Also by Barbara Longley
The Novels of Loch Moigh
True to the Highlander
Love from the Heartland series, set in Perfect, Indiana
Far from Perfect
The Difference a Day Makes
A Change of Heart
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2014 Barbara Longley
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781477823927
ISBN-10: 1477823921
Cover design by becker&mayer! LLC
Illustrated by Dana Ashton France
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014903124
This book is dedicated to Robert W. Longley. Thank you, Dad, for igniting the spark of curiosity that still burns brightly. Thank you for encouraging me to exercise my imagination. I miss you!
CONTENTS
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
EPILOGUE
SNEAK PEEK: THE HIGHLANDER’S FOLLY
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
Scotland, 1426
Robley sat in his uncle’s solar, his thoughts drifting like thistledown in a stiff breeze. His father, uncle and cousin droned on and on about their clan’s kine, the condition of this year’s crops, the villagers and the needs of their crofters. He placed his elbows on the table and scrubbed his face with both hands, stifling the urge to yawn.
“Something ailing you, lad?” Robley’s uncle William, the earl of Fife, asked, his tone slightly exasperated.
Robley straightened, taking his elbows off the table. “Nay, just a bit fatigued.”
“Mayhap less time spent in the village inn drinking and carousing and more time sleeping at night would no’ be amiss,” the earl scolded.
Robley’s brow shot up, but he kept his mouth shut. Since the return of their King James to take his rightful place on Scotland’s throne, Robley’s role in their clan’s welfare had been reduced to that of page. He ran errands, carried messages and aided his father in the execution of his duties as seneschal for the MacKintosh holdings.
Robley’s future, right down to the kine, the crops and the crofters, offered little in the way of excitement. The drinking and carousing gave him a brief respite from the powerful yearning for adventure plaguing him and filling his dreams.
He sorely missed the days when he had a battle or a tournament to anticipate. He missed the adventures he’d had with his brother and cousin while traipsing across the continent. Malcolm and Liam were settled with families to raise. Peace had its merits, aye, but naught stirred the blood like a war of wits and brawn.
“’Tis long past time you took a wife, my lad.” His father placed a hand on Robley’s shoulder and gave it a shake. “Your mother and I long to dandle both our sons’ bairns on our knees. We wish to see you settled and content.” Robert turned to his brother “What say you, William? Shall we cast about for a suitable bride for my lad? Mayhap the ladies can recommend a willing lass with a generous dowry.”
Settled? His mouth went dry. He couldn’t be much more settled than he was now, and the tedium was killing him. “Ah . . .”
His cousin Malcolm smirked. “Aye, Rob. ’Tis time you married. Have you no’ said you wished to find a braw and bonnie lass like my True?”
“There are none like your lady here.” He scowled. “Shall I seek the faerie who sent her to you through time, and request she fetch me a bride from the future as well?” Had he given voice to his heart’s desire? Was this the source of his restless obsession? Aye, and truth be told, he wanted to find the lass himself. He yearned to see with his own eyes the wonders the future held: airplanes, automobiles and lights that came on by the mere flick of a switch. These were but a few of the marvels True had mentioned. How could he not turn his mind once again to the fantastic tales she told of her life in the twenty-first century? His obsession. He longed to see the future. ’Twould be his last adventure. How he kent this, he could not say, but the certainty had lodged itself firmly in his gut, and he could not free himself of the notion.
Malcolm shrugged. “My wife was sent here to save a life. That we fell in love had naught to do with Giselle’s purpose, and I dinna suppose her ilk take well to requests of any kind. ’Tis best to stay as far from the fae as possible, lest you get caught up in their machinations. We mere mortals are naught but pawns to them.”
“Aye, keep your distance, Rob.” The earl rose from his chair. “You’ve a responsibility to our clan. One day you will take your father’s place as seneschal, as Malcolm will take mine. I remember what it is to be young and restless, but have a care. The well-being of our people rests squarely upon our shoulders.” He fixed Robley to the spot with a stern stare. “Come. We’ve work to do, and the hour grows late.”
“I ken well my responsibilities, Uncle.” He pushed his chair back and stood, chafing at the scolding. He was a man of four and twenty, and a blooded warrior besides. “If anyone should need me to carry a message or inventory the buttery, I’ll be in the lists.” His remark garnered sharp looks, but no more reprimands. Striding out of the solar, he contemplated his situation.
He could let his family arrange a marriage for him. Mayhap he’d even come to care for whomever they chose, but would he love her? Would his heart thrill at the sight of her, as Malcolm’s did still when his lady wife entered the room? “No’ bloody likely.”
Jealousy burned a path through him, and the weight of his future settled upon his shoulders like a yoke. One more adventure—was it too much to ask?—and then he’d settle into his predestined role within the clan.
He took the stairs down to the great hall, pausing when he found his cousin’s wife there consulting with their cook, Molly. Lady True was already growing large with her second bairn, and another pang of jealousy shot through him. He wanted a family of his own, but not without love. The indignity of the scolding he’d received still stung, along with the restless desire to act. He waited until True sent Molly on her way before approaching. A plan, such as it was, had germinated in his mind for far too long. The time was at hand to put it into motion. “Good morn, True. How do you fare?”
“I’m fine.” She rubbed her belly and studied him in that piercing way she had. Her abilities as a truth-sayer had saved their clan more than once, and now she turned her powers his way. “What troubles you, Robley?”
“There’s something I wish to ask. A favor.” His resolve firmed. The more he thought about it, the more powerfully the notion took hold.
“Do you have a moment to walk about the bailey?” He offered his arm.
“Of course. I always have time for you.” She grinned and took his arm. “If it’s within my power to help, you know I will, but I sense whatever it is will be met with opposition from our family.”
“Aye, which is why we will keep it between ourselves.” He led her out the door. Deep into summer, the air was warm, and the sky held fat clouds to offer shade from the hot sun. “Do you recall the time I helped you secure weapons against Malcolm’s wishes?”
“Of course I do.” She laughed. “And now you plan to use that to leverage a payback?”
“If it will help.” He drew a breath, gathering all of his courage and determination. “I wish to visit the future. Nay, that does no’ describe what I feel.” He shook his head. “It’s something I must do, and I canna free myself from the certainty that I’m meant to go there for some reason.”
Her brow furrowed as she studied him once again. “It’s possible that what you feel is a form of manipulation.” Her expression filled with concern. “You know I don’t have the power to send you to the future, nor do I have the power to prevent you from trying to get there on your own.
“Madame Giselle sought me out because of the little bit of faerie blood running through my veins. You know how Giselle loves to meddle. Had it not been for her, I would still be living my life in the twenty-first century.” She squeezed his forearm. “I sense she might be stirring the pot here, and you can’t trust her. Be careful.”
“I ken well enough the fae canna be trusted, but . . .” Their clan had ties to the fae, especially Madame Giselle, because Hunter, True and Malcolm’s foster son, was her direct descendant. He raked his free hand through his hair, unsure how to put words to what stirred within him. “Giselle cares for you, Hunter and your daughter, aye? When she brought you to us, ’twas for good. Think of the lives you’ve saved, True. Mayhap her purpose will also be for the good of our clan. Did you no’ tell us when we needed help, help would come to us? Was that no’ the vow Giselle made to you and Malcolm?”
“Hmm. ‘When you need help the most, help shall find you,’ is what she said. More like a benediction than a vow, and not necessarily directed at our clan as a whole.” She placed her hand protectively over the bairn growing inside her. “I might be all wrong about her having anything to do with your compulsion. Your desire may stem from your own curiosity about my time and nothing more.”
“I dinna ken, nor do I care. The future is all I’ve thought of since you shared with us the truth of your journey here. Are you no’ tired of my pestering you for more of your tales?”
“I am, and your relentlessness is the reason I suspect Giselle is behind it. You’re not normally obsessive about anything.” She shook her head. “And you know when I sense the hidden truths in any given situation, it’s wise for all of us to listen—including me. My abilities have never led us astray, have they?”
“Nay, your abilities have saved lives, mine included. Whether ’tis compulsion or no’, if Giselle is still to be found in Inverness, I will see her. There’s naught you can say that will prevent me from doing what I must. The favor I ask is that you help me prepare.”
“There’s no guarantee Giselle will send you anywhere but out her door.” She brought her thumbnail to her mouth, a sure sign she gave serious consideration to his request. “Malcolm is going to kill me for sure this time.”
Triumph surged. “Do you still have the paper currency from your time? That and information are all I seek. My cousin canna be angered by a simple exchange of knowledge, can he?”
“Can’t he?” Her brow rose. “This is my husband we’re talking about. Overbearing, controlling and arrogant to the bone.”
He winked at her. “Dinna tell him.”
Robley walked toward the edge of the village on his way to the cottage where Madame Giselle was rumored to live while in Inverness. According to the villagers, he’d find her there this very day. Things had fallen into place neatly. Only a fortnight had passed since his conversation with True, and he’d been sent to Inverness to settle a dispute on the earl’s behalf. He couldn’t help but feel even more certain this was meant to be.
He reached into his sporran to check that the currency and debit card True had given him were safely tucked away. She’d explained about ATMs and instructed him on their use. He could scarce believe her. A metal box would spew money at him when he entered the correct sequence of numbers? He shook his head.
At the very end of the road, a path veered to the right toward the wood. He took it, following the cool, shaded trail through the forest. The evergreen tang of pine and yew filled the air, and the boughs cast dark shadows across the path before him. The farther he went, the more the fine hairs at the back of his neck rose, and his palms grew damp. He put his hand on the hilt of his dagger, scanning the shadows for the source of his unease. A murder of crows took flight above him, their raucous cawing sending his heart racing. He drew his sword and crouched, ready to fight. Shaking his head at his folly, he straightened and slid his claymore back into his scabbard. What good was a man’s sword against magic?
As courageous as any knight of the realm, he had no difficulty facing a mortal enemy. Facing the fae, however, was entirely another matter. They were not mortal, nor were they of this natural world. The Tuatha Dé Danann held power and sorcery far beyond his ken, and no matter how set his mind or how brave his heart, he could not keep his soul from recoiling at the very thought of being in Madame Giselle’s presence.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, he considered turning back. What business did he have consorting with the fae? What if Giselle sent him to the future with no way to return, like she had sent Lady True to the fifteenth century? Why hadn’t he considered the possibility? Mayhap because Giselle truly had compelled him to come to her, and it had naught to do with his own free will. His chest tightened, and he stood rooted to the spot. The rasp of his labored breathing filled the unnatural silence.
“Are you lost, lad?” The old crone appeared from out of nowhere. She held a walking stick in one hand and a basket filled with plants in the other.
Robley nearly jumped out of his skin. She hadn’t stepped onto the path from the wood. She’d appeared out of thin air, or so it seemed to him. Her appearance hadn’t changed one whit since he’d seen her a decade ago whilst attending the fair at Inverness with his kin. Unnatural and not of this world. A chill snaked its way down his spine.
Wrinkled face, silver-streaked dark hair and stooped, she could be ancient . . . or ageless. Dark, birdlike eyes assessed him. She canted her head, waiting, and her visage called to mind the crows that had just taken flight.
He wiped his palms against the wool of his plaid. “I wish to speak with you, Madame Giselle, if you’ve a moment.”
“With me?” The wrinkles lining her face deepened with amusement. “Do you wish to know what the future holds in store for you, Robley of clan MacKintosh? Shall I tell your fortune?” Her eyes narrowed. “’Twill cost you dear.”
“I . . . I seek a favor.” That she knew his name came as a shock, and fear gripped his very bones. Nay. His father was the earl’s brother and seneschal over all the MacKintosh holdings. They were oft in Inverness, sometimes staying for months at a time. The entire village knew who he was. Why wouldn’t Giselle? He took a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly. “’Tis no’ my fortune or my future I’ve come to speak with you about.”
“Hmm. Is it not?” She turned on the path. “Come. I would hear this favor of yours, but first a cup of tea.” She started down the path, leading him farther from the village.
His feet remained fixed in place, while the instinct for self-preservation battled with his compulsion for adventure. He should turn on his heel and run for the safety of the portcullis.
“Come, lad,” Giselle called without turning back. “’Tis far too late to turn back no
w.”
She lifted a hand in a slight wave, and his legs moved him forward against his will. Goose bumps skittered like mice along his skin, and the prickle of fear had him uttering prayers beneath his breath as his family’s warnings came back to him. No adventure was worth putting his life at risk, and he had no doubt that his life now balanced on the cutting edge of fate’s blade. “I’ve changed my mind,” he called out.
Giselle’s eerie cackle nearly brought him to his knees. “Shite,” he muttered as a fresh sheen of sweat drenched him. He had no choice but to move forward, for his legs were still not abiding by his will. For certes the faerie had her own agenda where he was concerned, and he was no longer certain that it might be for good. How could he have been so naïve?
The path opened to a clearing where a neat cottage stood at the center. Constructed of timber, wattle and daub, the dwelling boasted a newly thatched roof. The toft surrounding the cottage was also tidy, and a few chickens wandered about, pecking the ground, foraging for insects and grain. The sight of the ordinary home eased his panic, and his legs were his own once more. Had he imagined they’d carried him forward of their own volition? Giselle opened the sturdy wooden door and gestured for him to enter.
All manner of herbs hung from the rafters, along with onions, garlic and other vegetables, permeating the interior with savory, earthy smells. A small hearth held a banked fire. Giselle swung a blackened pot hanging from an iron hook over the glowing embers. She stirred the flames back to life and added a square of peat. “Sit.”
He obeyed, curiosity and resolve filling him. Taking one of the two chairs by the scarred wooden table, he kept his eye on her as she fetched two earthenware mugs from a row of shelves built into the wall. True had come to no harm from this being, and if Giselle wished him ill, there was naught he could do to stop her. He swallowed against the tightness in his throat. He’d come for a reason, and he meant to see it through.
He turned his attention to the interior of the dwelling. Giselle lived comfortably. The cottage even had a wood-plank floor instead of packed dirt like so many others. Like the yard, the inside was tidy and held a wealth of household goods. A narrow staircase led to a sleeping loft above, and two curtained windows let in the light and fresh air.
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