Lachlan (Immortal Highlander Book 1): A Scottish Time Travel Romance

by Hazel Hunter

  The laird frowned. “Why would you wish to dress like a man?”

  She pointed at the clothes. “Try those on and you’ll find out.”

  The next day Lachlan returned with a smaller version of a clansman’s tunic and trousers, knitted knee-length stockings, and some soft, fur-lined boots. Kinley could see they were brand-new, and so small they had obviously been made for her, so she took them into the adjoining dressing room and put them on. The boots were a little big, and the trousers on the snug side, but when she walked out Lachlan and Raen both smiled, which she took as approval.

  Until they began to laugh.

  “Stop being jerks,” she told them flatly, and planted her hands on her hips as she looked down at herself. “Okay, what did I do wrong?”

  Lachlan came over and tugged at the laces at her waist. “You’ve put your trews on backward, lass.” He cocked his head as he surveyed her other side. “Although on you it works better that way.” When he looked at her again his eyes had darkened, and he brought up his hand to her waist. “But you’ll no’ pass as a man.”

  Each day he found some excuse to touch her, and the feel of his big hands on her body made Kinley’s skin judder with nerves. “I don’t want to.”

  His fingers skimmed over her hip before he took his hand away. “Mayhap you should.”

  Raen broke the spell by bringing over one of the laird’s tartans and draping it over her shoulder. “You’ll want it for your walk outside,” he told her when she began to protest. “’Tis windy and cold.” His gaze shifted to Lachlan. “This time of day, the view from the back curtain wall is best.”

  Lachlan escorted her on the walk, for which he took her out through the back of the castle and then up some cobweb-draped stairs. “You should see our loch from the center of the wall,” he told her as he helped her up through the narrow opening at the top of the steps. “’Tis bonny with the sunlight shining on it.”

  Kinley suspected seeing the water view also kept her away from the clan, who usually congregated this time of morning for their main meal of the day. As she stepped to the wall to look out on the shimmering lake, she said, “You’re going to have to let them see me eventually, McDonnel. I promise, this time I’ll behave myself.”

  “’Tis no’ you who worries me.” He came to stand beside her. “We have a rule about outsiders in the stronghold. They’re no’ permitted.”

  “So the guys will, what? Kick me out into the moat?” She glanced down and for the first time saw the deep, black trench that surrounded the base of the castle. “Make that the bottomless pit. Holy cow. I think I will stay in the tower.”

  “If you’re to stay, lass, we’ll have to get around more than the trench.” He turned toward her. “You told me you have no family. What of a lover, or a husband? Bairns?”

  “No, no, and if you mean kids, no and can’t.” She leaned against the edge of the rampart to look out at the horizon. “I wanted to fall in love, once, but I never had the time. In the end I was sorry about that, too.”

  “The end of what?” he prompted.

  “Never mind.” When she turned away from the wall he caught her arm, and she looked up at him. “Uh, this didn’t work out so well for you the last time, remember?”

  “My apologies,” Lachlan said, and turned his grip on her into a caressing stroke. “Was there ever a man who held your heart?”

  Kinley shook her head. “I had too much responsibility with my job, and too much stress, and then the world exploded and I lost everything that mattered.” She knew she wasn’t making any sense, but she had the feeling he understood. “I have to stay, McDonnel, mainly because I have nothing to go back to.”

  “Lass.” He tilted up her chin and looked into her eyes. “Once I lost everything that mattered, and I thought it ended me. In too many ways it did. But if you prove your worth, sometimes you’re given a second chance.”

  The moment stretched out in a kind of electric silence that crackled unheard all around them. It scared her a little, because Kinley could sense what was waiting behind that careful, guarded expression. Something he held on a short, tight leash, she suspected. He had no clue about her, though, and she wanted to keep it that way.

  “I’m not like you, Lachlan,” she told him, her voice tight. “I’m damaged, and sometimes, I’m dangerous. If I ever lose it, the way I did at the battle, you need to knock me out. I’m not kidding. Hit me the way Evander did, just not so hard.”

  He touched her cheek. “I dinnae think I can ever do that, lass.”

  Someone cleared their throat, and Kinley looked over to see Raen hovering a few yards away. “Hey, big guy. Come and see the view. Super bonny. The sunlight is shining on the water and everything.”

  “Forgive the intrusion, Kinley.” He turned to the laird. “We’ve reports come in that you should read now, my lord.”

  Reports were always coming in, usually about the undead. The McDonnels seemed to be collectively an on-call, vampire-slaying army who sent out on a constant basis large contingents to track and intercept their enemy. Kinley had been able to glean a bit more about the mysterious Roman soldiers from listening to the laird’s conversations with his bodyguard, but she knew she was missing most of the big picture.

  This time when she accompanied the laird to his tower, she didn’t go to take a nap but went to his map table and stood watching as he marked several areas. “They come after the villagers by night, right?”

  Lachlan made a vague affirmative sound as he began drawing lines between the marks.

  “The undead hunt only by night,” Raen said as he took her tartan and hung it neatly in the big armoire. “Sunlight turns them to ash. They must hide from it by day.”

  She watched the laird finish working on the map. “Are you trying to figure out where they’re hiding?” At his surprised look she added, “I was a soldier in my, ah, homeland. I know how to use maps and incident locations to extrapolate positions.”

  “You were a soldier?” Raen asked, sounding incredulous, at the same time Lachlan said, “Show me this extrapolate positions you do.”

  Kinley shook her head at the quill pen he offered, and went over to the hearth to retrieve a small piece of charred wood. “What I wouldn’t give for a good old number two.” Using the blackened sliver like a pencil, she dotted the locations. “Okay. These are where the attacks occurred. Since the undead can’t tolerate daylight, they have about twelve hours to leave and return to their base camp. Do they travel by foot, or on horseback?”

  “We think they ride in close, and hide their horses before they attack,” Raen said.

  “So that would give them a range of about twenty to thirty miles.” She turned to Lachlan and pointed at two dots that were the closest to each other. “What’s the distance between these two villages?”

  “I dinnae ken miles.” The laird studied the map. “Mayhap five leagues.”

  “Right, we have different measurement systems.” She rubbed her forehead. “We’ll have to use travel time. How long does it take to ride from one village to the other?” When he told her, she used that as her measurement key for the rest of the map, and carefully drew a light line around her dots. “The undead are camped somewhere inside this circle, so that’s where you should look. The perimeter is as far as they can go in twelve hours from any of these locations.”

  Both men stared at each other and then her.

  “Hey, you can keep chasing them all over Scotland if you want,” Kinley said, stepping back from the table. “But if you find their camp, and destroy it, they’ll have nowhere to run to when the sun rises. Good-bye, soulless creatures of the night.”

  Lachlan rolled up the map and handed it to his bodyguard. “Raen, find Tormod and have him make copies, if you would. I want one made for every chieftain.”

  “Aye, my lord.” The big man winked at Kinley before he left.

  When they were alone the laird moved to tower over her. “You’re a clever one.” He took out a square of linen and wiped
her brow with it, steadying her with his other hand as if she were a child. “But you need a wash.”

  “Oh,” she said when she saw the dark smudge on the cloth and looked at her blackened fingers. “Next time I’ll use the quill.”

  Lachlan studied her face. “Come with me.”

  Kinley followed him out of the chamber and down the hall to another door. “Am I in trouble or something?”

  “No, lass.” He opened the door and gestured for her to go inside.

  The chamber contained a carved oak bed draped with woven curtains and made up with embroidered linens, all in shades of cream and brownish-green. There were also two cushioned chairs, a small washstand with a porcelain jug and basin, a small armoire and a trunk bound with iron straps. Everything looked new or newly-made, but seemed to be scaled down from the huge furnishings Lachlan and his men used.

  “This is nice,” she said and ran a hand over the top of the trunk. “I’ll guess this isn’t Raen’s room. He’d never fit in that bed.”

  “’Tis your chamber, Kinley,” Lachlan said and opened the armoire to reveal stacks of neatly-folded clothing on the inner shelves. “There are kirtles, mantles and slippers as well as more semats and trews. Wear what pleases you.”

  The odd, ever-present tension between them jumped up a notch, and she glanced at the door.

  “There’s no lock.”

  “I saw no reason for one,” he said as he leaned back against the wall. “If you meant to run, you’d be gone already, and you ken we would no’ hurt you.”

  “You’ve certainly had plenty of chances.” Despite all he’d done to make her comfortable, she sensed he wasn’t happy about this move. “Why are you really kicking me out of your room?”

  Lachlan straightened, and came to her. “To get you out of my bed,” he said, touching a strand of her hair before letting it slip from his fingers. “Stay in it, and you’ll have your answer, lass.”

  “I think I’ve got it now.” So the crazy needy wanting she couldn’t shake was mutual. In a weird way knowing that made her feel a little better. “Do I have permission to move about the castle freely, sir?”

  “Aye, if you’ve Raen or Tormod with you, but go easy, Kinley,” he warned her. “Dun Aran isnae San Diego, and my clan are accustomed to unliberated females.”

  “Where are their families?” she couldn’t help asking. “I mean, the only women in the castle are servants, and I haven’t seen any children at all.”

  “The servants keep their families in the village,” Lachlan said, his voice going flat as he went to the door. “The clan doesnae have wives or bairns. We cannae.”

  Kinley felt stunned. “Why not?”

  He glanced back at her. “The McDonnels are no’ mortal, lass.”

  Chapter Eleven

  THOUGH KINLEY DID not try to run, Lachlan rarely found her in her room. At first she wandered the stronghold from roof to cellar.

  “She questions everything,” Tormod complained to him. “And no’ like any wench I’ve ken. Naught about fripperies or sewing or cooking. She wants to ken how many in a warband, and the manner of weapons we carry, and even how the undead might get into the stronghold. I had to walk her through every tower. She’d shame a siege master the night before a battle.”

  Lachlan allowed Kinley to have her “look around” as she put it, but once she had inspected the whole of Dun Aran she went about finding ways to be useful.

  “Yesterday the stable master had her mucking out stalls,” Raen reported before he relieved Tormod from escort duty. “I watched her. I’ll reckon she’s never used a pitchfork in her life, but the lass kept at it until she learnt. Then she had him show her how to groom the nags before she put them back.”

  “She’s no’ afraid to work,” Lachlan said. He had heard similar reports from his dairy manager, the shepherds and his cook. “Where does she go today?”

  “She asked if she could watch the men sparring in the lists.” His bodyguard grimaced. “I tried to explain that females are a distraction, but you ken how she is when you remind her she’s a lass. Like a pine marten in a rabbit snare.”

  “Take her to the armory,” he suggested. “She can watch from the crosswalk outside Neac’s work room.”

  As laird Lachlan had many daily responsibilities, ranging from meeting with his chieftains to sorting out plans and grievances to seeing that the stronghold remained well-supplied and secure. He also liked to ride out every week to inspect their herds, and every month to the village to check on the welfare of their mortal neighbors and his servants’ families.

  Lachlan had intended to visit the village today, and stop by the old lodge he had built for himself to check how the roof had fared through the winter. His claymores wanted honing, however, and he felt curious about Kinley’s interest in his clan’s battle practice. Once he finished his meeting with the chieftains he made his way to the crosswalk above the lists, where he found Raen and Neac flanking Kinley as they watched a bout.

  “See, that’s what I mean,” she said, pointing to the clansmen who had locked blades and were grappling for the upper hand. “They’re wasting time and energy that way.”

  “Aye, but they’re enjoying it,” Neac told her. “Especially Fadar there. Naught he loves more than a hard wrestle.”

  “Do you spar?” Lachlan asked, startling her.

  “Ah, not like that.” Kinley glanced down at the fighters. “I’ve never used a sword. But hand-to-hand combat, fighting with just your body, sure.”

  “You are a woman, Kinley,” Raen chided. “You couldnae match a man bare-handed. And if you could prevail, well, I’d eat my horse.”

  Lachlan expected her to take offense, but instead she chuckled and shook her head. “Come down to the lists,” he told her. “Neac will spar with you, so you can show us your ways.”

  “I will?” the bald chieftain said, and then caught the look Raen gave him. “Och, of course, lass. I’d be honored. Your bones dinnae snap easily, do they?”

  Lachlan escorted her down, and called on the men to step back as he led Kinley to the center of the hard-packed dirt training yard. He noted that most of the clansmen looked at her with visible unease, and wondered if he’d made a mistake. Then Kinley took off her boots and stockings, drawing a few lecherous whistles before she planted her bare feet and faced Neac.

  “We fight until only one is left standing,” the chieftain said and gave her an uncertain smile. “Or you say to stop. I’ll try no’ to hurt you, lass.”

  “Same here.”

  She bent her knees slightly, and shook her arms before nodding to him.

  Neac circled around her, not attempting to strike but moving in close enough to grab her by the waist and drop her to the ground. Kinley turned as he did, never permitting him to get behind her, and then moved around him. With an exasperated sound Neac snatched at her.

  Lachlan blinked, and his chieftain was on the ground with Kinley’s foot pressed against his wide neck. None of the clan moved or spoke. Neac looked up at her and made a choking sound, while Raen’s jaw became unhinged.

  “Sorry,” Kinley said and reached down to help the sword master to his feet. “Do you want to go again?”

  “Aye, once more,” Neac said. He backed away from her, and all the indulgent humor left his expression. “Attack me this time, you wily wench.”

  Kinley grinned, and when he nodded she ran straight at the chieftain. This time Lachlan saw how at the very last moment she spun out of reach of his hands, hooked his leg from behind, and drove her elbow into the bend of his spine.

  A heartbeat later Neac was on his back again, staring up at her. Low, shocked murmurs spread through the watching men as Kinley moved back from the chieftain.

  Lachlan clapped his gaping bodyguard on the shoulder. “You never liked that horse anyway, lad.”

  After seeing their chieftain taken down twice by a female, a dozen of the Uthars stepped forward to challenge her. One by one Kinley sparred with them, using techniques to defe
at them that Lachlan had never seen. What amazed him even more was how she showed her moves again to her opponents after they’d lost, in a slower fashion so they could see what she’d done.

  When the clan called on Raen, he stepped in front of Kinley. The zig-zag lines of his gray facial tattoo caught the light.

  “You cannae defeat me, lass,” he said as he moved to flank her. “So now we’ll see how well you lose.”

  “You never know,” she told him as she mirrored his movements, and then ducked to avoid the sweep of one of his massive arms. “I might be faster.”

  “Likely no’,” he assured her, and watched as she came around to drive her bare foot into the side of his knee. “That also willnae work on me.”

  She limped backward. “Ow. No kidding.”

  “Dinnae hurt yourself now.” The bodyguard moved like lightning as he grabbed her, hoisted her off her feet, and tucked her against his side. While she struggled and pummeled him he sighed and looked at Lachlan. “She’s quick, and uses leverage like a weapon.” He knelt on the ground and gently placed her on her back, holding her down with one hand as she tried to get back up. “Lass, you’re clever, and nimble as a dormouse, but there’s a reason I guard the laird. No one has ever prevailed over me, here or in battle.”

  “Fine, I concede,” she grumbled, and when he released her she smacked his arm. Instantly she made a face and shook her hand. “It’s like you’re made out of solid iron. How do you move that fast?”

  “’Tis what Tharaen is,” a harsh voice said. “A Pritani warrior, like us all. You’ll no’ see any helpless wenches on our battlefields.”

  Lachlan looked over as Evander pushed his way through the men. “I think we’re done now. Raen, help Kinley up.”

  She was already on her feet by the time the seneschal reached her. “I’m fine, and FYI, not all wenches are helpless. Some of us are actually good fighters.”

  Evander’s upper lip curled. “You’ve no place here, you brazen trollop. Go back and warm the laird’s bed.” He bent down to look in her face. “It’s the only worth you have at Dun Aran.”