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

by Annis Reid

  Blair scurried away then, and Anna waited until she was reasonably sure the kid had gotten away unnoticed before sitting down with the plants. What could she do with them? And how could she make it look like she was performing a spell instead of using science and logic?

  The skullcap and mistletoe would work together to soothe the poor horse and make it easier to treat him. She figured on needing a lot of it, and started pulling berries from stems and leaving them aside before mixing the leaves with the purple flowers and crushing them, letting the juices seep into the linen before gathering it all up and tying a knot at the top. If she left it to soak in the horse’s water and had him drink it, it would relax him.

  She hoped.

  The meadowsweet would reduce inflammation, but how could she get it on the horse’s leg in a way that would bring down the swelling? She stared down at the pile of white flowers like they would give her an answer. Think, think. Why was she raised in the city? If she had been raised in the country, around animals, it might’ve been easier to figure this out.

  A plan started to take shape. It would mean using a little razzle dazzle, a little showmanship. But that was one thing she understood, wasn’t it? She knew how to keep an audience entertained. This would be just like performing onstage in front of her fans.

  The way she would’ve been if she hadn’t electrocuted herself into the past like an idiot. Who knew, though? It wasn’t like the equipment came with a warning label. Do Not Touch Unless You Enjoy Time Travel.

  By the time night fell—without so much as another scrap of bread, but it wasn’t like she was about to eat moldy bread, anyway—she thought she had a decent idea of how to get away with this. Sleight of hand. Keep everybody looking one way while she did something else.

  If Kaden was around, he might help her distract them. Would Kirk even let him be around while she did this, though? It seemed like he was starting to wise up a little; he had obviously noticed the way Kaden took interest in her. Did he see that as a threat?

  Probably. And he was probably right, too, since Kaden was working behind his back to help her.

  The night was mostly still, just the sounds of men’s voices in the distance to break up the silence. She was used to that. They weren’t exactly quiet.

  But the voices got louder and louder, which meant they were coming. They were finally coming.

  She stayed clear of the door, with her hands clenched in tight fists. It would be nice to be out of iron shackles for a little while, anyway. No matter how this went, she would be free-ish for a few minutes.

  “Open the door.” Kirk’s voice. He stayed away from the stall, the coward. Maybe he was afraid she’d claw his eyes out or do something witchy. Witches weren’t to be trusted, were they?

  She had never so much wanted to prove somebody right. Let him see how evil she could be, the pig. Throwing her crusts of moldy bread. Keeping her locked in iron for over a week, until her wrists chafed, and the skin peeled. Keeping her away from people.

  Away from Kaden.

  Two men she had never seen before walked in, taking her by the arms and pulling her out of the stall.

  “Watch it,” she snapped. They weren’t exactly gentle.

  “Dinna speak to them, witch.” Kirk was waiting. She spotted the one-eyed guy and her friend with the Adam’s apple who looked a little too excited to be there.

  They were all excited, she realized. They were either about to see something incredible or something… incredible. They would watch her die.

  No wonder these times were considered so dark and backward. Then again, people in modern times were just as excited by public executions and videos of gross things happening to strangers, so maybe things hadn’t changed that much at all.

  “Remove the shackles,” Kirk ordered. Anna made sure to keep her fists tightly closed when she raised her arms for the irons to be removed from her wrists.

  “What have ye hidden in yer hands?” one of the men barked. There was no telling which one, since so many of them had crowded into the stables. It looked like what Kaden had tried to keep quiet had slipped out to just about every clansman over the last week. They were practically crawling over each other to get a better look at her and what she was about to do.

  Whoever he was, she could’ve kissed him. Even if his breath probably reeked like spoiled milk.

  Kirk grunted. “What are ye hiding? Tryin’ to use yer trickery, is that it?” He came to her, grabbing one wrist in a tight grip and prying her fingers open. She bit her lip to keep herself steady, or else she might have gone off on him.

  There was nothing in her hand. In either of them. She held up her empty palms, face-out, showing everyone gathered around that she hadn’t been hiding anything.

  Kirk wasn’t happy. He had wanted to catch her in a lie. “Well, then,” he grumbled, red-faced, “get on with it. Aonghas is lame and will be destroyed if ye dinna heal his leg.” He gestured to the stall in question, the door open so she could see the poor, wounded horse inside.

  “I shall need two buckets of cold water from the stream,” she announced, looking around. She made it a point to look at each man, one at a time, holding their gaze until they got uncomfortable and looked away.

  “Do as she asks,” Kirk muttered, and one of the stable boys hurried out with a bucket in each hand.

  She entered the stall, crouching by the poor horse. “There, there, sweetheart,” she whispered as the horse neighed softly. “We’re gonna help each other tonight. Trust me.”

  With or without Kaden, she had to do this and be convincing about it.

  12

  Kaden ached in every muscle, every bone. It had been one of the longest days of his life, and there were more to come as he got the men in fighting shape.

  None of them were out of shape, not truly, but they had not fought a true battle in two years’ time. A warrior could rust if given that many years without a battle. Kirk did not believe they were in need of such training, but Kirk was a fool.

  He’d never thought of the MacGregor that way before, but things were changing. He saw the clan as if through new eyes. MacGregor was his name, and it was the blood that flowed through his veins, but that did not render him blind and deaf to the mistakes his reckless chieftain took.

  Such as the risk of believing a witch would protect his clan in battle. What a fool he was. What a greedy, stupid man he could be.

  “Where is everyone?” he called out upon approaching the house on horseback. He’d just taken the swords to the smith for sharpening on the whetstone after hours spent in practice, and this was what he found, an empty courtyard, an empty house.

  It hit him all at once, and he was out of the saddle and halfway to the stables in a moment’s time. They’d begun without him. Kirk wished to leave him out of whatever they were doing to her.

  He was easily taller than most of the men in the clan and as such could see over their heads once he reached the open doors. They crowded around, dozens of them, all eager to see a witch at work. None of them would speak to her. Many did not dare look upon her, but they would not miss an opportunity to watch her perform witchcraft.

  Hypocrites, all of them. He wanted nothing more than to push them aside, to let loose a string of the worst profanity he could imagine and tell them what he thought of their watching and murmuring and chuckling.

  She was there, in the center of them, and from the other side of the structure, one of the stable boys entered with a bucket of water in each hand. She directed him inside the stall which held Aonghas, whose pained groans he could hear even over the men’s voices.

  He caught her eye before she stepped into the stall, and the relief his presence brought was evident. But only for a moment, as it would not do for Kirk to know how pleased she was to find him watching.

  “I would ask you to leave space for me to perform my work,” she murmured, sweeping her arms around in all directions. “If you are too near, you may interfere with the magic.”

  He snorted
, then covered it with a cough.

  “What is she going to do?” Domhall asked, looking from one man to the next.

  Gavin shrugged. “What do witches do? I would not know.”

  “As if I would!” Domhall huffed.

  “What say ye?” Travis asked him, taking note of his presence. “What can she do? Ye seem to know her better than any of us.”

  He might have blackened his good friend’s eye for that were the situation not already fraught with danger. “I dinna know. She has never shown me any of that, and I had no wish to see it.”

  Travis snickered. “I’d wager she showed ye somethin’ else, then, eh?”

  Kaden did not bother himself with disguising his fury. “Watch what ye say, man,” he growled. “Or ye shall regret your loose tongue.”

  “Enough of this.” Old Fergus pushed his way through the crowd. “I will not have ye fightin’ like a passel of bairns when we have true fightin’ waiting for us in two or three days’ time.”

  “Too true,” Kaden agreed.

  Fergus glared at him. “Perhaps ye ought not argue with your kin, then,” he suggested. As if it were all Kaden’s fault.

  He’d never been one to keep his thoughts to himself when he felt he’d been wrongly accused, but the doleful glare of the old man’s single eye told him it was time to be silent. If he started a brawl, there was no telling what might become of it.

  Kirk took notice of this. “What are ye on about here?” he demanded, staring directly at Kaden.

  “Not a thing. I merely joined ye when I saw so many gathered ‘round. I had intended to deliver the smith’s message that our weapons ought to be sharpened and ready on the morrow.”

  “Thank ye,” Kirk murmured.

  “And what of her?” Kaden asked, jerking his chin toward the stall. “What is she doing?”

  “How am I to say?” he demanded. “I would not know. We shall see when she has finished.”

  One thing Kaden noticed right off was the lack of groaning coming from the stall after several minutes of Anna being inside with the frightened, pained horse. He imagined that something Blair had gathered would calm the beast.

  Several of the men gathered in front of the stall, peering in through the openings between the wooden slats. He worked his way into that group, watching over their heads with his heart in his throat. Everything depended upon her success, nothing less than everything.

  It appeared she handled herself well. With one hand she stroked the horse’s flank while soaking a rag in a bucket. Occasionally she dipped her hand into the second bucket and cupped water inside which she held up to Aonghas’s mouth for him to drink.

  She chanted something all the while, something Kaden had never heard before. “What is she chanting?” Gavin asked, joining him.

  He shrugged. Something about a man named Old MacDonald and his farm. It was a mystery, as so much about her was. She chanted it, again and again, soft and low, soothing the horse while the drink she had prepared worked its way through his body.

  Once Aonghas seemed calm, she looked over her shoulder to find him watching. He nodded slightly, hoping to reassure her. She was doing well. Already he heard more than one man comment on how the animal seemed to relax in her presence.

  “She has him under her spell,” someone muttered. “A witch can do that, ye ken.”

  He rolled his eyes, choosing to remain silent and concentrate on her. She dipped her free hand into the bucket which held the rag, floating on the surface, and squeezed some of the water from it before placing it on the swollen knee. “There, there,” she whispered, once again reaching into the bucket for a handful of what he recognized as the meadowsweet she’d asked for.

  “What is that?” someone asked.

  “Some sort of devil’s brew,” another whispered, and word spread more quickly than fire through dry grass.

  For the first time, he saw them through her eyes—or how he imagined she must see them. Afraid, all of them, and willing to tell themselves any number of outlandish things to explain what they did not understand.

  She remained calm through all of it, only every so often shushing them when their voices grew loud enough to disturb the horse. She placed the soaked plant over the horse’s swollen flesh, soaking the rag again before wrapping it around the injured leg.

  She stood, drying her hands on her tunic. His tunic. Even belted, it hung to her knees. “The rag ought to be soaked and reapplied every quarter hour,” she announced in a low voice which he noticed was deeper than her speaking voice. “The swelling will have gone down by dawn.”

  “By dawn?” Kirk barked. He had clearly not counted on it taking this long.

  She held up a hand, her brows drawing together over flashing grey eyes. “Please. Do not disturb the creature. Yes, in matters such as these—having to do with flesh—it takes time for the body to heal itself. He will remain calm and relaxed so long as he drinks from the bucket nearest his head. I shall see to it that he does.”

  “I canna stay here all night,” Gavin muttered, disappointed.

  “Nor should ye. Nor should any of us,” Kaden murmured in reply. “By morning, we shall know if her ministrations were successful.”

  Kirk’s cheeks reddened until they nearly matched the color of his beard. He’d so hoped this would be finished quickly, as an impatient child would. “I must return to my home. I suppose many of ye would like to do so. We shall meet here at dawn, and I expect men to remain behind, watching her for an hour at a time,” he added, his eyes narrowing when they landed upon Anna.

  She shrugged. “So long as I can remain out of irons to treat the animal, I do not care how many you leave to watch over me.” She would not give him the satisfaction of argument, wise lass that she was.

  Kirk was too frustrated and impatient to take notice of Kaden standing off to the side, and as such, did not advise against him remaining in the stables overnight before he stormed away, back to the stone house. Most of the men followed, all of them obviously disappointed.

  Kaden asked himself whether it was disappointment at not seeing whether the horse would heal, or over not witnessing Kirk’s punishment of the witch.

  It mattered not, for she was safe. At least, for now. She visibly relaxed, exhausted and relieved for the moment. He hardly dared allow his gaze to linger upon her for too long, fearing what others might mistake his attentiveness for.

  Though it would not be a mistake, of that much he was certain. She may not have been a witch, but she held him in her thrall just the same.

  13

  The only thing she wanted to do, crazy as it sounded, was to run to Kaden and put her head on his chest and breathe easy for a little while. To let him wrap his arms around her and give her comfort while she worried over whether the treatment would help the horse or not.

  The hours it would take for the swelling to go down would be tough to bear, and she knew it. But he was there with her, and that would make it a little easier. She just knew it would.

  “You’re taking a chance, being here,” she whispered when he approached.

  “No more of a chance than any other man who chooses to remain nearby,” he murmured.

  Only they knew that Kirk had forbidden him against spending too much time around her. She had thrown him off enough with her performance that he had forgotten to order Kaden back to the house with him.

  She nodded, accepting this, knowing there was more he wanted to say but didn’t feel free to say. Funny how they had gotten to know each other so well when she was locked in the stall. She might’ve been a prisoner, but they at least felt free to say whatever was on their minds.

  “Do you believe it will work?” he asked.

  “It had better, or else I’m a dead woman.” She glanced over to where a pair of men stood, muttering about her. She fascinated them and scared them and repulsed them all at once, it was obvious.

  She wondered what would happen if she screamed Boo! and jumped at them. How long would it take them to wet the
mselves? How fast would they run away?

  Kaden understood, and went to them so she could have a minute to herself. They talked about training, about getting ready for a battle. The sorts of things she guessed men must’ve talked about in those days. After all, there was no TV, no internet. Nothing to do but talk about the weather and fighting and that was about it.

  Oh, yeah, and about the so-called witch they had found.

  She went back to the horse, soaking the rag in more of the meadowsweet water before wrapping it around the leg again. It would take a little time for the swelling to start to go down, but she was confident it would work well enough to at least make it look like she knew what she was doing.

  None of the men had seen her sneak the plants into the stall. They didn’t know what a bra was, and that women had used bras to hide things from them for a century. And they would never know. That was the weirdest thing of all.

  When she was born, they had all been dead for hundreds of years. She couldn’t think about it for too long, or else she might never be able to stop thinking about it.

  It was morbid, almost. Knowing she was talking to a bunch of dead men.

  Including Kaden, and that was the hardest part of all. He had already lived an entire life without her, and she never would’ve known about him if she hadn’t gotten sucked into the past.

  In her world, in her present day, he was nothing but dust. The land he had walked on no longer bore his footprints. She might have walked in his footsteps more than once as they prepared to take the festival stage—for instance, by the standing stones, which she had examined and admired after Piper found her rune carved into the center stone.

  “I think we are safe enough for now. I sent one of them home and asked him to return in a while to relieve the other.” He noticed her dragging the back of her hand under her eyes. “What is it?”

  She shook her head, too choked up to speak. She had never given it any thought before, but now it was all she could think of. When she went home, it would be to a world without him. A world that had completely changed in the centuries since he died.