“Dorcas? You’ve seen her? I had a hunch she was the reason I haven’t seen you for five years.”
“Aye. She, Haven, Iona, and Skye have joined forces. Things are not going well.”
“Then why did Skye send me back? In case they didn’t tell you, I gave up quite a bit and put aside my beliefs, and allowed a perfect stranger—albeit a beautiful child—to send me back in time to help. Instead, she flicks her wrist and sends me back here with no way of knowing what happened.” Jake’s voice steadily rose as resentment rippled through him. The urge to hit something grew, but the miserable grimace on Ross Mackenzie’s face made him inhale deeply instead.
“Yer right.” Ross slipped the Balmoral cap from his head and tunneled fingers through his salt and pepper hair and added, “Aye, I canna’ believe it myself.”
Anger was a useless emotion, in this case. All Ross did was disappear from the games, but he was Jake’s lifeline to Iona. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear about Iona, until now.
“Spill.” He glared down at the older man, and held back a few curses. Why had anger raised its ugly head? He slowed his breathing, stepped away, and paced.
“Skye is a willful child and sending ye back was not sanctioned by her brother.”
“Kirkwall Gunn told you this?”
“Aye.”
“I see. Sounds like you’ve gotten close to the family. How did you end up there?”
“Iona sent for me via Dorcas Swann.”
“Dorcas? She’s a witch, you know. Hell’s fire! They’re all witches!”
The older man chuckled. “I know. I had my suspicions about Haven and my daughter. I met Dorcas years ago, but never had a clue she was anything more than a vendor of herbs and potions.”
“Unlike you, I had a feeling she did a lot more than sell her smelly powders. I also had a hunch Cameron Robeson wasn’t from around here.”
“My son-in-law? Aye, he’s quite the Highlander. Iona is verra’ happy and my granddaughter is a delight.”
Jake froze. Iona and Cameron had married? They were raising a child together?
Life had gone on while I worried these last five years?
He brushed off his disappointment and resumed pacing.
“Good to know. I thought they all died.” Glancing at the older man, he was aware for the first time that Ross’ skin was pale and damp. His brow furrowed with worry.
“Jake, we must finish our talk.”
The tone in his voice was so unlike the happy, eloquent burr of the chieftain of the American Mackenzie clan he’d met years ago.
“I’m listening.”
Ross and his daughter, Iona, were smiling, happy volunteers. While Iona ran things around the historical encampment, Ross lorded over the Mackenzie clan tent in clan village. Ross’s current expression could only mean that the five years he had lived in the sixteenth century had taken its toll.
He assumed Ross had traveled through time because he missed his daughter, but why had Iona and Haven chosen to live in the past? How could they survive without supermarkets, hospitals, and other modern conveniences? Ross confirmed they had stayed on purpose, which meant they chose to live a difficult life. It wasn’t sensible. Was it wrong to want his friends happy and safe?
“What is so important that we have to hide while we talk?”
“There are things…evil creatures…threatening Iona, Haven, and their families. They could use yer help.”
Jake pulled the tent flaps closed, and peered at the older man across the darkened interior. How dare he remind him of what he’d worried about, all these years? He thought his friends had died…or worse. His body’s physical changes, and his own time traveling history, had proved oddities such as witches, sorcerers, and time travel existed.
He existed.
The realization hadn’t made him any happier. “I tried to help five years ago. I wasn’t wanted.”
“Nay, Kirk and Marcus expected ye to help complete the capture. Cameron Robeson explained what happened with Skye, but not until after he escaped capture.”
“The sorcerer kidnapped Cameron as well as Haven?” Jake’s anger thawed into fear. He had grown to like the blond giant in the small amount of time they’d spent together. The man was at least half a foot taller, wide as a barn, and married to Iona.
“Aye, ‘twas horror intensified. Caught alone, he awoke in a cell with Haven. The kidnapping was part of their plan to find and save Haven, but his subsequent stabbing, then poisoning, was not.”
Jake paced, crossing his arms to keep from tearing a wall down in anger. “Hell’s fire! I assume he survived, since you said they were all well.”
“Aye, praise the Lord. However, it was not until he was safe and back on his feet, at Castle Ruadh, that he recalled how he neglected to tell the others Skye had sent ye home against yer will.”
“I never said it was against my will.”
“What? Ye canno’ be serious!”
“I’m no Highlander. Skye had no right to force me to go to ancient Scotland, and I was happy to come home. My place is here.” Jake spread his arms wide.
Ross Mackenzie chuckled.
Jake growled. Was he lying to himself? Had his anger risen due to not wanting to leave her? What would have happened if he had stayed in the past?
Forget that. She was barely seventeen at the time.
“Easy, lad. I mean no disrespect. Iona and Haven missed ye, when ye left so soon.”
“Really?”
“Aye. Iona wanted ye at her wedding.”
His friend had married and he’d missed it.
“I have a life here. I was less than useless in sixteenth-century Scotland, and I didn’t appreciate Skye Gunn tricking me into traveling through time.”
Ross glared at him, then raised his brow in speculation. “Ye might have helped bring the bastard down, if ye had stayed.”
Jake had never shared what Skye had discovered about him. He couldn’t explain to Ross that she’d snuck up on him that first day they’d met, and had spied his ability to breathe fire. Skye used the knowledge to blackmail him into doing her bidding.
Months before that fateful meeting, his ability to create fire from within reared its ugly head. Had she shared his secret with others?
With Cameron? With Ross?
“Hell’s fire! I should have…” Jake growled, then strode outside the tent. He slammed a fist into one of his many boxes waiting for the delivery service. Why had Skye spoiled everything? Why had she risked the lives of others by sending him home?
If I ever see her again…
Foolish words. She was dead. Sixteenth-century Scotland was a thing of the past, as was everyone who had lived during those years.
Ross appeared at his side, but would not meet his gaze. His lips tightened into a thin, dark line. He glanced down at his feet. What was he holding back?
“You said Haven, Iona, and Cameron were fine. You have lived in sixteenth-century Scotland for five, long years. Why are you here now?”
Ross hesitated, then raised his eyes. “The sorcerer has returned, threatening the Highlands with his vengeance. From Keldurunach, to Wick, and back.”
“Skye should have kept her nose out of my business, and let me help.”
“I doubt one man—”
“Trust me, I could have ended it one-handed, but that little witch interfered. First she forces me back in time, then… Never mind. It’s her own fault, if anything more happens to them.”
“Something has happened, Highlander.”
Jake spun and grabbed the man’s shoulder. As his inner beast threatened to surface, he forced himself to calm down. No need to scare Ross. “Tell me.”
Ross shrugged, freeing his shoulder, and slumped against a pine tree. He’d aged, and the fear in his eyes made Jake straighten, and wait.
“The sorcerer attacked and nearly killed several people. He kidnapped Skye. We doona’ know where he is holding her, but we fear—”
“Skye? Kidnapp
ed? How is that even possible? She’s a powerful witch. I’ve felt her wrath.”
The sadness in the man’s eyes told the truth. Skye was in big trouble. Jake’s mind reeled with ideas of how to save her, even though it meant returning to the past. Pacing in front of his tent, he ignored the quizzing glances of passing volunteers.
“She put herself in harm’s way to save—”
“Skye sacrificed her freedom for someone else? Didn’t know she had it in her.”
“She is no longer a self-centered teen, Jake. She has done a bit of growing up.”
“Right. She grew into a person who forgot all about me,” Jake said, then almost immediately regretted the words. He sighed. First, he needed more answers.
“Does Kirk have any idea where she is?”
“Nay.”
With Jake’s fists clenched by his sides, the urge to kick something rose. Agitation churned in his belly. His eyes snapped shut and he fought to contain his power. If smoke poured from his nostrils, and anyone witnessed it, his secret would be out.
In light of Ross’ story about Skye and the sorcerer, cursing his power was useless. He should use it. Reluctant as he was to return to sixteenth-century Scotland, Skye was worth it.
Who am I kidding? She’ll probably zap me home the minute we cross paths.
“What will ye do, lad?” Ross asked.
Jake wanted to help. His life had done an about-face five years ago. The richness of his former life had turned black and dreary. He missed his friends Iona and Haven, and had come to enjoy the brutal companionship of Kirk, Cameron, and Marcus.
He figured he would have gone stir-crazy during the last few years, if not for Bull. His friend kept Jake sane, but they barely knew one another. He’d miss Bull, but he knew what he had to do.
“I’ll help.”
“We have a bigger problem,” Ross said.
Jake met his eyes and something made every nerve ending spark. “A bigger problem than fighting a sixteenth-century sorcerer?”
“Aye. We are here. Skye and the others are there.”
Jake had no idea how to travel through time. “Wait a minute. How did you get back?”
“Dorcas, as I mentioned earlier, but she’s gone. She accompanied me here, and mumbled something about checking in with Izzy, whoever that is.”
“Izzy? That’s the name of the pretty young woman working Dorcas’ tent.”
Ross’s left eyebrow rose.
“No, its nothing like that. I was looking for the old witch myself. Izzy said Dorcas pops in from time to time.”
“Aye?”
“Yes, but she never visits me. I figured she was mad because I left.”
“We must visit Izzy now.”
Jake grabbed Ross’ elbow. “Not a great plan. Dorcas asked her to take over the business until—”
“Until when?” Ross asked.
Jake pulled Ross back inside the tent, away from curious faces. What they discussed was too weird.
“Izzy said Dorcas told her not to expect her to return until after Hogmanay, whenever that is.” Jake ran tense fingers through his hair. He’d dropped his leather thong during their conversation. Searching the grassy floor of the tent, he waited for Ross’ answer.
“What kind of Scotsman are ye, lad?”
“I’m an American.” Jake snatched up the leather strap and tied back his hair.
“Aye, but a Highlander at heart,” Ross said. He’d slumped back down on the stump beside Jake’s cot, and glared up at Jake, “Hogmanay is the Scot’s term for the last day of the year. My parents, back in the old country, told me an old folk tale. The story goes that the first guest who walked across your home’s threshold after midnight on the last day of the year was good luck.”
“You’re kidding.”
Ross shook his head and said, “Nay, and ‘tis said a black-haired man is the best guest to have. Didn’t yer family ever speak of such things?”
“No. Just because my ancestors hailed from the Highlands of a country thousands of miles away, does not make me versed in their myths.”
“Too bad, lad. Ye would be a verra’ popular guest on Hogmanay.”
Jake ran his hand over his head, and chuckled, then realized what Izzy meant by Hogmanay. “We can’t wait until December thirty-first for Dorcas to appear. That’s three months from now!”
“Aye, ‘tis a problem. Still, I recall that over the past few years, Skye hinted ye be a verra’ special young man.”
Jake glowered at Ross. Had Skye told him what she’d seen the last time she was here? No, because if she had, Ross would have already mentioned his powers specifically.
“Well, I’m not so young anymore.”
“Jake, ye be the man to help make things right. I trust Skye’s judgment. I have to check in at the Mackenzie tent in clan village. See if they need help. Can we talk later?”
“You’re darn right. I need answers,” Jake said. Ross looked like a man in need of telling him what he wanted to know, but he sensed Ross had issues. He’d let him stew awhile.
“I’ve waited five years. I can wait until we find Dorcas Swann.”
“Aye. Keep an eye peeled.”
“I will.”
Ross stood and clapped him on the back, and walked down the trail, while Jake remained in the empty tent, alone with his thoughts. Why wasn’t he sad that the Highland games weekend had ended? He used to look forward to the summer and fall, when he volunteered to demonstrate his blacksmith talents, raising money by selling tools, swords, leather apparel, and the like. He’d also used the games to network with potential customers while he created iron hinges, lawn ornaments, and horseshoes.
His heart wasn’t in it, anymore.
The volunteer part, anyway.
Without Iona and Haven, nothing he saw this weekend had held his attention for more than a few moments. The athletes, the bands, the colorful flags, the delicious aromas, and even the beautiful women, were lost on him. He’d head home and find something else to distract himself, and keep his mind off a certain young woman who was long dead.
“Hell’s fire, Skye Gunn isn’t dead. Ross Mackenzie said so.” Simply knowing they were all alive and well, eased the fear stabbing at his heart.
He and Ross had talked, but the man kept certain things to himself. Jake could tell, but he pushed those thoughts aside. Instead, he would get everything packed, stacked, and sent home.
Home. What a farce.
He lived alone and spent most of his time with his horses. When he wasn’t riding the trails through the surrounding mountains, he kept busy with his blacksmith service, earning barely enough to pay the rent and feed himself and his animals.
He ought to check his emails as soon as he got home. If he lined up more jobs, he’d have less time to think about long-lost friends and one very pretty Scottish lady.
“Jake, get out here!”
What could Bull want?
“I hope you didn’t crash my Jeep,” he yelled. Before Jake could open the closed tent flap, his friend burst through and rushed toward Jake’s living quarters at the back. Bull carried a lump that looked nothing like a cardboard box or rolls of packing tape.
“I’m packing, so why are you dropping stuff off in here?”
Jake followed Bull into his empty quarters. Only his borrowed army cot, makeshift tree trunk nightstand, and rolls of packing tape littered the small, dark inside. He stared at his friend’s broad back as he deposited the lump on the cot. The tiny bundle, of what looked like sopping wet blue cloth, squirmed.
“Jake, it’s a girl. A young woman, and she asked for you. Called you by name.”
“What? Let me see.” Jake shouldered Bull aside, kneeling beside the cot.
Bull stepped back. “I think she’s Scottish. I think she’s hurt.”
Jake shoved the damp, black hair off the young woman’s face. His throat clenched tightly shut, as recognition nearly stopped his heart. The pale cheeks and gray lips couldn’t hide the beauty of the woman
on his bed. A quick glance at her breasts, which assured him she still breathed, while proving she’d grown into a curvy woman, calmed his fears long enough for his brain to catch up.
“Dear Lord. The nightmare has returned.”
CHAPTER 5
Blessed warmth surrounded her, embracing her battered body in comfort. Skye was finally, joyfully, and contentedly warm. Try as she might, her eyes would not open, even when the clank of metal on metal, made a memory come alive.
A fluttering around her heart reminded her of the first time she’d set eyes on a yummy blacksmith, wearing nothing more than a blacksmith’s apron over his leather trews. A smile pulled at her lips, as the image wavered behind her closed lids; sculpted thighs beneath the tight leather leggings, and bunching muscles along his naked back. Liquid pooled between her legs, and she could not take a breath. Squirming under the blanket, she struggled to find a more comfortable position on an odd bed.
She settled on her left side. When the bed sank on one side, and someone’s hard elbow poked against her bottom, she could only flutter her lashes. Why would her eyes not open on command? Why could she not will herself to speak?
Callused flesh stroked her cheek, then slid along the arch of her nose. Stilled by fear, she didn’t move until a large hand slapped her on her back. Suddenly forced to breathe, she inhaled the familiar scent of soot and leather, then coughed up seawater.
“That’s it. Get it out, love.”
An unfamiliar male voice parted the fog. As she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, someone shoved on odd cup into her hand.
“Rinse your mouth.”
She raised the lip of the cup that was lighter and thinner than a normal wooden tankard, and took a sip. Swirling the water, she spit the briny mouthful back into the cup, and then struggled to sit up.
“Whoa, darlin’. Keep still. You’re hurt.”
“Bull, let her up. She’s stronger than she looks.” The other voice, more familiar, spoke close to her ear.
I did it! I found Jake Jamison!
Shoving aside the pain, and without opening her eyes, she flew into his open arms. Her lips found his mouth and she kissed him. When his arms came around her, she could only surmise that Jake had grown since last they met. He also smelled differently. The scent of dust, and masculine sweat, differed. She ignored such thoughts. Five long years had passed.
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