimed it toward the road that Jake said would bring him to the back of the historical village.

  Following Jake’s instructions, he veered right and followed a gravel road that quickly turned into dirt. Dried leaves and twigs crunched beneath his tires. The scent of fallen pine needles and moss-covered tree trunks whipped passed his nose.

  The last vestiges of afternoon sun poked through green pines and colorful maple trees. Through the gloom, he fought the urge to snap on the headlights.

  He shivered.

  The air temperature had cooled exponentially, and he should have stopped at his car and grabbed his sweatshirt.

  The dirt road zigzagged up the mountain. It followed the back of the tree-lined knoll where they had set-up the Scottish historical encampment. Rounding the last bend, he passed rustic tents where the volunteers slept during the weekend. Small cook fires smoldered as here and there, people packed their belongings.

  Twig fences held flocks of black-faced sheep. Several geese in a cage squawked as the white-bearded man he recognized as the sheepdog demonstrator hefted them into the passenger seat of his truck. His dogs barked from their crates in the truck bed.

  He’d caught a small part of the sheepdog demo. Smiling, he realized he hadn’t felt this happy in years. He loved his students at Falconscroft, but living like an ancient Scottish warrior was better than teaching about it. The root of the problem lay in the new administration’s politics. They put a damper on his career.

  Maybe it’s time for a change.

  He waved to a young boy struggling with a bagpipe. The instrument looked too heavy for him to carry, yet alone play. Another smiling youngster marched behind him with a drum. Unlike him, these boys were happy to be heading home.

  He pulled the Jeep to a stop near a small group of vendor tents.

  End of the road, Buchanan.

  “Hey, Bull,” a woman called. She dumped a box in the trunk of another car. Her toothy smile stirred him, yet for the life of him he couldn’t recall her name. When he was younger, names came easy, but hadn’t meant a thing. As his twenty-ninth birthday approached, he realized things had changed.

  He cut the engine.

  “What’s wrong? Too busy to help a damsel in distress?”

  “Not that busy. What do you need?”

  “I could use a hand with a few more boxes, if you have time.” She sashayed away—that was the only term that came to mind—and returned to her tent.

  Her dark blond hair hung down her back past her waist, and he fought the sudden urge to run his fingers through it. She’d curled it into twists, and laced green satin ribbons throughout. Her green wool dress hugged her curves. She turned toward him and held open the tent flap.

  “Why not?” He smiled, then stepped inside the tent. He pointed at a box on the tent floor and said, “Where do you want this?”

  She closed the flap, then jumped him. Since he was over a foot taller than her, she had, indeed, jumped. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and her plump breasts pressed against his chest. Hot, wet lips covered his, while moans echoed throughout the tent.

  Hers, not his.

  When she untangled her tongue from his, she slid down his chest and groin. Luckily for her, he’d removed his leather sporran and dirk before settling into the Jeep or she might have skewered something important.

  “I have somewhere to go, love,” he said, still unable to recall her name. No sense burning bridges because Jake was waiting.

  She leaned up on her toes and kissed him again. She pressed her breasts against his chest with more urgency, and threaded fingers through his hair. His body reacted, but he picked her up by the waist and planted her a foot away.

  “Can’t blame a girl for trying. Here,” she said with an audible sigh as she shoved a box into his waiting arms.

  “Where do you want it?”

  She bolted from the tent, and he caught up to her by her car.

  “Put this in the back seat. That’s the last of it. How about later?”

  He hesitated a moment. “Sorry, love. Obligations.”

  She shrugged, slammed the trunk, and grabbed a business card from her bodice. After she pressed it into his palm, she winked, folded her dress into her car, and drove away.

  “Possibly not my best decision, but duty calls. Jake better talk to me.” He headed back to the Jeep to grab the keys. A blast of frigid wind flew up his kilt, and icy fingers brushed his forehead. He glanced around at the curious change in weather. The air temperature seemed to have dropped fifty degrees.

  Straight above him, the clouds rolled and had darkened into thick, gray lumps. A hole opened and a blast of white-hot light preceded a blue form. It tumbled end over end until it landed in his arms. The sudden weight slamming into his chest forced air from his lungs. He stumbled back a few steps.

  Before he could utter a word, he tripped over a tent peg and crashed onto the ground. Flat on his back, he forced his lungs to inhale. After his breath returned, he gazed up into the blue eyes of a young woman. Her black hair fell in limp tangles and hid their faces in a dark tunnel before she slid to the side. As she rolled off into the grass, he grabbed her arms and pulled her back, onto his chest.

  Attraction was the least of his problems. He’d never allow a woman to rest on the cold ground. She felt chilled to the bone. He hugged her to him, and her wet garments wrapped around them like a shroud.

  She shivered.

  Bull cuddled her into the crook of his arm, halfway hoping to ease her discomfort. When he wrapped his other arm tight around her right side, to keep her centered, she cried out in pain.

  The scent of fresh blood mixed with the salty tang of the sea, confusing him. How could she…where had she…?

  “Help. Me. Find. Jake,” she said, then fell limp.

  “What in the world…?”

  CHAPTER 4

  Jake taped another box shut, and stacked it near the tent’s entrance. Every time he shut down after a weekend pretending to be a Highlander, who happened to work a blacksmith’s furnace, he looked forward to the next Scottish festival.

  Not today.

  As he
headed to his coal furnace, he realized that Ross Mackenzie’s note had created more questions. Until the elusive old man showed his face, and they talked, Jake worked on clearing out his tent. If Ross knew how much Jake wanted to burn him to a crisp for keeping him in the dark for so long, he’d never show his face.

  “What are ye smiling at?”

  “Mackenzie? You’re really here? I thought—”

  “Close yer mouth, lad. We’ve much to discuss.”

  Jake grabbed Ross’s upper arms and said, “Where the heck have you been?”

  “All in good time, my lad. We need to talk.”

  Jake stared at the older man’s frown. His eyes flicked back and forth, as if he was worried he’d been followed. Ignoring the man’s fear for the moment, since they stood at a family-themed festival and not in a dark, city alleyway, a single thought surfaced. The man’s sudden appearance, after all the years since they last spoke, was Jake’s chance to find out what happened to his friends.

  “Let’s go to my tent.”

  Ross nodded, and Jake dropped his hands to his sides. Jake had a dozen questions for the man who had been missing far too long. He dumped the coals onto the ground beside the furnace, and poured the left over contents of the water barrel on the remains.

  Wisps of gray smoke scented the pine-laden air. He made a mental note to check back later, and make sure the coals were dead. A talk with Ross Mackenzie was more important than making horseshoes. They walked side-by-side up to his tent.

  “Come on in,” he said as he swept aside the flap at the entrance to the tent that stood as both his store and sleeping quarters.

  “I see ye are packed to leave. This will no’ take long.”

  “Go on. I’m all ears.”

  Ross’s eyebrows rose. He settled on the tree stump Jake used as a bedside table.

  Jake leaned against the tent’s center pole, and crossed his arms over his chest. “I hope what you plan to tell me includes news of Iona. Five years with not one word!”

  “I realized, once I arrived at the games, that Dorcas had miscalculated. I asked her to send me back to when ye had just returned from…ye know where.”