The Highlander's Folly (The Novels of Loch Moigh Book 3)

by Barbara Longley

  “All right,” she murmured. She blinked, and her tone was once more subdued.

  “I much prefer your ire, lass.” Had he said that aloud? For certes, he had not meant to, but now he was committed. “Moping does you no good, nor does it become you.”

  “So sorry to disappoint,” she hissed, snatching the garments back from his hands. “No thanks to you, I’ve had a very trying day—what with losing my family, home and century and all. Forgive me for succumbing to a moment or two of self-pity.”

  “You are forgiven.” He grinned in spite of himself. “See that it does no’ happen again.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and her lips pursed. He gave her a slight bow and walked away before she could loosen her tongue to blister his hide and prick his already overburdened conscience further. He strode to the crest of the hill to watch for Cecil and Murray’s return. Tieren soon joined him, as he’d hoped he would. He reverted to signing. “’Tis all Madame Giselle’s doing.”

  “As you suspected.” Tieren nodded. “What is the faerie up to now?”

  “Time will tell.” He shook his head. “I am unable to read aught from Meghan. She is closed to me,” he signed. “I’ve never encountered the like before.”

  “Good.” Tieren laughed as he signed back. “Finally we are on equal footing when it comes to a lass.”

  “She’s from True and Erin’s time.” Hunter frowned. “We are not vying for the lady’s favor. She will not be here long. Besides, I am already pledged to Lady Sky Elizabeth.”

  Tieren met his frown with a cocky grin. “As you recall, our Lady True and Lady Erin were only to be with us a short while as well. Yet both are now settled with families of their own. Both have been here for nearly a score of years.” His gaze went to Meghan. “I’d just as soon not have you as a rival for her affections.” He shot Hunter a wry look. “I may decide to court her.”

  “Court her?” The notion soured his stomach. What could he say? He had no rights in the matter. Stifling a growl, he turned back to his watch over the hills. “Here they come.” Murray and Cecil raced toward them. Judging by their haste, Cecil had his proof and wanted to be away as quickly as Hunter did. “As soon as we’re home, I’ll send to Inverness for word of Madame Giselle’s whereabouts. I’ll see that Meghan is returned to her own time as soon as can be arranged.”

  “Och, aye?” Tieren said aloud, then switched back to signing. “Think you the faerie will be swayed by your wishes?” He laughed again. “In the meantime, I shall endeavor to persuade Meghan to remain. With me.”

  Tieren’s words shouldn’t have made him angry, but they did. Most likely because he’d already taken it upon himself to protect her. He’d snatched her from her time. ’Twas his responsibility to see to her welfare until she could be returned to her family. Surely ’twas all there was to this anger churning in his gut. “In what capacity would you have her stay?”

  “Once we return to Moigh Hall, I intend never to leave again. ’Tis certain the earl will grant me a good living as a captain in his garrison. As you ken, I’ve earned a tidy fortune myself while on the continent. I can well afford a wife, bairns and a comfortable home.” His attention strayed to where Meghan stood with her back to them as she changed into the rough tunic. “Och, but she’s a braw, bonnie lass, is she no’? ’Twas quite provocative to see her dressed as a squire with a sword strapped across her back,” Tieren said aloud.

  “Aye, a braw, bonnie lass who wishes to go home to her own place and time.”

  “We shall see.”

  Cecil rode into their midst, his face pale and drawn. “Let us leave this place anon.” His mare pranced and tossed her head against the tight pull Cecil had on the bit. “Hunter spoke the truth. The fair is no more, nor are there any signs ’twas ever there.” His eyes wild, he stared at all of them. “You saw the wagons and such, aye? Mayhap ’tis true they were never there, and the fae bewitched us all.”

  “We found no sign o’ Nevan or the lads.” Murray gestured to his squire and page to mount their palfreys. “Let us be off. We can talk more freely once we’re well away and camped for the night.”

  Meghan swung herself up on Nevan’s warhorse without aid. Another knightly feat she managed with ease. He shook his head and went for Doireann’s reins. “You saw?” he asked Tieren, who walked beside him.

  “I did,” Tieren whispered. “Who trained her, do you suppose?”

  “Her da. I’ll tell the tale once we camp.”

  “I look forward to it. I’ll take up the rear.”

  Tieren veered off for his own mount, and they were soon upon the road again, traveling in silence. Like him, each of them pondered the events of the day. The air was rife with the speculation and fear coursing through the group. Once again the prickle of premonition skittered over his skin. If only he could discern what it meant. If Meghan had been sent here to save some hapless soul’s life, he could only hope against hope ’twas not his hide she was meant to protect. Surely he was naught in Giselle’s scheme but the means to bring Meghan here.

  He glanced back at her from his place at the head of the line. Deep in thought, she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Beleaguered, he blew out a breath. If he didn’t stop her, she’d chew it bloody. “Cecil, take the lead,” he commanded, turning Doireann’s head. He trotted back to flank her mount. “You will tell me where your thoughts lead you.”

  “Will I?” She snorted and blinked at him. Her brow rose. “Just because you command something, it’s a done deal?”

  “For the most part, aye.” That he couldn’t read her emotions frustrated and puzzled him. She was a mystery, and he did not like mysteries. He preferred having the upper hand and being in control of every situation. ’Twas his natural inclination. Those very same tendencies made him a natural leader. She thwarted him, and that rankled. “I canna help you if I dinna ken where your thoughts are leading you, lass. Tell me now.”

  “You feel honor bound to direct my thoughts?” Her eyes widened. “Don’t bother. That kind of control must take an awful lot of energy on your part, and I don’t want to be responsible for exhausting your pea-brain.”

  “I thank you for your concern, my lady. Humor me nonetheless.” Without thought, he placed a finger under her chin. Turning her to face him, he ran his thumb over her lower lip. Ignoring the frisson of excitement touching her caused, he assessed the damage she’d already inflicted. “I fear your lip canna bear much more . . . thought.”

  She jerked away from his touch. “It’s not that big a deal,” she said, keeping her voice to barely a whisper. “I was just remembering what you said about entering the spider’s lair and her sticky web.” She shrugged. “The strands of a spider’s web intersect, right? Robley and Erin spent a lot of time with my family. Robley shared a little of your story when he told us about his clan and family. I know Madame Giselle has played a part in all of your lives. I’m just trying to figure out the whys and wherefores of my current situation.”

  Her expression clouded. “If Giselle meant to restore balance, then I should be in thirteenth-century Ireland right now, because that’s where and when my dad was taken by the fae.”

  “Your sire was taken from his time as well?” This tidbit did naught to give him ease. Indeed, it only muddled Giselle’s true purpose even further.

  “Yeah. It’s a long story and not the point.” She blew out a breath. “Where do I fit into Giselle’s plot? What do you think she has in store for me?” She paused as if gathering herself, and then her sorrowful brown eyes sought his. “Will I be able to go home, do you think?”

  The vulnerability and insecurity he glimpsed in her expression turned his insides to porridge. The urge to protect and comfort her surged with such force, he could scarce prevent himself from snatching her from her horse and placing her on his lap. He wanted to hold her. Nay, ’twas far worse—he needed to hold her. He gripped the reins in his hands with such
force the leather edges bit into his palms.

  He might not be able to read her emotions as he did with others, but it mattered not. She wore every one of them upon her comely features. Such an odd mix was she, entirely feminine, lovely, graceful and delicate, yet possessing the skills, courage and strength to rival any well-trained squire.

  Guilt, sharp-edged and swift, pierced his heart. Where did this inclination to hold Meghan come from? He was promised to Sky, and had been since the day she was born. He’d held her tiny, wriggling form in his arms and kent in that instant that they were meant for each other. He was as sure of it now as he had been then. Taking himself firmly in hand, he answered, “Och, lass, if I’d had even an inkling of what Giselle had in mind—”

  “You would have prevented the whole thing. I get it. Thanks. Just so you know, I don’t blame you for what happened.”

  “Nay? Still, I blame myself. I should have refused to do her any favors.” He surveyed their party to assure himself all was well. “If it pleases you, my lady, I’ll ride beside you awhile to ensure your bottom lip remains unmolested.”

  Her sudden burst of laughter went straight through him. Unbidden, the happy sound wrapped itself around his heart and wended its way to his very soul. He basked in the warmth and marveled at the sparkle in her eye—before his sanity returned.

  Shaking himself free of the heady sensations, he gathered his defenses, hardened his heart and firmed his resolve. A knight’s honor was his most valuable possession, and above all else, he was an honorable man.

  By the time they made camp for the night, the weather had turned. Damp chill and a thick fog cloaked the surrounding hills and forest. “Under the circumstances, I believe ’twould be safe enough to build a fire. The fog will mask the smoke, and the heat will be a welcome relief from the cold and damp.” Hunter glanced at Meghan where she stood shivering by the wagon.

  “Aye. ’Twould be good to sit before a fire this eve.” Tieren lifted the wagon’s tarp and withdrew a thick woolen blanket. “Come, my lady, rest a bit whilst the lads go about gathering wood.” He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders.

  “I should help,” she protested, glancing his way. “After all, I am Hunter’s squire.”

  “No’ this time. There are enough hands to gather tinder as it is.” Tieren removed the board from its brackets at the end of the wagon and leaned it up against one of the rear wheels. He shoved their gear back far enough to create a place at the end for her to rest. “Sit.”

  Meghan lifted her brow in question. Hunter nodded. “Do as he bids you, lass. As you said earlier, the day has been trying, to say the least.”

  She gathered the blanket around herself, and was about to scramble up, when Tieren lifted her by the waist and set her upon the spot he’d cleared for her. Hunter stifled the growl rising in his throat.

  Tieren smirked at him. “I’ll see to making ready our evening meal, such as it is.”

  “You do that,” Hunter muttered and busied himself collecting stones to ring the fire pit the squires had prepared before they joined the men who were hunting. “Mayhap the others will be successful, and we’ll sup on fresh meat this eve.” Conscious of Meghan’s eyes upon him, he felt overly large and as awkward as a young page under her scrutiny. What was she feeling right now? What did she think of him? Mayhap ’twas his inability to read her that drew him to her so incessantly. Aye, that must be it.

  By the time he had a fire going, Murray, Cecil and Gregory returned, bearing a few fat geese they’d already gutted and plucked. The squires followed, carrying a brace of coneys.

  “The saints be praised!” Tieren exclaimed. “We shall feast this eve.”

  The pages, Tristan and Allain, took the catch from the men and made quick work of adding what seasonings they carried, spitting the fowl on green wood, and placing them atop the two branches set into the ground on either side of the fire. George and John worked at dressing the coneys. Once the geese were done, they’d spit the hares and roast them to break their fast on the morrow. The two lads tended to the roasting geese, and the rest of the party gathered to sit near the welcoming warmth of the fire.

  “Tell us the tale, Hunter,” Tieren said, helping Meghan to sit between them.

  He sighed. “You dinna wish to wait until our bellies are full?”

  “Nay.” Cecil laid down a bit of sheepskin and settled himself upon it. “I would hear it now, if you please.”

  “All right.” Exhaustion made it far more difficult for him to close himself off from his companions’ reactions to the day’s mysteries. Curiosity, wariness and fear wafted over him. For certes he wished for a reprieve. He needed solitude, a full belly and a good night’s rest. “Gregory, keep watch but stand near enough to hear.”

  “Aye.” He called to his squire to take up the watch on the opposite side of camp.

  Hunter stared into the flames and wondered how much to reveal. If he kept to the tale and said naught of his ties to the fae, mayhap he wouldn’t be forced to lie. “I rode into the fair and began searching for Nevan and the lads. When I came to the green-and-white-striped tent, an old Romany woman stepped out. I thought she might have knowledge of Nevan, so when she bid me enter her tent, I did so. We conversed a bit, and she gave me tea. She asked that I do her a favor, and I felt ’twas my knightly duty to comply.”

  From there, he related events exactly as they happened, leaving nothing out. “I snatched Meghan and brought her here, believing I was rescuing her from certain death. I was unaware that I’d been sent through time to do so. The two of us discovered the truth as we spoke.” He met the eyes of each of the men and lads sitting around the fire. “She is come to us from the distant future. The rest you ken, for we rode straight here upon finding the fair gone.”

  “Impossible!” Cecil leaped to his feet. An overpowering determination to deny what he kent was the truth flowed from him. “This canna be.”

  “It’s true.” Meghan’s chin lifted. “I’m from the twenty-first century. My father and I were putting on a sword fighting demonstration at a Renaissance festival when Hunter appeared and snatched me away. It’s what we do. My family teaches sword fighting and other skills from your era.” She gestured to their surroundings. “Hunter snatched me from what he thought was a fight to the death, and here I am.”

  “You saw the proof for yourself when you went to see if the fair had indeed disappeared. Why do you doubt me now?” Hunter sent Cecil a look sharp enough to split wood. “What would I gain from making up such an outrageous tale?”

  “’Tis sorcery.” Cecil paced.

  “Aye, for certes, but no’ of our doing. Surely you see that,” Hunter offered in a placating tone. Cecil’s mounting panic and fear assaulted Hunter’s senses. “There are none here who are capable of sorcery, as well you ken. I speak naught but the truth.”

  “Nay?” Cecil’s pacing came to a sudden halt, and his suspicious glare fixed upon Meghan. Distrust and malice cloaked him in a thick cloud. “What do you ken about that lass in truth?” He pointed an accusing finger at her. “Mayhap she’s fae and wishes to steal our souls whilst we sleep.”

  “I’m not!” Meghan cried, jumping to her feet. “I told you. I was just minding my own business when Hunter popped out of that tent and grabbed me. Everything that has happened today has been totally against my will.” She sucked in a breath. “Besides, why would I want to steal anybody’s soul? Not that I could,” she muttered. “Because I can’t.”

  “Why, to make it all the easier to take our gold and silver, of course.” Cecil’s hands fisted at his sides. “’Tis naught but sorcery, and I will no’ consort with the fae.” Spittle flew from his mouth as he ranted and paced. “Heresy, I tell you!” he shouted, pointing at Meghan again. “I say we bind her and leave her here in the wood. Let her own kind take her back. We dinna want her with us.” He stopped and drew his sword. “Be gone, witch, and may God have mercy
upon your black soul.”

  “First she’s fae and now she’s a witch? Here now, Cecil, you’re spewing nonsense.” Tieren was the next to rise to his feet. He shoved Meghan behind him. “Have you lost your wits?”

  “Humph. She has already bewitched you, sir.” Cecil waved his sword in front of him. “Do ye no’ see it is so?”

  “Enough.” Hunter got up and relieved Cecil of his claymore. “Be reasonable. Sit down. Once you’ve filled your belly with a hot meal, things will look better.”

  “Once she is gone from us, things will look better.” Cecil glared. “You brought her into our midst. You must force her away.”

  “I will do no such thing.” He caught Gregory’s frantic movements from the corner of his eye. “Och, cease with crossing yourself, Gregory. ’Tis causing my head to pound worse than it already does.” He stuck the point of Cecil’s sword into the dirt. Massaging his temples, he tried once more to restore reason. “By all that is holy, I swear to you—neither I nor Meghan had aught to do with what happened this day, and for the last time, she is no’ fae.” He sent a pointed look around the circle of men. “She’s Irish.”

  Strangled hysteria-tinged laughter broke free from Meghan. He quelled it with a stern look. “’Tis true, is it no’, lass?”

  “It’s true. Not even a little bit faerie.” She crossed her heart and held up her hand in some sort of salute. “Scout’s honor. I’m one hundred percent Irish.”

  “’Tis just as bad,” Cecil cried, but once again he took his place by the fire. “Were it no’ for the fact that I’ve lived in close quarters with you for nigh on four years, Hunter, I would take my leave anon. ’Tis true you have never led me false in the past. For that alone, I have no reason to doubt things went just as you say they did.” He cast Meghan a dark glance. “Still—”