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

by Annis Reid

  He could not lie to her. It would be too cruel, far crueler than being honest now and letting her down the way he was. He’d long known she’d favored him but had never given her much thought.

  He was not against the notion of finding a wife. He had simply not considered it for himself. Better she know that now and find a man who might make a good husband.

  For now, there was only one woman who would ever do. He’d never make any woman a fine husband now, for his heart would always be with her. He would disappoint his wife just as he now disappointed Blair, and no woman deserved that.

  He patted her arm, lowering his gaze so as to avoid watching her heart breaking. “I had best speak to Kirk,” he offered by way of apology, then stood before she had the chance to ask him not to go. It was better this way. The lass was young and bonny, she would find someone else soon enough.

  Kirk all but slumped out of his chair, having begun his celebrating long before Kaden’s arrival. “Och, there ye are,” the chieftain slurred, only one eye open.

  “Aye, here I am. I had to attend to the weapons and the horses.” Someone had to, since everyone else had seemed to forget in the heat of the moment. They had women and bairns to return to, someone to bathe their wounds and soothe their fevered tempers.

  “I have always been able to depend upon ye,” Kirk smiled. “Ye have proven yourself time and again, and I am ever grateful. Do I not show ye how grateful I am?”

  He sounded nearly fit to fight, the question coming out more as a challenge to Kaden’s ears. “Ye do, always,” he assured him, even as his eyes moved back and forth. Where was she? She’d been seated at Kirk’s side on his arrival. He’d assumed she would return.

  The thought of her brought another notion to his mind. Could he manage it? Kirk was well in his cups by then and would likely not recall this conversation in the morning. Perhaps now was the best time.

  He took the chair in which Anna had sat, pulling it close to Kirk’s. “I need your leave for several days. A week, at the most.”

  Kirk frowned. “For what, man? A week?”

  He nodded, wishing the man would keep his voice low. Then again, no one was listening, all of them engaged in celebration. “I must find someone. Someone the lass needs most terribly.”

  “The witch?” Kirk asked, his eyes narrowing. “Ye care too much for her, lad, and that is a fact.”

  “She must have the help of… another witch,” he admitted, reminding himself that anything he said now would surely be lost to the amount of mead which the man had already consumed. “I knew of one when I was a lad, and I thought perhaps she might be alive still. I must try to find her.”

  “A second witch?” His brows lifted as he tried in vain to right himself in his chair. “What is this, now? Ye know a witch, lad?”

  Kaden winced. “Aye, I did. As I said, I was a lad, little more than a bairn. If I can find her, she might assist Anna.”

  “Assist her in what?”

  “Going home. She has to find her way home.” There was no explaining it any other way that Kirk would understand. “She has done what ye asked of her, and now it is time for her to go back to her own people. But to do that, she needs the assistance of another witch. I know nothing else about it. This is what she told me some time ago. I felt it best to wait until the battle had been won, ye ken. Now that it has, I believe we owe her the chance to return to her home.”

  If only he knew what the man was thinking, his face little more than a flushed mask. Perhaps he fought to understand what he’d just heard, as drunk as he was.

  “Do I have your permission to go, then?” he prompted when Kirk did not answer straight away.

  Kirk blew out a long sigh. “Aye. Do what ye must. But dinna take your time of it. Who is to say what might come of what we did today? Malcolm Fraser might gain sympathy from his supporters. They could come for us at any time.”

  Kaden doubted this. The man would likely lick his wounds for a bit, ponder how to gain the freedom of the prisoners taken from him, and that was that. If he was half as wise as he was made out to be, he would stay far from MacGregor land after such a crushing defeat.

  “Aye,” he agreed nonetheless. “I shall be quick about it. By the by, did the lass return to the stables?”

  Kirk shook his head, reaching for his cup and missing the first time. He managed to wrap his fingers around it and brought it to his mouth. “Nay, I’ve set a room aside for her here. I want her close to me in case I need her again.”

  And he was leaving her. Something about this arrangement disturbed him, though he could not quite understand why. It seemed Kirk would be eager to be rid of her, as he still believed her to be a witch.

  “Ye recall the law, do ye not?” he asked, taking care to use the proper words so as to not enflame him. “Witches are not to be consulted with. We managed to avoid being discovered until this point. I would not wish for anyone to know of her.”

  “Leave that to me,” Kirk spat. “Just because I tell ye I know your value doesna give ye the right to speak to me so.”

  “I didna—”

  “Get away from me. Now.” He turned away, lifting his cup again, leaving Kaden speechless and knowing he’d taken the wrong step. But what was he to do? It was either remind Kirk of the danger a witch meant for all of them—himself more than anyone else—or warn him against placing so much as a finger on her in his absence.

  Was it wise to leave her alone now?

  He left then, uninterested in the celebration even before that disastrous conversation. Blair watched him. He felt her eyes burning into him from across the room, but he managed to pretend he did not notice. Just as Anna had pretended to care about anything when she walked past.

  Unless she had not been pretending.

  It was enough to drive a man mad, all this questioning and pondering and supposing. Little wonder many men swore they would never entangle themselves with a woman, for the entire situation was little better than torture.

  He was glad to be out of doors, breathing deeply after nearly choking on the smoke inside. Normally, nothing would have stopped him from walking straight to his hut and locking himself inside. It had been a trying day, a deadly one. A man needed time to get over bringing another man’s life to an end.

  At least, he did.

  Somehow, even the thought of sweet solitude did little to ease the fever burning its way through his mind. For she was near, though he knew not precisely where, and the notion of leaving her alone was the same as a knife sliding into his chest.

  The sound of singing floated his way on the night breeze. A sweet sound, melodic, charming.

  Her.

  He followed the sound, relishing each word she sang. He understood nothing about the song itself but did not need to. It was the loveliest thing he’d ever heard, reminding him of the trilling of songbirds.

  She was behind a narrow window, in a room several rooms down from the great hall. He crouched beneath that window, glad for a cloudy sky which allowed him to hide himself in shadow. It would hardly do for anyone to notice him sneaking about outside a lass’s chambers.

  Even if the lass was supposedly a witch.

  The song was a sad one, he realized, the voice filled with heartache. He heard the words more clearly now. A woman singing to a man, telling him she would always love him but had to leave him.

  Was he the man she would always love? He held his breath. Anything to hear her more clearly, anything to delight in the sweet music. She had a gift, to be sure.

  Once the final notes drifted off and she fell silent, there was no helping himself. He stood, yet remained off to the side. “Ye sing like a bird,” he murmured, wishing not to startle her.

  It mattered not. “What are you, a creeper? What are you doing out there?”

  “I heard ye singing.” He need not ask what a creeper was. He could imagine very well without her explaining.

  “You could’ve let me know you were out there.” She came to the window, looking out
at him. He could not see much more than her face, but that was more than enough.

  “I didna wish to disturb ye. It was a bonny song, and ye have a bonny singing voice.”

  “Thank you.” She blushed, looking down at the floor. “I wanted so much to see you today.”

  “As I wished to see ye, lass.”

  “You were so brave.”

  “I did what had to be done to spare ye. Ye know what he would have done to ye if we had not won. I would gladly have cut through the entire army of men for your sake.”

  “Kaden, please…” She was quick about it, but there was no missing the tear she brushed from her downturned cheek. “This is hard enough as it is. You don’t know how it tears me up. Everything you’ve done for me, and I’m just gonna have to leave.”

  For one brief, mad moment, he considered telling her not to leave. To stay with him always.

  It was not to be, and he would be the worst sort of fool to suggest it. Knowing she was already under strain. “I merely wished to tell ye what was true. Nothing more. I would never bring ye pain.”

  “I know that.”

  “I am leaving before dawn.”

  “Leaving?” she whispered, eyes wide when they met his again. Wide and teary. “Why? For where?”

  “Where do ye think, lass? To find your witch.”

  “You’re still gonna do that? After—”

  “I gave ye my word, lass. I ken what it means to ye, going home. Ye have no place in this world. Your people are waiting for ye, and I canna keep ye from them.” Every word was torture, worse than anything he could imagine suffering otherwise. Not only allowing her to slip away from him, but helping her to do so.

  She reached out, and he took her hand. “Thank you. You’re… I…”

  “Say nothing.” He lowered his head, pressing his lips to the back of her hand. It was easier that way.

  * * *

  The rain fell in a fine mist as Kaden rode from the village. He raised the hood of his cloak, glad the journey would not be a long one.

  There had been no way of explaining to Kirk that he knew exactly where this witch made her home. That it was less than a day’s ride away. To do so would mean having knowledge of her, and were she ever discovered to be a witch the authorities might use him or Kirk or any of the others in the clan to find her and bring her to justice.

  He could not have that. Not ever.

  Even now, he knew the way by heart. How many years had it been? Five? Seven? He’d lost count long ago. Yet he might have made the ride with his eyes closed and still reached her door unscathed.

  Turn left at the stones. Into the woods. Follow the stream to the place where it split. Go right and follow that all the way out until reaching the twin spruce trees whose branches had over centuries grown together, until they appeared more like a single tree whose trunk had split.

  Just beyond those two trees, beneath the shade of the interlocking branches, was the round, stone hut with the thatched roof. Handfuls of herbs and plants normally hung outside to dry, but the damp weather meant bringing them inside.

  Anyone unaware of the witch’s presence would easily ride past the spot, hidden as it was. This was by design, as she would not wish to be noticed. Life was more easily—and safely—led when outsiders were unaware of her existence.

  “Ye have been fighting.”

  She had slipped up beside him without his notice, as she’d ever been able to do. Always watchful of him, she was, studying him when he least expected it.

  “Aye, I have at that,” he replied on dismounting. She was a tall woman, taller than some men he knew. Long, chestnut hair had begun to grey. She wore it loose as she always had, flowing down her back. “How did ye know it?”

  “I can sense it on ye,” she murmured, shaking her head. “I smell the blood of men who are not yourself.”

  “Aye, and had I not shed their blood, I would not be standing before ye now,” he grumbled. This was ever the way of it. They’d not been in each other’s presence for more than half a minute and already he had to defend himself.

  “I would merely prefer ye not fight at all.”

  “I would merely prefer ye not fuss over me so,” he replied, ducking her hand as it reached for his face.

  “How do ye expect me not to fuss over ye?” she asked, hazel eyes peering up at his. “I am your mam, after all.”

  17

  At least she wasn’t as sore as a night spent on a bed of straw usually left her.

  And there wasn’t anything to pick out of her hair or off her clothes, which was another plus. Also, no horses pooping all around her. It still smelled funky, but not nearly as pungent as a horse stall.

  Things had improved. Not enough to make her want to stay, however.

  She sat up, stretching and groaning as her muscles came back to life. What would they think if they barged into her room and found her doing yoga? She’d probably be burned at the stake before the morning was out. A good, long massage was the first thing she’d schedule on getting back to her time.

  It was a splurge, but she deserved a splurge after what she’d been through.

  She sighed with a smile, imagining going back to everything she missed. The little things people got used to and took for granted every day. Coffee on demand. Checking the weather forecast on her phone before getting out of bed in the morning. Pulling up a favorite playlist to get moving or change her mood. Ordering anything and everything and getting it with free two-day shipping.

  Deodorant. Shampoo. Hot water, for God’s sake, flowing from the tap whenever she turned the handle. Feeling clean, rubbing lotion on her skin, having an actual mirror to look into.

  And more than one outfit.

  Kaden’s clothes were nice and everything, but she needed more than this. Her clothes were washed and folded, and had been hidden in the stables under the straw until she asked Kaden to get them for her. Now, they were under her makeshift bed, waiting to be worn again.

  Putting them on now would only remind everybody of her ink, and the ink would remind them of her witchiness. That wouldn’t help anything.

  That was a stroke of inspiration, asking for the clothes. Anything to end the awkward, painful, achingly sweet moment with that stone wall between them. His lips on the back of her hand. She could’ve melted then and there.

  But instead, she’d wanted to cry. It was so unfair. There would’ve been no surviving without him. She might have died of dehydration, and that was a best-case scenario sort of thing, but finding him meant she had to leave him.

  He was the only thing that could’ve kept her there. The one and only. But even he wasn’t enough.

  She went to the window again, looking out over a gray, wet day. Mud everywhere. Charming. It wasn’t all that bad when the sun was shining, and the ground was dry.

  All they needed was a sewer system, and she might’ve considered it livable.

  He was out there in this, riding through the rain for her. Did they make men like him anymore? How would any man ever live up to him?

  Poor guys, whoever they were. They didn’t stand a chance against the memory of a dead man.

  A knock sounded at the door, and just in time. She might have broken down and sobbed in another second or two, thinking of the hundreds of years between them. “Yes?” she called out, looking down at herself. She was presentable.

  Hell, she looked just the same as she had at the feast. It wasn’t like she had pajamas to change into.

  The door opened, and her guard was out there. He looked like death and smelled even worse. She guessed he’d thrown up at least once that morning and would’ve bet just about every man in the clan was in similar shape.

  The guy was holding her prisoner, essentially, but she still felt sorry for him. “You look like you had a difficult night,” she winced.

  “’Tis the morning concerns me,” he growled before letting out a sour belch. “Och, is there anything ye can offer me?”

  He was asking for a hangover cure.
Oh, this was too funny. “Do you have any fatty meat anywhere? You know, something greasy. Bacon? Do you even have that here? Anyway, ask the cook to fry you up a couple of eggs in a lot of fat, and have some fatty meat with it. Soak it all up with bread. It might help. Fatty, greasy food always does.”

  She might not have been a witch, but she knew all about hangovers.

  He nodded, and even that looked like it pained him. “The MacGregor wishes to see ye,” he mumbled before staggering off.

  “Thanks?” she called out after him. It would’ve been nice if he had pointed her in the right direction. She tried to think back on how she got to the room from the great hall, then how she got to the great hall from the front door to the house. That front room was where Kirk had first met with her, and she guessed it was as good a place as any for him to receive her now.

  The great hall looked and smelled like a massacre had taken place there. She tiptoed past dozens of men and women still asleep on the floor. It amazed her that anybody could sleep with so much snoring going on. They would be pretty miserable once they woke up. With any luck, she would be back in her room with the door shut tight.

  Sure enough, Kirk was by the fire, looking over a crude map traced on parchment. He stroked his chin, muttering something to himself.

  She stopped short, not knowing if she should disturb him.

  “Come,” he muttered, waving a hand without looking up. “I sent for ye.”

  “I know. That’s what brought me to you. What can I do?” She walked slowly, hesitating each time she put a foot down. He was probably in the same shape as the rest of them and wouldn’t appreciate her making a ton of noise.

  Yet when he looked up from the map, it was clear he wasn’t in bad shape at all. Maybe a little worn out from fighting and partying, but clear-eyed and eager to get on with a new project. She just got that feeling from him as they stood looking at each other from opposite sides of the table.