The Highlander's Keep (Searching for a Highlander Book 2)

by Bess McBride

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.” He spoke as if he had lived for decades instead of about fifteen years.

  “Whom do you live with then?”

  “I lived wi my uncle Torq, till he moved into the keep. Mistress Glick is getting on in years and needed help, so I live there now.”

  “That’s right! You did just say you were his nephew! I should have recognized that red hair.”

  Andrew lifted a hand to one scraggly tendril.

  “Aye, my father and uncles favored each other.”

  Suddenly, an image of Josh’s well-groomed expensive cut came to mind, and as always a comparison to my father’s often disheveled hair. I thought again that my father would have loved these people who spent little time on grooming their hair. Maybe he should have fallen through time. It often felt like he had.

  I hoped Torq would return with his own wild hair. I wouldn’t have changed a single curly lock.

  Chapter Five

  I must have fallen asleep, because when I awakened, darkness filled the room. Disoriented, I tried to sit up, but the sharp movement brought a muffled shriek from me.

  “Dinna move, lass.” Torq’s gruff voice broke the blackness as he pressed down on my shoulder.

  I clamped my hand over his.

  “Where did you go?” I asked breathlessly.

  “Away to lick my wounds like a spoilt bairn,” he said. “And to see to my duties, but mostly to lick my wounds.”

  Torq moved as if to pull his hand away, but I tightened my grip.

  “What wounds are those?”

  “Not as painful as those ye suffer now, but hurtful nonetheless.”

  His voice in the darkness, husky as it was, filled the small room. I wanted to pull him to me. I had no idea what had happened to me or was happening to me at that moment.

  “Tell me,” I said.

  “Auch, it is naethin to concern yerself about.”

  “You stormed out of here when you mentioned Mary.”

  I clutched his hand. He was not leaving me again!

  “Stormed, eh?”

  “Stalked? You were definitely upset.”

  “Aye, I was. Mary was dear to me. She passed last year.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, Torq.”

  “How do ye ken? Did Ann tell ye?”

  “Yes.” As promised, I didn’t mention Andrew.

  Torq grunted. In the darkness, I couldn’t see his face and didn’t know what the sound meant.

  “Don’t be mad at her.”

  “It isna my place to be angry wi the laird’s wife. She is different. Like ye.”

  “Yes.”

  “Since her ladyship told ye about Mary, perhaps it is time that I ken something about her...about ye. Whatever ye wish to tell me, I will keep secret.”

  “I’m not sure if I can safely talk about Ann,” I said. “I’d be willing to talk about me, but that infringes on her...and her safety.”

  Before I knew it, Torq pulled his hand from mine.

  “Torq, wait! I’ll tell you what I can!”

  “Dinna fash, lass. I rise to light a candle. Even if ye dinna wish to share any of yer secret wi me, that is fine. I willna hold it against ye.”

  A flame on the nearby table flickered and grew at the top of a single candle. Torq looked at the food on the table.

  “I dinna think ye ate verra much. Will ye have some more broth or another oatcake? Ye must keep up yer strength, lass.”

  “Sure,” I said, relieved that he wasn’t storming out of the room again.

  “The broth has cooled, but I think it is still tasty.”

  Unlike the smaller Andrew, Torq was able to lift me with one arm and hold the bowl to my lips with the other. I drank, then drank some more when Torq urged me.

  He lowered me to the bed and returned the bowl to the table. Resuming his seat, he turned, not toward the window but toward me, leaning his elbows on his knees. I would have backed up at the intensity in his eyes if I could have.

  “I am listening.”

  “I’m afraid of harming Ann,” I said.

  “Verra well. I will tell ye what I ken, and ye can add to it or no as ye see fit. It is yer story.”

  I waited.

  “I think that ye come from the future, hundreds of years into the future. I dinna think ye a witch or a sorceress or a kelpie or any such. I think the dagger is the means by which ye travel, and from what I have seen, the travel isna always welcome. Ann was verra distraught when she first came, dressed in her trews, clutching the dagger, but she formed a bond with the laird and chose to stay.

  “However, one day she touched the dagger by accident, and she disappeared for a while until she returned, dressed in her trews yet again. The laird hid the dagger so that there would be no more accidents. Then ye appear a year later, the dagger in yer hands. I may be a simple Scot, but even I ken that the dagger is a tool to travel through time. But no for me or the laird. It affects nane of us.”

  I had long ago breathed a sigh of relief...probably about the time Torq had said he did not believe I was a witch or a sorceress.

  “You know as much as I do then. Yes, I come from the future. From the year 2017.”

  Torq nodded, unsurprised.

  “How did ye find the dagger? How did ye fall to the floor of the keep? Tell me how ye came to Dun Eistean. Tell me as much as ye wish.” He repositioned his chair to face me, then settled back, stretching out his legs and crossing his arms.

  “I don’t know where to start,” I said. “I came to Dun Eistean on an archaeological dig.”

  He shook his head, as if not understanding.

  “We study old ruins where the ancients lived.”

  “Dun Eistean is a ruin in yer time then?”

  I loved his burr, the roll of his r’s.

  “Yes, I’m sorry—it is. It is largely covered over now by dirt and turf. The keep itself was uncovered, excavated by archaeologists. It’s not half as high as it is now, because over the years, the stones have been carried away by local people for their own use. Anyway, I had just arrived at Dun Eistean when I vanished. It was foggy, and I went exploring. My colleagues warned me to watch my step, but I didn’t. I fell into the keep.”

  Torq looked up at the window.

  “Ye fell into the keep? Ye say that the ground now meets the top of the tower?”

  “Yes, what’s left of the tower. Now, it looks more like a cellar lined with stacked stone.”

  “Continue,” he said.

  “When I fell, I clawed at the stone walls to stop my fall. Something metal stuck out of the sides, and I grabbed at it. The hilt of the dagger, as it turns out. And I guess that’s the mechanism of the travel.”

  “Aye, it would seem so.”

  “Is the dagger a significant object to the Morrisons?”

  “Nay, I dinna think it is a talisman. The laird told me that he had purchased it from a French merchant years ago at a considerable cost. He was told it was several centuries auld. But it has no special meaning to the clan. It is no even Scottish.”

  I fell silent.

  “And what of ye, lass? Why do ye study the ruins of Scots? Ye are no a Scot, are ye?”

  “No, at least not in the last century. Some of my ancestors were, but not all. I’m American. I’m studying to complete my degree in archaeology. My interest was in classic Mediterranean history, but I might change that to the medieval Scotland.” I grinned.

  Torq’s eyes crinkled, though he did not smile. To date, I had not seem him do so.

  “What shall ye do wi yer studies?”

  “Teach in between going out on archaeological digs.”

  “Then ye will be returning to yer own time?”

  “If I can ever get up from this bed, yes.”

  “I see,” he murmured. He fell silent for a minute before speaking again.

  “Are ye married, lass? Do ye have bairns? I didna ask. Of course, ye must wish to return to yer family.”

/>   “No, I’m not married. I don’t have children. My boyfriend just broke up with me, so—”

  “Boyfriend? Broke up wi ye?”

  “My beau, suitor? Ended the relationship? Said goodbye?”

  “Auch, I ken yer meaning now. I am sorry. Is there no hope of his return?”

  I hoped I wouldn’t open my mouth to explain. Then I did. “He said I wasn’t passionate enough. He said that he didn’t think I loved him enough.”

  Torq made that grunting sound again, or maybe he was just clearing his throat. I thought I detected a sympathetic tone to his expression.

  “I don’t want a crazy, mad, passionate love. I didn’t want a crazy, mad, passionate love anyway. I just wanted a steady, reliable guy to spend my life with—someone who went to work every day, came home every night, didn’t leave for days or months or years on end. I didn’t want to feel a lot of pain. I just wanted a companion. He wanted more.”

  I had said too much. I turned my face away, my cheeks hot and flushed.

  Torq said nothing, and I fell silent. He wasn’t exactly my best female friend, the girl with whom I shared my deepest secrets. I didn’t actually have one of those anyway. My mom had been my closest friend. She had died the year before, and I missed her dearly.

  “I hear yer pain, lass, and I am sorry for ye.”

  “I don’t really need pity.”

  “I didna say I pitied ye, only that I was sorry for ye. It isna the same thing.”

  “Okay, thanks. And I am sorry for ye.”

  “A fine pair we are.”

  A slow smile spread across my face, and I turned back to him.

  “I shared with you. Now it’s your turn to share with me.”

  “What would ye ken? I am but a simple Scot. There is little enough to tell.”

  “Can you tell me about Mary?”

  I didn’t understand what perverse curiosity I had about his relationship with Mary. I knew I ran the risk of seeing him shut down again, maybe even storm out of the room as he had before.

  He sighed heavily. “I dinna find it easy to speak of her, lass. It pains me.”

  I bit my lip. I really didn’t need to know more about her. He had loved her, she had died, and now he grieved. It seemed pretty straightforward.

  Torq spoke, his voice low and throaty. “Mary was the laird’s sister. I had kent her all my life, loved her since we were bairns. I wanted to marry her, but I didna tell her afore she gave her heart to Hamish Macleod, son of the chieftain Angus. He was no pleased his son had married a Morrison. I heard Hamish was fond of the whisky, and I worried about Mary. Hamish died leaving her with two bairns.

  “Upon Hamish’s death, she returned to the Morrison clan. By then though, we had retreated here to Dun Eistean. In time, she accepted my offer of marriage. But she fell ill soon after we married. She is buried on the mainland.”

  I swallowed hard as Mary’s life—and Torq’s love for her—was recapped in the space of about a hundred words. Still, I considered myself fortunate that he talked about his life at all.

  Torq had loved Mary most of his life. He had lost her once to another man and then again to death. He certainly knew about loss. Though he spoke plainly, almost as if he recited the lines, the huskiness in his voice revealed strong emotion.

  “Thank you for sharing.”

  Torq nodded but said nothing. He kept his face averted.

  Suddenly, the stillness of the night was broken by a series of shouts coupled with the sound of metal on metal. I heard muted blasts like the sound of gunfire.

  “What’s that?” I cried out. “What’s happening?”

  “We are under attack!” Torq shouted, jumping to his feet. He paused to look down at me. “Cyn-tya, stay here and remain quiet. I will drop the latch from the outside. Ye are safe here. Dinna scream though if ye hear anything. I will return for ye!” He blew out the candle and ran out the door. I heard the inside latch slip into place after he slammed the door shut behind him. I wondered how he’d managed that trick.

  I heard a man roaring like a lion, and I thought it was Torq, as he must have run out of the keep.

  “What is happening?” I whispered aloud. I had no idea who was attacking, but it sounded awful. Men shouted. Women screamed. Metal scraped metal. I supposed that was the sound of swords. Again, the sound of gunfire.

  I tried to turn over, to push myself upright, but my back begged me to stop. Terrified, I slipped down, listening to the horror happening outside the keep.

  Someone pounded on the door, and despite Torq’s warning, I couldn’t hold back a scream. The latch rattled, and I heard the muttering of men on the other side. It had to be Gaelic. I suspect they would break through soon. Could they open the door from the outside? If so, why were they banging?

  Adrenaline kicked in, and I grabbed the side of the bed to pull myself out, throwing myself onto the floor. Stiff muscles screamed at me, but I could move my legs. I hadn’t broken my back yet. I crawled under the bed, buried my face in the hay covering the dirt floor and covered my head with my hands.

  Pounding on the door continued, and I fought back the urge to scream.

  Another loud shout, the roar of a lion, topped all the noise, and steel rang out against steel just outside the door. Shouts, curses, and scuffles ensued, and I prayed that whoever was a Morrison won.

  I heard a guttural cry as if someone had been hurt, and the fight stopped.

  Oh, please, please, please...

  I didn’t even know what words I wanted to say.

  Thudding on the door began again, hard, decisive, as if someone beat on the door with the hilt of his sword. My heart pounded just as loudly.

  Suddenly, the terrifying battering at the door stopped but was followed by renewed shouting. Footsteps pounded the ground as if someone ran from the keep. I waited a moment, trying to listen over the noise of my thumping pulse in my ears.

  I heard the shouts recede into the distance. But a new sound just outside the door worried me. Someone moaned, as if in pain. I recalled the guttural cry, and I wondered if someone had been injured. Swords meant sharp blades. Sharp blades cut. People bled.

  I worked myself out from under the bed, grabbed the blanket from above and inched toward the door on my stomach. The adrenaline coursing through my body would have allowed me to rise to my hands and knees, but I wanted to keep my ear to the ground...literally, because the moaning came from someone on the floor of the keep. I was sure of it.

  If it came from one of the marauders, I stood a good chance of getting hurt, but if it came from a Morrison, then I needed to help. Awkwardly, I fumbled with the blanket, trying to tie it around my waist given that Ann and Mistress Glick had not re-dressed me. I wore only my T-shirt.

  Despite the spasms in my back, I reached up to lift the latch, hoping I wasn’t locked in. The door creaked open, and the weighted string that had held the latch in place fell, dangling in my face. I peeked out into the keep.

  Chapter Six

  A torch burned in one of the wall sconces, revealing that Torq lay on the floor, unmoving, lifeless. I scrambled out of the room on my hands and knees, glancing out the doorway to see torches moving as people ran.

  “Torq!” I cried out, reaching his side. “Torq! Don’t you die on me!” I ran my hands over his body, but they came up dry. No blood. I reached his head and saw a horrible gash across his cheek. Thankfully, the cut had missed his eyes. Blood flowed out through his red beard, down his neck and onto the straw floor.

  I ripped off a length of Torq’s kilt and pressed it against the wound. The cut looked deep, and I hoped that it hadn’t hit an artery. His sword lay beside him, the blade covered in blood as well. He must have given as good as he got. I saw no other bodies.

  I wanted to scream for help but dared not bring attention to myself. The shouting died out, but I still had no idea what was happening. I didn’t want to release the pressure on Torq’s wound for fear it would start bleeding again. The straw below him was saturated, indicati
ng he had lost a great deal of blood.

  “Don’t you dare die on me, Torq Morrison!” I sobbed, laying my head against his chest while I pressed as hard as I could. His heartbeat sounded shallow to my untrained ear.

  “Mistress!” Andrew shouted, running into the keep. He stopped when he saw Torq on the ground. I thanked my foresight in grabbing the blanket to cover myself.

  “Torq is hurt! He’s bleeding. We have to stop the bleeding. Is everyone all right?”

  Andrew threw himself down on his knees to peer at Torq.

  “Aye, it was naethin more than a raid to check our defenses, so says the laird.”

  “Please go get help.”

  “Mistress Glick and her ladyship will ken what to do. They burn the skin.” He jumped up and ran out.

  I knew what Andrew meant. It was likely one of the women was going to cauterize Torq’s wound to stop the bleeding. I kept pressure on him and leaned down to listen to his heart again. It thumped slightly and not at all rhythmically. I checked the floor one more time. Even more blood seeped out from behind his head. I slipped a hand under his hair, and it came away sticky, wet.

  I groaned and peered closely. I had missed another gash on the back of his neck where blood spilled out. Unable to release pressure on Torq’s facial wound to tear off more of his kilt, I pressed the flat of my hand over the second wound at the back of his neck.

  Ann and John raced in, followed by Andrew.

  “Oh, you poor thing!” Ann said as she saw me. “How did you get out here?”

  “He’s lost a lot of blood. He has a facial injury, but he had a second cut to the back of his neck that I didn’t see. He’s lucky he didn’t lose his head.”

  “Help me lift him, lad,” John said.

  Andrew took Torq’s feet, and John lifted his torso.

  “We will carry him to Mistress Glick’s croft.”

  I dropped my hands from Torq’s wounds, appalled at the renewed round of bleeding.

  “I don’t think there’s time for that,” I said. “We have to stop the bleeding now. Just take him into the room. I’m okay.”

  “Ann? What do ye think?” John asked.

  “She’s right, John. There is no time. Just put Torq on the bed. We’ll figure out something for Cyn.”