Kaden: A Clean Time Travel Highland Romance (Highland Passages Book 1)

by Annis Reid

  They came to a stop after riding from one side of the village to the other. The structure in front of them was long, one floor, made of light-colored stone with a straw roof and narrow windows. It was simple, yes, but much bigger than anything she had seen up until then. Well-kept, too.

  “Here we are,” Brick House announced, throwing one of his thick legs over the horse’s back and landing on the ground next to her.

  “This is where Kirk stays?” she asked, eyeing the place up. Well-kept or not, she would’ve expected the guy in charge to make camp in something more modern. He probably had to fit in with the rest of them, even if he was the guy running the show.

  “Where he stays?” The skinny one snorted with obnoxious laughter, Adam’s apple bobbing. “This is his home, lassie, as if ye didna know it.”

  “She likely does not know.” He was even better looking when he wasn’t glaring down at her from the back of a horse or snarling when she’d scratched his arm. He looked up at her, and she wasn’t imagining warmth in his hazel eyes. “Simply be honest with him, lass, and ye will come out fine.”

  What was it about him that made her doubt everything she had come to believe about this place? There was no winking, no sense of being in on the joke. He didn’t break character for a second. None of them did. But he was the only one who wasn’t comically angry and hostile toward her.

  He seemed sorry for her, which made just about as much sense as everything else had.

  He took a firm grip of her waist with hands bigger than her face and lifted her out of the saddle like she was a toddler. No effort at all. It would’ve been sort of a turn-on if he wasn’t adamant about pretending not to be roleplaying.

  “Sorry about your arm,” she whispered, wincing. “I didn’t mean to.”

  His frown eased. “I know ye didna,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging his mouth upward. He had dimples. No fair. Nobody with a face and a body like his should have dimples, too. Even if he did need a bath.

  “Let us get on with it,” One-Eye grumbled. “I have a bed callin’ my name, lads.”

  She wished she could say the same for herself. Instead, she followed the men into the stone house, wondering as she took one more look around the outside where the power lines came in. Didn’t he even have a computer in the place?

  No. He did not. He also didn’t have lights. Candles lit the room, along with a fire that belched smoke. She coughed, wishing her hands were free so she could wave them in front of her face.

  “Oh, my God,” she choked, coughing again. A fine layer of soot covered everything near the hearth, built into one wall.

  “Leave the door open,” Brick House ordered. “’Tis enough to choke a man, that smoke.”

  She wondered if he was really so concerned for himself or only concerned for her. Either way, she shot him a grateful look before coughing again. It was enough to make her eyes tear up. How could anybody breathe in this place?

  “What have ye brought me?” The man who spoke was large, larger than the man who’d held her on his saddle as they rode. Heavy-set, with a thick, gingery beard. A knotty scar ran from his left ear down toward his mouth, disappearing under that overgrown patch of hair.

  He was dressed the same as most of them, in a loose tunic belted at his waist and a pair of trousers. Sitting in a high-backed wooden chair that reminded her more of a throne. Yes, this was the guy in charge, all right.

  And he was just as crazy as the rest of them, just as into his role. Any hope she had of getting through to him and asking him to let her go flew out the window.

  “I’m—” she began, but Brick House shook his head. What, did she need permission or something?

  He cleared his throat. “We found this woman at the henge just beyond the village,” he explained. “It appears from her markings that she is—”

  “A witch,” Kirk concluded. “Aye. T’was the first thing I thought upon setting eyes on her. She bears the markings.”

  “Tattoos,” she corrected. “Ink.”

  “Hold your tongue,” Kirk snapped. “And why do ye bring her to me, Kaden?”

  Kaden. Not a bad name. Better than Brick House.

  “If she is who she appears to be, we did not wish to leave her to wander the village,” Kaden explained. “I believed it best—we did, all of us—to bring her to ye so ye might decide what is to be done, as the MacGregor.”

  The other men grunted in agreement. The MacGregor. She wondered if she should curtsy.

  Kirk’s teeth showed over his beard. Dirty teeth. What a surprise. “Ye did well, Kaden, and no doubt about it. We canna allow witches to wander freely, so near those we love and protect.”

  “I’m not a witch!” she shouted. To hell with it. They were nuts, every last one of them, but she wasn’t afraid. Even though all of them were armed in one way or another—old-fashioned pistols, knives, even a sword or two. She doubted the pistols would fire, and the other weapons were probably duller than a butter knife.

  “I recall tellin’ ye to hold yer tongue, ye wicked creature!” Kirk bellowed loudly enough to make her head snap back. “No one asked ye to defend yourself, for there is no defense for the likes of ye. How can ye wander about freely, showing so much of yourself—including those tattoos, as ye call them—with a face full of paint and tell me ye are anything but?”

  “Because there’s no such thing,” she spat. “My name is Anna, and I was about to perform in front of a lot of people—”

  “A gypsy,” one of them grunted behind her.

  “Nay, she doesna have their coloring,” another disagreed.

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” she spat.

  Kirk rose from his chair, his face going red. “Dinna take the name of the Lord in vain, ye wicked thing! Take her from my sight. The stables. Leave her there, in her irons. I will not take chances.”

  “What?” she shrieked as Kaden led her away by the chain connecting the shackles. “I didn’t do anything! I have to get back to the festival! I don’t even know where I am! Please, don’t do this!”

  Kirk waved a hand, snickering as Kaden did what he’d been ordered.

  She turned to him. He seemed the sanest of all of them, which wasn’t saying much but was all she had to go on. “You can’t let him do this,” she hissed. “Please, Kaden, you have to see how insane this is.”

  “Dinna speak to me,” he warned. All she saw was his sharp profile as he stared straight ahead.

  “Won’t you even look at me?” she demanded. “This is nuts! I’m not a witch any more than you’re a Highlander from the sixteen hundreds. This is real life, modern life, and you’re just pretending. Can we drop the act and admit this already?”

  He waited until they were inside the stench-filled stable, out of view of the others, before stopping. He turned to her, his body reminding her of a wall. Solid, unmoving, though warmer than a wall. And better looking.

  She bumped into him, unable to stop herself in time. His hands closed over her arms to steady her, then fell away like he had made a mistake.

  “Listen, now,” he whispered. “I dinna know what ye are trying to do, twisting my mind up this way, but ye must stop it now. And ye must listen to me. I dinna know how they treat your kind where ye come from, wherever that is, but we dinna take kindly to witches here.”

  “Kaden, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’m not a witch! And this can’t be real. None of it can. It must be in my head.”

  His shoulders fell, a soft sigh escaping his pursed lips. “I dinna ken why ye believe this is not truly happening to ye. I can imagine there must be something off-kilter in your mind.”

  “What?” she gasped, then tripped over her feet when he pulled her forward.

  “Come. Into the stall.” He opened it.

  Wooden bars stacked on top of each other with room between each to see through. He guided her inside. The dirt floor was covered in straw that at least looked clean enough. But it was still stinky and dirty and loud, with horses making constant noise.
>
  “Until we decide whether ye need to be jailed,” he muttered, looking away from her while he closed the door.

  “Wait! What about these?” she asked, holding up her shackled wrists. “What am I supposed to do with my wrists bound together?”

  He shrugged, still looking at the floor. “Kirk will send a woman to help ye with your needs, I suspect.”

  And with that, he walked away. She couldn’t believe her eyes. He was actually leaving her here!

  “Kaden!” she called out until her voice went hoarse. The only reply she got was neighs and snorts from the horses around the stables, in the other stalls.

  Now she was starting to think this was a nightmare. It couldn’t be true. They weren’t playing around at some game, and they weren’t kidding when they called her a witch. They honestly thought that just because there was ink on her arms, she must be one.

  Nobody in real life, in the twenty-first century, believed such things.

  Which meant…

  “Nope,” she whispered as her vision blurred, tears filling her eyes. “No way. It’s not sixteen sixty-five. That’s not possible.”

  And she would hold onto that until her dying breath, because the alternative was something she couldn’t begin to understand.

  4

  Something about the lass troubled him. Not the markings of the witch all over her arms. Nor her painted face.

  Not even the scratch marks she’d left him to remember her by.

  It was her certainty. The sincerity with which she swore she was not what they believed her to be. There was no craftiness to her, no hint of a lie.

  It had brought him no great pleasure to close the door on her, listening to her pleas as he walked away. It’d all but broken his heart.

  Which, naturally, if she were a witch was what she’d wish to do. To capture his sympathy and use him to do her bidding. He kept this in mind as he strode across the yard behind the home of the MacGregor, squaring his shoulders as he pushed the woman out of his thoughts.

  His uncle and Kirk were deep in argument when he rejoined them. Now that the witch had been locked away for the moment, they might speak of what they’d found during their mission. “Aye, Kaden, I was just telling your uncle what a daft one he is to wish for peace with Malcolm Fraser.” Kirk spat upon the floor at the mention of the man’s name.

  He reminded himself that Kirk and Clyde were brothers by marriage, and as such had many years of past arguments between them. Very little of what they growled at each other over in the present moment had anything to do with the present moment.

  Kirk MacGregor never tired of belittling his brother-in-law, cursing him as weak and cowardly when truly the man merely used greater sense than the chieftain of Clan MacGregor. Clyde thought things through before acting, believed in planning and looking ahead. Sometimes far enough into the future that he would never live to see the results of the plan he had in mind.

  But let no man call him a coward. No man but Kirk. Kaden had fought beside his uncle enough times to know the man became an animal when the need arose, vicious and bloodthirsty. He’d not think twice of tearing a man’s ear off with his teeth and spitting it into the screaming man’s face, laughing all the while.

  Yet this was always the last resort. Always what he had no choice but to do when every other plan of action had fallen short of its desired goal.

  Kaden knew it was up to him to either agree or disagree with the chieftain. Kirk had a habit of placing him in this position, as many of the younger men of the clan, and even a few of the elders, at that—tended to look upon him for leadership.

  There was no telling how Kirk truly felt about this, watching a younger man gain the respect of so many others. A man who was not himself.

  He cleared his throat. “I dinna believe any of us wishes to go into battle with Malcolm Fraser and his sons,” he began, speaking slowly that he might look about himself and gain a sense for what the others thought. “To me, it seems always the better course of action to seek peace before preparing for battle. Battle is a costly thing. No matter the victor, there is loss on both sides. I’ve no doubt we would come out victorious; we have far more on our side, and better fighters for certain. Yet how many will we lose?”

  He gestured out through the open door toward the village beyond, where women went about their daily work while the men dealt with matters such as these. “And what of them? How many of them will be without their men after we battle? How many will we have to see to, that their bairns will not starve when good men die? Nay, I would rather see to it that we come out of this with all of our heads intact.”

  Kirk’s face went as red as his hair. This did not please him, not in the slightest. “And how do ye intend to talk peace to a man like Malcolm Fraser? Ye know what he is about. He has wanted this land for Clan Fraser ever since his father died and he became chieftain. What are we to offer him that he will stand down and let us go on our way? I shall tell ye, nothing. For nothing will be enough for him. Nay, he wants the land, and nothing less.”

  “Ye might at least send word to the man before he sends his men south,” Clyde advised.

  “Aye, ‘tis agreein’ with them I am,” Fergus muttered. “I crave a good fight, but we must ask the man if there is anything else we can do to avoid a battle. We lost ten brave souls when we fought the Stewarts two winters past.”

  “Two years,” Kirk spat, waving a dismissive hand.

  “Do ye think any of their women sneer and wave a hand when someone speaks of their men?” Kaden challenged. “Fighting a battle, any battle, costs a great deal. Even when we win. Three of the Stewart men died at my hand, and they might well have been good men, but I was glad to see them fall. I am proud of my clan and my kin, and I will defend what is ours. But there are times, surely, when peace must first be pursued.”

  Clyde beamed in pride, and even Fergus managed a crooked smile, his good eye crinkling at the corner. Travis and Gavin, his twin brother, nodded as one.

  Kirk was none too pleased, his keen eyes darting about the room to take in what had turned against him.

  It pained Kaden to see it. “None of us are against tearing through any man Malcolm sends our way,” he added, hoping to make his chieftain see sense. “I would slay any man who tries to take what is mine. We are behind ye if ye wish to go to battle, truly. And woe to the man who speaks against it, for he shall have to answer to me.”

  Kirk’s frown lessened, but only slightly. It still disturbed him to find Kaden standing in opposition. That would simply need to be the way of it, for there was no other way to share his feelings on the matter.

  Suddenly, a rather crafty look came over Kirk’s features, and he smiled. “I know what is to be done.”

  “What is that?” Clyde asked, taking a seat at the long table around which the leaders of the clan normally sat when discussing such matters. Many was the hour they’d spent there, making plans and discussing how to best manage the lands and those living on them. Clyde tempering Kirk’s wild desires, Kirk urging Clyde to be a man of action.

  Kaden observed everything, keeping his thoughts to himself unless called upon to share.

  Kirk rubbed his hands together, a gesture they’d all witnessed countless times before. “We have a weapon at our disposal which I’d wager my left leg Malcolm Fraser does not have.”

  The men glanced at each other, silently questioning what this could mean. A weapon? Kaden’s mind went to their store of flintlocks, hand-forged swords, and the like. None of it was anything another highlander at the head of an army of men would not also possess.

  “What is it, man?” Fergus demanded. “It grows late in the day, and I’ve a bed callin’ to me.” This was met with a murmur of agreement from most of those who’d ridden back from Fraser land. Kaden shared this view along with the others but knew better than to show it.

  Fergus could speak this way and be excused for it simply because of who he was and what he had already done on behalf of the clan. Kaden had yet to
earn the right to speak freely without paying for it in some way.

  Kirk’s eyes were flinty as he looked over those who’d gathered around the table. “We have a witch, men. Must I do the thinking for all of ye?”

  A long, silent moment.

  He heaved a sigh. The sigh of a man questioning how he’d ever come to be surrounded by such slow-witted fools. “She will make certain of our victory. She is a witch. She can—I dinna know just exactly what she will do, but she can be with us on the field of battle and make certain we win.”

  Understanding dawned upon one face after another. Yes, this would be just what they needed. A secret which Malcolm Fraser would never know of as he charged recklessly toward MacGregor territory, intent upon taking what did not belong to him.

  Just like that, in less than a moment, every argument Kaden had raised against rushing headlong into a battle melted as the snow melted before the coming spring. None need lose his life if a witch protected them during the battle. No one need suffer. Clan MacGregor would certainly be victorious with a witch on their side.

  His heart sank, but he took care to keep his thoughts to himself by arranging his face in a bland expression. “What if she is not a witch?” he dared ask. It had to be said. He would be remiss if he did not voice his concern.

  “What are ye on about, man?” Kirk laughed. “What is she? If not a witch?”

  “What did she say to ye as ye put her away?” Clyde asked, his brows rising.

  “Did she use her witchcraft on ye?” Travis asked, suspicious.

  “Nay, nay,” he insisted, shaking his head. “Nothing of the sort. She barely spoke a word. ‘Tis I, myself, asking this. What if she is not a witch and we trust her to protect us, but she canna?”

  “She will prove herself to us,” Kirk declared, slapping his palms onto the table. “She will give proof of what she is able to do, and ye shall see. We have nothing to fear from Malcolm Fraser or any highlander so long as we have a witch among us.”