Highlander's Portrait

by C. A. Szarek

  Kenneth MacDonald, Ashlyn could only assume. Like most Highlanders, he was tall and broad, so the petite girl protecting him could’ve been laughable, but she was smart.

  Her brother was dangerous with a sword in his hand; she’d seen it first hand when he’d sparred in the bailey.

  The boy looked his age—he was only nineteen. He was clean shaven and handsome. Clad in kilt with dark red as the base color, he had a sword at his side. At least it wasn’t drawn.

  There was a well-dressed, dark-haired man standing behind the boy, also in MacDonald plaid. He had a scroll in his hand and a scowl on his bearded face. His other palm was high in the air.

  He’d probably just ordered the other two MacDonalds with them not to draw their swords, despite the fact the MacLeod laird was being aggressive. He had to be the Laird MacDonald, Kenneth’s father, Callum.

  Both the other men were also dark-haired and flanked their laird, hands on the hilts of their claymores. One guy was even bigger than Eoin, and frowning so hard his bushy eyebrows formed a unibrow.

  “What is this abou’?” Angus boomed. Despite his advanced age, the demand carried, and all eyes shot to him.

  “Grandfa!” Fiona cried, but she didn’t move from her would-be betrothed.

  “The MacDonalds—” Eoin started at the same time.

  “Enough!” Angus yelled.

  Ashlyn slipped from his arm and stood right inside the room. She didn’t really belong here, but Eoin’s eyes found hers and his expression softened, if only for a second. When he looked away, he was all angry laird/overprotective big brother again.

  Fiona was in tears and the young man behind her looked torn. He obviously wanted to comfort her, but was wary of Eoin.

  Smart guy.

  At least Ashlyn could see he loved the sweet girl she’d come to adore in her time at Dunvegan.

  “Eoin-lad, stand down.” This time, Angus’ voice was softer, but a command nonetheless.

  The laird’s frown deepened. “Angus—”

  “I invited Laird MacDonald an’ his heir ta discuss an alliance.”

  Eoin growled, but he sheathed the sword. He still looked pissed as hell, and she wanted to go to him, but what was her place here?

  She wasn’t his wife, so she shouldn’t be at his side. The truth singed her heart.

  Callum MacDonald cleared his throat and stepped forward. “My steward prepared a marriage contract.” His brogue was thick, but somehow refined. He was an educated man, and it piqued her interest.

  Angus crossed the room and accepted the parchment, rolling it open to scan it.

  Fiona’s face lit up, which only made her brother glower more. She slid backwards and Kenneth entwined their fingers. The softness in her young expression—the hope and love for the boy beside her—made Ashlyn’s heart skip, but she was envious too.

  She spared Eoin a glance, but he was watching the couple, disapproval stamped all over his face. Her tummy ached. She wanted him to look at her the way the boy was looking at his sister.

  Kenneth’s expression was the same as Fiona’s, and Ashlyn tried to banish her jealousy.

  She slid to Eoin’s side against her better judgment, and despite the tension in the room. “Eoin.”

  His sapphire gaze met hers. “Ashlyn, lass.”

  At least his handsome face had lost most of the anger—only when he looked at her. He was still seething, and his big frame had a slight tremor he was obviously holding in check. For now.

  He didn’t reach for her, but Ashlyn couldn’t help herself. She grabbed his hand and pushed her fingers through his.

  Eoin didn’t push her away—a good sign. He cradled her hand in his much larger one and pinned her to his side. Didn’t smile, but his chest heaved as if he’d taken a breath, and he squared his shoulders. “Thank ye,” he whispered, low enough for her ears only.

  She’d been able to calm him. Good.

  The young couple also still holding hands didn’t miss their interaction, and Fiona threw a grateful smile her way, which Ashlyn returned.

  “This looks well enough ta me,” Angus announced. “Fair. Eoin-lad, take a look.”

  Callum MacDonald gave a slight nod; his son quirked a half-smile and squeezed Fiona’s hand.

  Eoin tugged free of Ashlyn’s grip and snatched the parchment so fast she feared he ripped it. He glared at his grandfather and sister, then all the MacDonalds. He grunted as he read, taking double the time his Angus had, before rolling the thing back up and placing it in the elderly man’s waiting hand. “I doona like it,” he grumbled.

  His sister scowled.

  Kenneth MacDonald cleared his throat, and all eyes landed on the young man.

  Fiona gasped when her heart’s desire knelt before Eoin.

  “Laird MacLeod,” the boy said. “I’d like ta call ye my brother. More than tha’, I shall make yer sister happy. I…I love her.” Sincere hazel eyes looked up at Ashlyn’s lover, despite Eoin’s hard expression.

  She had an instant like of the kid. If she hadn’t been rooting for them before, she certainly was now. He had balls to fight for what he wanted.

  Eoin glowered.

  Ashlyn sucked in a breath. She grabbed his forearm and tugged. She had no business doing what she was about to, but she loved Fiona. Something declared the girl wasn’t the only MacLeod she loved, but she shoved it away. “Eoin,” she whispered when he didn’t look at her right away. She pulled harder.

  He swung those blue eyes to hers, but didn’t speak.

  “Can’t you see how badly they want this? How much they love each other? Angus can see it. Laird MacDonald can see it. Can you not?”

  Eoin stared down at her. Silent. Stoic. But not frowning.

  Is it good or bad?

  Ashlyn held her breath and suspected she wasn’t the only one doing so in the room. The tension was so thick it was palpable.

  Her lover’s Adam’s apple bobbed, then his gaze landed on his sister and the young man with his knees still to the stone. “Get up,” he barked.

  The boy obeyed, but he didn’t hang his head. He met Eoin’s gaze dead on, which shot Ashlyn’s admiration of him up a few notches.

  Fiona knows how to pick ‘em.

  Eoin gently pulled out of her hold and stepped forward. He cupped his sister’s face and appeared to look deep into her eyes. “‘Tis what ye wan’, lassie?”

  A tear slid down her cheek, but she nodded. “Aye,” the girl whispered. “More than anathin’.”

  He released a gust of air, but to his credit, he no longer wore a scowl. Eoin gave a curt nod and rejoined Ashlyn. “Verra well. We’ll have a weddin’.”

  A murmur of approval rippled through Angus and the MacDonalds.

  Fiona screeched and pounced on Ashlyn. The girl wrapped her arms around her and squeezed almost too tight. “Thank ye, thank ye, thank ye,” she chanted.

  She laughed and pulled away, gently grabbing the teen’s hands. “Thank your grandfather; he’s always been your champion, and your brother, sweetie.”

  Eoin’s sister shook her head and leaned in. “‘Tis ye, Lady Ashlyn. Ye, and how my brother feels abou’ ye.” She planted a kiss on her cheek and flitted away.

  Ashlyn flushed to her toes and tried to look anywhere but at Eoin. He was looking back at her with emotion in those blue eyes. She wanted to go to him, touch him, kiss him, but not with their audience.

  Fiona was in Kenneth’s arms and the laird turned a glare on them, but neither of the newly betrothed was bothered—or seemed to notice anyone else in the room.

  Stuff like that made a girl believe love could solve the world’s problems. She sighed and smiled, then called herself three kinds of stupid. Fiona was going to marry the man of her dreams, and she was going back to the future, leaving hers in 1755.

  She startled.

  Is Eoin the man of my dreams?

  How could he be? He was born three hundred years before she was. They came from different worlds. Literally.

  Her heart skippe
d and the answer she didn’t want to face echoed in the back of her mind.

  She’d fallen in love with Eoin MacLeod, and as feared, it was hopeless. Ashlyn’s stomach fluttered and a lump formed in her throat. She blinked back tears.

  Laird MacDonald demanded his attention, as did his brother-in-law-to-be, and at least he seemed friendlier than he had before. Eoin shook the older man’s hand, then Kenneth’s.

  Fiona practically bounced at the kid’s side.

  Angus was speaking in low tones to the other two MacDonalds and they all wore pleased expressions.

  Sweat broke on Ashlyn’s brow. The walls seemed to be closing in on her, and she had to pant to breathe. Her head spun. The need to flee surfaced and overwhelmed.

  No one would notice anyway, right?

  She slipped from the room. Her vision blurred before she got halfway down the hall to the lady’s suite. Rooms she hadn’t spent much time in, since she’d been sleeping with Eoin.

  Ashlyn shut the door with a slam she’d not intended and collapsed on top of the quilt his mother made. The sob rose up and took over, wracking her frame.

  She stuck her face in the pillow to muffle the noise. Hugged a smaller, cylindrical, tasseled one to her chest so tight she couldn’t breathe. The navy blue corset bit into her sides, but she didn’t adjust her position.

  Ashlyn was so happy for Fiona and Kenneth, but so sad for her and Eoin.

  Of course, she’d known they were doomed. They couldn’t have a real relationship; she had to go home. But she loved him anyway.

  What am I going to do?

  Chapter Sixteen

  He looked up and she was gone. His gut shouted to go after her, but his soon-to-be family by marriage was demanding his attention. Making inquiries about things he’d rather not discuss with MacDonalds, impending marriage or not.

  Why the hell had he agreed to this?

  Eoin studied the lad his little pest longed to call husband. Kenneth was young—only nine and ten, but the lad was braw. Matched him in height. His muscle was leaner, but given a few years to fill out the lad would match his bulk as well.

  The emotion on the MacDonald heir’s face might highlight his youth, but it stirred something in Eoin. Not for his sister, but for…Ashlyn.

  Her dark eyes, pleading and sincere for Fiona’s marriage, had cinched it for him—or at least convinced him what his sibling wanted was genuine.

  The lad had done the rest, declaring first he’d wanted to call him brother. Kenneth MacDonald had only said what he’d thought Eoin wanted to hear.

  He’d been wrong. The most important part of his speech had been how he’d ended it—confessing his love for Fiona.

  Eoin grunted and narrowed his eyes. “I’ll kill ye if ye doona take care a’ her. Keep her happy.”

  “Aye, my laird,” the lad replied without missing a beat.

  “I’ll be happy, brother.” His sister’s face lit up.

  He’d never seen her so happy. Her eyes shone for the redheaded lad. She was hanging on his arm, too.

  His gut ached. Again, his Ashlyn’s absence took front and center. The bright room was dim without her. Cold, too.

  Where had she gone? Why had she gone?

  She’d been the reason he’d relented. She had to know that.

  “Jamie is my head steward, I’m sure he can answer yer concerns,” he told Laird MacDonald and gestured to his cousin, who’d been hovering nearby.

  The man bowed to the laird, and new conversation was born.

  Eoin excused himself and whirled away. Needed to get to his Ashlyn.

  His grandfather’s weathered hand appeared on his forearm. “Let her go, lad. Tha lass looked as if she needed a minute.”

  “Why?”

  “Let us go ta my room an’ talk. The need fer yer presence here, ‘tis done.”

  He nodded, and threw one last look to his sister. Fiona was still glowing at the lad’s side, hanging on his arm while he and his father talked to their cousin. His gut tightened. Eoin was giving her away. But he believed the lad’s feelings and intentions were sincere.

  “All is well here. ‘Tis settled,” Angus remarked, following his gaze.

  He was still angry at his grandfather for the ambush. He was Laird MacLeod, not Angus, but seeing his little pest so joyful had softened his ire, if only a bit.

  Eoin followed the elderly man to his rooms and took the seat by the hearth, opposite the rocking chair, when bid. Words tumbled out without delay. “I made a vow, I’d return her ta her time.”

  “Aye, she tol’ me.”

  As if compelled, the truth fell from his lips. “I canna let her go, Grandfa.” He wanted to avoid that shrewd blue gaze, but his eyes found Angus’ of their own accord.

  “Then doona.” The man rocked forward in his chair, his tone casual, belying his expression.

  “She willna stay…”

  “I know.”

  He jolted. “Ye know?”

  Angus nodded. “I doona think yer fate ‘tis ta remain here fer tha rest a’ yer days.”

  He swallowed. Wanted to demand so much about this sudden revelation, but nothing would come out of his mouth. Eoin fidgeted and stared at the man who’d raised him.

  “I knew when ye were wee, Eoin-lad. The Stones doona jus’ call ta ye. They sing in yer blood. ‘Tis why ye belonged travelin’ all this time. Ye can settle, knowin’ yer supposed ta be in tha future. Mayhap ‘tis why ye met tha witch in tha first place. She taught ye of things ye needed ta know. ‘Tis fate, too.”

  “My magic—”

  “‘Tis stronger than my own when it comes ta tha Faery Stones.”

  Shock rolled over him and he blinked. Pitched his body forward in the chair. His shoulders, his back, even his thighs were clenched to the point of pain, and he couldn’t keep his leg from jumping. “I’m tha laird. I’ve a duty ta my clan.”

  “There are many MacLeods, lad, but only one lass tha’ calls ta yer heart.”

  Emotion clogged in his throat and Eoin had to look away before he could meet his grandfather’s eyes again. He couldn’t make sense of the chaos swirling in his head.

  Could he even consider what his grandfather was declaring?

  He’d have to name an heir. Angus was two and ninety. Although he was hale, they didn’t know how many years he had left, and Eoin couldn’t place the burden of the clan on his shoulders yet again.

  “Grandfa—”

  “Ye need no’ ta worry, lad. Go ta tha future wit’ yer lass. Live yer life by her side. Sweet Ashlyn doesna wan’ ta let ye go, either.”

  He jumped. “Did she say so? Ta ye?” The questions had a demanding edge that made the old man chuckle.

  “Nay, foolish lad. ‘Tis no secret how she looks a’ ye. Or how ye look a’ her.”

  Warmth flushed to his toes. He couldn’t confirm or deny his feelings. His heart picked up speed and he hoped—prayed—with his whole being, his soul, Angus spoke the truth. “She hasna said,” he whispered.

  “Have ye?”

  Eoin shook his head on instinct, even though this was the last subject he’d ever thought he’d discuss with the elderly man. It was bad enough when Angus was too perceptive. Confessing…feelings…made him feel like an errant lad being admonished.

  His grandfather tsked like a nagging woman. “Then yer both foolish.”

  He let the chide slide, desperate for a distraction. “I need ta sit fer tha’ paintin’.”

  “Aye, a’ fore ye go, ye do. Call fer an artist on tha morrow. Looks like tha work a’ Sulwen MacInnes. At leas’ he’s here on Skye.”

  “An’ tha Flag?”

  “‘Twill call ta a new guardian if an’ when ‘tis necessary.”

  “I’ll have ta name an heir.”

  “Aye, ye will.” Angus reclined in his chair only to rock forward again, the curved wooden tines giving a creak as he had an answer for Eoin’s every concern.

  That had irritated him since he was wee, but at the same time, he loved the man for the abili
ty. His grandfather had calmed him. I should thank him.

  “Fiona…” His voice failed him again. He’d miss his little pest if he were to proceed with this madness.

  If Ashlyn would even have him.

  “Will be taken care of, as always.” His grandfather smiled softly. “She’s ta be wed now, ta tha man of her choice. Kenneth MacDonald will be good ta tha lassie. He loves her, an’ she loves him. They should be tagether. Like ye and Ashlyn-lass.”

  “Grandfa—”

  Angus planted his feet to the floor and leaned forward, making a grab for his forearm. “I know, Eoin-lad. I know.” He squeezed, and his smile widened. “My Lila came ta me. Ye need ta go ta yer Ashlyn, an’ know yer family, yer clan, will be hale, because yer where…when…yer supposed ta be.”

  Eoin didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded. The lump in his throat didn’t dissipate, no matter how many times he swallowed against it.

  He had a lot to think about.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The day the contract was signed the wedding was planned for two days hence, and Fiona was to wear the ivory gown her mother had worn to marry her father.

  Today’s her big day.

  The chapel on Dunvegan’s grounds was larger than the one the MacDonalds’ had at Armadale, so they’d agreed to hold the wedding on Clan MacLeod lands. They’d all return within the hour, and no doubt would bring the whole clan.

  Father Percival had already arrived, although Eoin had grumbled that he was a Sassenach. He looked like a nice enough guy to Ashlyn. He was short and stout with naturally rosy cheeks that gave him a cheery appearance. His thinning hair was blond and his smile easy. It wasn’t the poor guy’s fault he’d been born English.

  A huge feast was planned for after the ceremony, and Eoin wanted to outdo his former rivals, which had Jamie pulling his hair out. Huge shipments of food had been arriving for two days.

  Nessie and her girls had done several dress fittings for Fiona, at Cinderella-mouse-speed to get the alterations done. They’d also had Dunvegan decorated at supernatural speed, making Ashlyn suspect the housekeeper had magical powers, too. Her abilities didn’t seem human.