The Highlander's Home
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Dear Reader
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
Books by Bess McBride/Minnie Crockwell
About the Author
The Earl Finds a Bride
Dylan rose up onto his knees and came to dig beside me, half-laughing, half-muttering. Every now and then, I glanced up to assess the size and scope of the beach, from the walls of the cliff and out toward the sea—with the thought that Dylan was right. Finding the dagger would be no easier than finding a needle in a haystack.
I yelped as my fingers encountered something sharp. Pulling back, I looked down at the blood dripping from the middle two fingers on my left hand. The wounds were minimal with no likelihood that I would bleed to death.
“Something bit me!” I said.
“Bit you?”
Dylan grabbed my hand to examine it, and with my free hand, I tentatively pushed two blood-spattered rocks aside. There, poking out of the rocks, half-buried in a layer of sand, was the business end of a tarnished piece of metal.
I dug around the base and pulled the dagger up from the sand.
Dylan, wrapping his hands around my bleeding fingers, exclaimed,
“Debra! The dagger!”
THE HIGHLANDER’S
HOME
Bess McBride
The Highlander’s Home
Copyright 2017 Bess McBride
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the publisher and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Cover art by Tara West
Contact information: bessmcbride@gmail.com
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
For archaeologists everywhere, much love!
And especially to those who worked on Dun Eistean. I have taken so many liberties with the findings at the site, but without your work, how could I have even begun to fictionalize it?
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Dear Reader
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
Books by Bess McBride/Minnie Crockwell
About the Author
Dear Reader,
Thank you for purchasing The Highlander’s Home. The Highlander’s Home is book 3 in the Searching for a Highlander series of Scottish historical time travel romances set in the Outer Hebrides. As many of you who read my books know, I enjoy incorporating my ancestors into my stories.
For the Searching for a Highlander series, I fell in love with the idea that my Morrison ancestors may have once lived in the Outer Hebrides, maintaining a medieval stronghold on a tiny intertidal sea stack off the coast of the Isle of Lewis called Dun Eistean. Then again, my Morrisons may have been lowlanders. Nevertheless, my readings on the archaeological digs and history of Dun Eistean inspired me to begin this new series of Scottish historical time travel romances.
Please note that I have taken numerous liberties with the findings of the digs and with the history of the Clans Morrison, Macleod and Macaulay. This is a work of fiction. In other words, I’m making it up! Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of my imagination or are used fictitiously. That being said, I hope you enjoy the figments of my imagination!
Clan Morrison continues to cling to their island fortress, but they want their homelands back, Castle Ardmore and the surrounding estate. The laird has had enough with raids by the Macleods and Macaulays. The remnants of the clan is trapped on the island with no possibility of further retreat, and the clan has nowhere to go but on the offensive—if they are to survive.
A medieval dagger belonging to the Morrisons holds the power to transport people back in time to the sixteenth century. Time and again, the dagger has brought a woman to ease a lonely warrior’s heart.
Can the dagger work its magic one more time?
Thank you for your support over the years, friends and readers. Because of your favorable comments, I continue to strive to write the best stories I can. More romances are on the way!
You know I always enjoy hearing from you, so please feel free to contact me at bessmcbride@gmail.com or through my website at http://www.bessmcbride.com.
Many of you know I also write a series of short cozy mysteries under the pen name of Minnie Crockwell. Feel free to stop by my website and learn more about the series.
Thanks for reading!
Bess
Chapter One
Keeping my eyes on the slick rocky path edged into the cliff side, I hurried down to the beach.
Just as I had reached my rental car moments before, I’d received a call from the University of Glasgow telling me that the silver dagger excavated from Dun Eistean had been stolen, and they wanted to talk to Dylan. He wasn’t answering his phone. Was he on the beach, and could I find him?
I’d abandoned my plans to return to my room with my host family, the MacMillans, and I had run back across the steel bridge separating the tidal stack stronghold of the Morrison Clan from the mainland to find Dylan.
I remembered that I had just asked him about the dagger, but I couldn’t say what had prompted the question. Was I psychic? Had I known it was missing before the university called?
I’d never really had a chance to examine the dagger before one of the resident archaeologists wrapped it up
and sent it down to the university. But from what I had seen over his shoulder, the tarnished dagger must have been a thing of beauty in its time. I looked forward to seeing it polished and on display when the university completed their metallurgical studies. The archaeologist who had uncovered it, Gerry, had already stated he thought it was French in origin, perhaps fifteenth century, which suggested the Morrisons hadn’t always been isolated on their tabletop retreat.
I lifted my eyes for a moment to glance down at Dylan and the mysterious Cynthia sitting on the rocky beach. Dylan held something up as if showing it to Cynthia. Sunlight glinted off it, whatever it was. I couldn’t tell from that distance.
I paused for a moment, my hand braced against the cliff face wall. As I watched, Cynthia vanished. She simply vanished. One moment she had been sitting next to Dylan, and the next she wasn’t. Dylan stared at the empty space beside him.
My knees buckled. I searched the beach, but there was no mistaking what I had seen. Cynthia hadn’t simply gotten up and walked away. She had vanished.
On trembling legs, I resumed my journey down the treacherous path, and by the time I reached the beach, Dylan was standing, collecting his backpack. I ran toward him, the loose pebbles making my shaky journey even harder.
“Dylan!” I called out.
He turned around and looked at me. He had glanced toward me at the top of the cliff, so I knew he wasn’t surprised to see me. He waited as I hustled to his side. Despite what I had seen, I kept surveying the beach, somehow expecting Cynthia to reappear.
“Where is she? Did I see what I just saw? What happened?”
Dylan looked over my head, his eyes dull and unseeing. The characteristic white flecks interspersed in his azure-blue irises vanished...like Cynthia.
“Dylan?” I prompted. I reached for his upper arm and gave him a slight shake. “Dylan?”
“Aye?” he asked, dropping his eyes to my face.
“Where is Cynthia? What’s going on?”
He drew in a deep breath as if to speak, but only shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
“Dylan!” I pressured.
With a shake of his head, he finally managed to say something. “I’m sorry. I just can’t talk about it right now.”
I scanned the beach once again before raising my eyes toward the cliff top as if, somehow, Cynthia had scooted past me up the impossibly narrow path. Of course, she hadn’t.
I dropped my hand, sensing a continuation of the rejection Dylan had been showing me lately. He hadn’t broken up with me...yet, but something had gone wrong between us, and I didn’t know what it was.
“Is she gone again?”
I wasn’t sure what I was asking, but I suspected Dylan understood my question.
He did look at me then, as if trying to focus.
“Aye, she’s gone. I doubt if she’ll be back.”
I resisted the urge to scan the beach yet one more time.
“Well, I didn’t see you push her into the sea, so whatever explaining you have to do, I guess you can count on me to verify that you didn’t murder her.” My words came out a little more bitter than I had expected and more cryptic than I intended. I didn’t even know what I was talking about, but I knew Cynthia had shown up out of the blue after disappearing for a few days and had disappeared again.
Dylan dug into his bag and produced a folded sheet of yellow paper, which he handed to me. I opened it up.
Dylan
Thank you for everything. I have discovered that I just can’t finish the dig with my back the way it is. I’m heading back to the States today. Thank you again and please let the university know.
Cynthia Dunnon
I refolded it and handed it back.
“I must have missed Cynthia passing me on the path back up to the tabletop.” I regretted the sarcasm in my voice. Dylan was far too sweet to speak to in that way, but I couldn’t help myself. I had been smarting from his obvious attraction to Cynthia, that he wouldn’t tell me any kind of truth about her, and that he continued to lie to me.
Dylan said nothing, only shook his head.
I looked up at him, trying to recall the memory of warm nights and a gentle Scottish burr whispering in my ear.
“You don’t have to tell me anything, Dylan. I’ll support you, no matter what. But if we ever had anything, it’s gone...just like Cynthia. Trust means everything to me. If I can’t trust you, I can’t be with you...I can’t love you.”
Tears rolled down my face, and I dashed at them. I could see the pain in Dylan’s eyes, but I wasn’t sure who had hurt him—Cynthia or me. Or maybe the angst on his face was sympathy for me and my own pain.
“I’m so sorry, Debra. I don’t mean to hurt you.”
“No, I know you don’t. I think I know you pretty well, Dylan. You’re a good man, just apparently not my man.”
I turned and walked away, letting the tears flow until I needed to see clearly to climb back up the path. About halfway up, I remembered that I’d forgotten to tell Dylan the university had called about the stolen dagger. The vision of sun glinting on steel nagged at me.
Torq, Cynthia had cried out when I’d first found her lying on the ground several weeks before. I didn’t get to say goodbye! Where is the dagger?
I had always wondered what she meant by Torq. I had thought it was some sort of curse that I hadn’t heard before. But her mention of the dagger had been unmistakable. She hadn’t said knife—she had said dagger.
I knew now that she had been talking about the medieval French dagger they had found at Dun Eistean, the one now missing from the university, the one I now believed Dylan had stolen.
I looked over my shoulder. Dylan followed, although slowly. I crested the top of the cliff and turned around to wait for him. The sun shone down on the empty beach below. Whitecaps floated on the beautiful sea separating the Isle of Lewis from mainland Scotland. Seagulls soared on a wonderfully salt-tinged breeze. I hugged myself and stared out across the sea until Dylan reached the tabletop.
“I forgot to tell you that the university called,” I said. “They couldn’t get through to you, so they tried me. The dagger is missing, and they want to talk to you.”
Dylan nodded, seemingly unsurprised.
“I saw it, Dylan. You should return it.”
“I do not have it.”
Still he lied to me. I hated that he didn’t trust me. We had been together for about six months while I studied at the University of Glasgow. While Dylan was a professor in the archaeology department, I hadn’t taken any classes under him...except for the dig at Dun Eistean. He was the field team leader, and there would be some problems if people knew we had been seeing each other.
“Well then, I guess you’ve got some explaining to do. Again, I will cover for you if you need, Dylan, because I care about you. I just wish you could trust me with the truth.”
Dylan reached out as if to touch my face, but I took a wounded step back.
“I wish I could tell you. I just can’t talk about it right now, but I will someday.”
I shook my head.
“I’m not sure I’ll be here someday, Dylan.”
I turned and headed back to the dig site, hardening my heart and stiffening my spine. I only had one more year to go before I graduated. If I had ever imagined that Dylan and I might be more permanent, he had destroyed that idea. I would leave Scotland at the end of the following school year and go home.
Chapter Two
Ten months later
I raised a hand in greeting as Dylan waved to me from the other side of the bridge connecting Dun Eistean to the mainland. Although I had seen him off and on around the archaeology department over the past school year, we had done no more than nod and move on.
I had hoped that working together on the final dig of Dun Eistean wouldn’t cause us any awkwardness. I hadn’t seen Dylan walking hand in hand with any other females around the university, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t started dating someone.
I defin
itely hadn’t dated anyone. I hadn’t exactly sworn off Scottish men, but maybe I had sworn off men in general—for a while. Dylan’s distancing himself from me had hurt more than I realized, and I had struggled without my boyfriend, friend and closest confidant.
I had promised myself that I would return to the United States after graduation, but the opportunity to participate in the final dig at Dun Eistean had come up, and I knew I had to be part of it. Funding had dried up, and the excavations would cease for the foreseeable future.
Dylan waited for me to cross the bridge. My heart jumped around a bit as I looked into his clear blue eyes. A dark watch cap, suitable for the cold late-spring weather, allowed a few of his blond curls to escape. He still sported a darker-blond beard.
He leaned forward to kiss me on the cheek.
“It’s good see you up here, Debra. I wasn’t sure if you would actually come.”
“I’m here,” I said. Looking at Dylan reminded me of the ongoing scandal down at the university. The dagger was still missing, and no one knew what had happened to it. No one had asked me specifically about it, and I had offered no information. Even if they had, I would have lied...had I known anything. Which I did not. While I believed they had spoken to Dylan about the dagger, he must not have given them any information either.
I looked at him now, suspecting that he still wasn’t going to confide in me. No one had heard from Cynthia again, and her disappearance had gone without much comment. Rumor was that she had sailed off to a remote location in the South Pacific to convalesce from her injury. I wondered at her mode of travel, because I had seen her vanish into thin air, not sail away in a boat. The South Pacific was far from the Minch, the body of water between the Isle of Lewis and Scotland’s mainland.