Highlander Avenged: A Scottish Time Travel Romance

by Preston, Rebecca

  “I’m fine,” Gavin said irritably, taking a spoonful of his ration of soup. “It’s been a hell of a day, that’s all.”

  “I’ve been in here all day, helping Mary and Margaret hold down the fort,” Bethany explained. It had been a good way to spend a day, actually — she’d barely worried about Graham at all, she’d been so involved with all the domestic duties. “What’s our status?”

  “We’re doing just fine,” Gavin said blearily. “Matthew, on the other hand, has already sustained losses.”

  Her heart leapt into her throat. “What kind of losses?”

  “He mounted an assault on the walls mid-afternoon. Men with grappling hooks. No idea what the man was expecting,” he said, a weary chuckle loosening itself from his throat. “He lost a dozen men to our first volley of arrows, then retreated. Terrible shame, really,” he added, his face solemn. “To lose your life so pointlessly…”

  “Were any of the men they lost… men from this morning?” Was it Graham? she wanted to shout, grab Gavin by the shoulders and shake him until he told her something… but she bit her lip, keeping control of herself with difficulty. But to her dismay, she could sense her sister looking at her curiously.

  “I don’t think so.” Gavin shrugged. “Didn’t recognize any of ‘em. Are you worried about your prisoner?”

  “A little,” she admitted, seizing on an excuse. “I mean, he’s a MacClaran, isn’t he? Aren’t you all worried about him too?”

  “He’s made his choice.” Gavin shrugged, though his face was troubled. “I’d be thrilled if the lad chose to change sides, but … I don’t see that happening. And if it’s a choice between him and the castle… I choose the safety of this family, every time.”

  And maybe it was the stress, but Bethany, to her horror, could feel tears prickling at the backs of her eyes. Gavin had turned his gaze back to his dinner and was oblivious — but she didn’t get quite so lucky with Delilah, who was looking at her with an expression of complete shock. Biting her lip, she turned away — but Delilah followed her right out of the dining hall and into the entrance hall of the castle, where she grabbed her by the elbow and forced her to turn around.

  “Bethany! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry in all my life. What’s wrong, love?”

  “Nothing,” she said, pressing the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. She was furious with herself for letting this happen — for letting these feelings creep into her mind. “Nothing, I’m just… it’s been a stressful day, you know. And it’s sad, knowing those men are losing their lives for such a stupid reason… and I’m worried about everyone here in the castle, too, the villagers and everyone —”

  “That’s too many reasons,” Delilah said levelly, peering at her closely. “You’re covering up the real reason with a bunch of fake ones. You don’t cry when you’re stressed, Bethany. You don’t cry — ever. I’ve literally never seen you cry. What on earth is going on?”

  “Just — leave it alone, okay, Delilah?” She hesitated. Should she come clean — tell her sister what was going on? No. She just couldn’t bring herself to do it. If she started talking about Graham, the tears that were threatening were going to spill over… and she was worried she’d never stop. “I just… don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay,” Delilah said simply, surprising her. “I love you, Bethany. You talk to me when you can, if you want to. I’ll be here.”

  Bethany nodded, watching her sister walk away. Then she turned and started the grim trek up the stairs to her room, alone.

  But the restless sleep she fell into didn’t last long. She woke in the night to the sounds of hushed voices and footsteps in the hallway — it sounded for all the world like the whole castle was awake. She sat up blearily, peeking out the window — it was the middle of the night. What on earth were people doing awake? But something caught her eye — and she gasped in horror, sitting up properly in bed and moving to her window, praying that she hadn’t seen what she thought she’d seen.

  But she was. There it was, burning bright as the sun — the entire village was up in flames. Every single building was burning — she could almost feel the heat on her face from here, as though the light of the fires was radiating warmth across the miles between the castle and the village. Horror surged through her. What on earth was Matthew doing? He must know the village was empty of villagers and of livestock… he’d found that out the day before, surely. Why on earth was he burning it down? What tactical advantage was he gaining?

  No — she realized it wasn’t that complicated. Matthew wasn’t interested in a tactical advantage. It wasn’t why he was besieging the castle, and it wasn’t why he was laying waste to the village. He was burning it down because the people in the castle had killed a dozen of his men. He was burning an entire village for revenge.

  She sat staring out into the night for a long time. She could hear the rest of the castle, awake alongside her, also bearing witness to the destruction of the village… all of them completely powerless to do anything about it. And once the fires had burned down and she lay back down in bed, it was a long, long time before she could get back to sleep again.

  But dawn came, and with it, fresh determination to fight against the monsters outside their walls. Bethany pulled herself out of bed, ignoring the faint smell of burning that was coming to her on the morning breeze, pulled on her clothes and her boots and set off down the hallway with grim determination to make this a productive day. The mood in the castle was somber… she found herself avoiding eye contact with the villagers. She just had no idea what to say. What did you say to a child whose home had burned down — to a mother who had no place to take her children back to, to a father who’d lost the house he built for his family with his own hands? It wasn’t her strong suit, words of comfort. So she set about helping the only way she knew how — by making herself useful.

  Mary seemed to sense she needed the distraction. She helped prepare breakfast, helped serve it — took a five-minute break to wolf down her own ration before she was away again, helping clear the tables, scrub the huge supply of bowls clean. There was more rationing to sort out, more cooking, more cleaning — the morning passed in a whirlwind, time melting away as she bent the entirety of her will and her mind to the menial tasks in front of her.

  And so it was that she was in the kitchen when they hauled Graham into the Great Hall for questioning.

  At first, she thought she was imagining the sound of his voice. But then she looked up from the onions she was chopping, frowning… she moved over to the door between the kitchen and the great hall and peered through it. There was Donal, looking tired but regal, every bit the young Laird of the castle. And in front of him… her heart stuttered. It couldn’t be. It was. Graham, kneeling between two guards, his hands raised and his sword noticeably absent from his belt — she saw one of the guards holding an extra weapon and realized he’d been disarmed. Her onions forgotten, she stared, wide-eyed. Had Graham been captured?

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Donal was demanding, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “First your Lord tells us there’s nothing to discuss and all he wants is to kill us, next he’s sending a messenger through our gates? Give me one reason I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

  Bethany bit her lip — but she knew it was an empty threat. She knew Donal too well to believe he’d kill a prisoner — he was an honorable man. Besides, he knew that Graham was his kin. But why was Graham here? What message could Matthew have? Was he here to gloat about burning down the village, perhaps?

  “I’m not bringing a message,” Graham said, his head lowered. “I’m not here from Matthew at all. I’ve left his service.”

  Bethany caught her breath, trying to keep as quiet as she could behind the door… somehow, she suspected that Donal wouldn’t approve of her spying on his private audiences. Had she heard that right? He’d left his old Lord? Had some of what she’d said actually gotten through to him? Hope was singing in her chest… but it was tempered a
little by the frown on Donal’s face.

  “You expect me to believe that, do you? After what I heard from you and your Lord yesterday?”

  “I understand if you don’t believe me,” Graham said, stoic under pressure. “I wouldn’t believe me either. But it’s the truth. Please — lock me up if you need to, I won’t resist. Just know that I’m not his man any longer.”

  “And why’s that then? You were willing enough to serve him when you took a member of our family prisoner.” Bethany felt an odd surge of warmth at that — did Donal really consider her family?

  “I’ve had my concerns about Matthew’s way of doing things for a long time,” Graham was saying, his voice level. “After last night, the burning of the village, I was on the edge of leaving. But what I learned this morning tipped me over the edge. I waited until most of the men were asleep, and I came to throw myself on your mercy.”

  “And what did you learn this morning?” Donal asked, clearly curious, though he was attempting to sound disinterested and cold.

  “Matthew has a woman in his service called Cristabella — a witch, a woman from Spain. They’re lovers,” he added dismissively. “She has considerable power over men — she has the ability to drive them completely out of their minds. This morning, I overheard Matthew instructing her to send his forces into such a berserk rage.”

  “His own forces? What for?”

  “Have you ever fought a man who doesn’t fear death?” Graham asked simply. A chill ran down Bethany’s spine as she listened. “They are… unbelievably destructive. To themselves as well as others. He intends to send his forces on a suicide mission… to allow Cristabella to send them berserk, then send them to dash themselves to death on your walls, all at once.”

  “That’s… horrific,” Donal said softly, his tough guy act forgotten in the wake of the carnage that Graham was describing.

  “Aye, it is,” Graham agreed. “And it’s not the kind of thing I can tolerate. Not anymore. His men may be mercenaries, and they’ve done evil things in his name… but nobody deserves a death like that.”

  “How do I know that I can believe you?” Donal said suspiciously. “This might all be a bluff.”

  “Lock me up,” Graham said simply. “I know a castle like this must have cells. I’ll go willingly — I’m even willing to go without food, I know you’re probably rationing your supplies at this stage. Lock me up and wait to see if what I’ve told you about Matthew is true. I’m willing to do what it takes to earn your trust, Donal, no matter how long that might take me.”

  “Very well,” Donal said, clearly taken aback by the man’s changed demeanor. “Take him to the dungeons,” he told the guards, clearly a little taken aback by what had happened. “Make him comfortable, though,” he added, frowning. “Blankets, if there are any spare, and a pillow — those cots are rather unpleasant.”

  “Another thing, Laird Donal?”

  “What’s that?”

  Graham was on his feet. “Matthew had instructed Cristabella to cast her spell on the men inside the walls, too,” he said. “Whether she’ll be able to perform such magic at such a distance, I’m unsure… but it may be worth keeping an eye on your men for signs of madness.”

  “I see. And is there any way to prevent this spell from being cast?”

  Graham hesitated. “I understand,” he said carefully, “that the accusations of witchcraft levelled against this castle that I’ve heard all my life may have been… exaggerated. Inaccurate. But nevertheless… if there are witches here, or anyone who understands anything about magic… it may be worth consulting them.”

  Donal nodded, his face giving nothing away. “Well said, Graham. We’ll talk more, I think, you and I.”

  And then they were gone, striding off toward the doors to the Great Hall, leaving Bethany absolutely reeling in the kitchen. She returned to her onions, needing something to do with her hands while her mind raced, trying to catch up with what she’d just learned. Graham had changed sides, just as she’d been hoping he would… he’d surrendered, come to the castle, thrown himself on the mercy of the Laird. But — could she trust that it was a sincere gesture? What if it was a trap, as Donal had suspected? Or worse — what if he was telling the truth, and Cristabella was about to cast a spell that drove all the men in the castle berserk?

  She finished chopping the onions in a daze, then went to find Mary. “Hello, Mary. I’ve finished with the onions, but I need a little bit of a break,” she advised her.

  Mary just nodded, shooing her away with a fond smile.

  That woman is a saint, she thought dazedly. But right now, she didn’t need a saint. She didn’t need distraction, or busy work to occupy her hands. What she needed was a long, serious conversation with her sister Delilah. She should have told her everything about Graham the minute she got back to the castle. Delilah would know what to do… she’d always been infinitely better at feelings and all of that nonsense.

  And Bethany had a lot of feelings to deal with… and with an army on their doorstep, not much time to do it in.

  Chapter 24

  She was halfway up the stairs when she met Marianne on her way down. The woman swept her up in her wake, talking a mile a minute — she needed to find Fiona as soon as possible, they’d been given an extremely important mission by Laird Donal himself, and by the way did Bethany happen to have any magical powers she hadn’t mentioned? Half laughing, half concerned, Bethany followed along.

  “What’s going on, exactly?”

  “I just ran into Donal,” Marianne explained, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. “He said they’d received word about some kind of .. spell, being cast. It seems that the witch hunters have a witch with them.”

  “Yes,” Bethany said, confident she could talk about this at least without revealing that she’d been eavesdropping on the Laird. “Her name’s Cristabella. I met her when they were keeping me prisoner.”

  “Of course,” Marianne said, her eyes twinkling. “I forgot about your daring adventure. Anyway, Donal says it’s possible she’s trying to cast some kind of spell on the men of the castle and wants those among us who are magically inclined to try to perform a counter-spell.”

  Bethany was shocked. “So you and Fiona —”

  “Well, yes, we’re actual witches, yes. Fiona only recently discovered that she had actual powers, thanks to some books her predecessor left behind. Audrina has a few powers as well, but mostly with herbs and such. Don’t tell anyone,” she added, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Wouldn’t want word getting out that the MacClarans are harboring a bunch of witches, now would we? Oh, wait. Oh, dear.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh — something about Marianne’s energy was infectious. The woman chuckled as they headed across the courtyard.

  “Sorry I’m so — animated. It just feels so good to have an actual concrete task to perform. I’ve felt so useless these last few days just pottering around helping with the laundry. A counter-spell? That’s much more productive.”

  “I didn’t know you were — you know, magical,” Bethany said, pausing to reflect on the profound absurdity of this conversation. Two weeks ago, she’d have scoffed at the very concept of magic. Now, it was of just passing interest that a friend of hers was a practicing witch.

  Marianne was nodding. “I mean, my magic isn’t especially reliable. I’m good at scrying — learning things, seeing things — but I don’t have a lot of actual power. Fiona, though, she’s got a huge amount of power in her. As I said, those books of hers, they opened up or unlocked something in her. So together, we make a pretty good team. At least, I hope we do. We’re certainly going to do our best. Fiona! There you are!”

  Predictably, Fiona was in the middle of being a busybody — she was messing around with a tent, lecturing its bemused inhabitant on the proper method of erection, and she turned with a quizzical look on her pretty face as Marianne and Bethany approached her.

  “What’s up?”

  “Important business,” Marian
ne said significantly, glancing over her shoulder at the villagers. “Come with us.”

  “What’s happening?” Fiona asked in a low voice as they crossed the courtyard again.

  Bethany feeling rather extraneous to the whole situation. Marianne explained the counter-spell, and Fiona clapped her hands with delight.

  “Excellent! Something useful! Bethany, will you be helping us? Do you have power?”

  “I don’t think so,” Bethany admitted. She hadn’t considered the possibility that she might be magical — it was a lot to consider. “I was actually looking for Delilah.”

  “She’s over there,” Marianne said brightly, pointing to the top of the stairs — and a few seconds later, the door to the castle swung open and there stood Delilah, blinking in surprise down at her sister.

  “But how did you know — “

  “Gotta go,” Marianne said cheerfully. “Wish us luck!”

  Somehow, Bethany thought as the two women hustled off, arm in arm, she didn’t think the two were going to need any luck to do what they were doing. Delilah came down the steps, looking quizzical, and Bethany took a deep breath. “Lilah? Can we talk?”

  “You never call me that,” Delilah said suspiciously. “What’s up?”

  “Something I should’ve told you a long time ago. Come on.”

  They walked around the castle to a quiet nook where they wouldn’t be overheard. Here, the sun had been baking the stone wall of the castle all morning, and it was very pleasant to lean against it, both of them sitting cross-legged with their backs to the wall. Delilah glanced sideways at her, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

  “Well? What’s going on?”

  “I didn’t tell you everything that I found out in the mercenary camp,” she said, steeling herself. “Graham … you know he’s a MacClaran?”

  “Yeah. Kenneth’s son, right?” Delilah clicked her tongue. “Horrible man. Can’t imagine he was a good father.”