Call of a Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Arch Through Time Book 8)

by Katy Baker

  “What do you want?” Beth demanded.

  “Boss wants to see ye,” the man replied. “Ye are to come with me. Would be better for ye if ye do so voluntarily.” He shrugged. “But it’s all the same to me. Shall we?” He nodded at the open door.

  Beth swallowed then crossed to the door. The man came up behind her and she felt the prod of a blade point against her back.

  “Dinna try anything stupid.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Beth murmured.

  The man guided her back through the castle on the same route she’d used with MacGregor earlier. As they neared the courtyard, she heard the low hum of many voices and as they reached it she saw that the wooden benches were now crammed full of people. The newcomers were all men, some dressed as raggedly as the outlaws, but others wearing fine clothes that marked them out as prosperous merchants or men of some import. They were chatting amongst themselves and an air of excited expectation hung over the space. Over in the corner a man was scrawling numbers onto a large piece of slate and there seemed to be a lot of money changing hands. What the hell was going on?

  The crowd noticed Beth’s entrance and more than one leer was aimed in her direction but nobody spoke to her as the guard steered her through the crowd to a bench at the back that was raised higher than the others. MacGregor sprawled on the bench, a richly dressed man wearing a plaid pattern she didn’t recognize, seated by his side. MacGregor stood and gave her a bow.

  “Ah! Glad ye could join us, my lady. Please, take a seat.”

  Beth perched herself uneasily on the bench. From here she had an unobstructed view of the whole room and she could see over the heads of the crowd to the cage.

  “Lady Beth Carter, I’d like ye to meet Alistair Stewart, an associate of mine. He owns the lands that border the mountains. We have an...arrangement.”

  The richly dressed man scowled at MacGregor. “An arrangement? I would call it more than that. A partnership. I allow you free passage through my lands, risking the wrath of the king should he find out so I expect fully half the takings from this venture, as we agreed!”

  “Of course!” MacGregor said, smiling. “As we agreed.”

  Alistair Stewart turned cold eyes on Beth. “Yer latest doxy, MacGregor?”

  MacGregor snorted. “Naught so simple. Lady Carter is my ticket to riches.”

  “Riches?” Stewart snapped. “What does that mean?”

  MacGregor only smiled. “Ye will see.” He waved a hand and one of his men hurried over carrying a trencher of roasted meat. MacGregor grabbed a chicken leg and began tearing at it. “Would ye care for something to eat, my lady?”

  Beth’s stomach growled. In truth she was starving but there was no way she was going to accept any of this snake’s hospitality. She didn’t answer his question but pointedly looked away. Her defiance seemed to amuse him. He barked a laugh, waved away the serving man, and then climbed to his feet, spreading his arms wide.

  A hush settled over the room. All eyes turned towards MacGregor. “Welcome to my kingdom!” he yelled. “As ye can see, the rumors of my demise were greatly exaggerated and I am still very much in business! I am still the humble servant of ye shrewd gentlemen who are here to make themselves rich and have some entertainment into the bargain!” There was a rumble of cheers at this. “Now, let us delay no longer! All wagers have been placed. Let the entertainment begin!”

  Two men strode into the courtyard and were let into the cage through a small door. The men were stripped to the waist, their hair pulled into a tight tail at the back of their heads. They were both big, scarred men who were obviously used to fighting. They entered the cage and took up fighting stances three paces apart. Neither were armed but there were weapons tossed in various spots on the floor of the cage. Beth spotted a spear, a sword, a mace.

  Her stomach contracted with loathing as she realized what she was witnessing. This was a fighting pit. A place where men came to earn money with their fighting skills and other men came to make money by betting on the winner. Such things still existed in the twenty-first century, despite them being illegal in most civilized countries. But even those she’d heard about during her training as a lawyer didn’t allow the use of weapons. The fact that such lethal weapons had been tossed into the arena could only mean one thing: a fight to the death. She suddenly felt nauseous and grabbed the edge of the bench to keep from falling.

  MacGregor grinned around at the spectators and then raised his arm above his head, his hand clenched into a fist. Then he brought his arm down in a swift, smooth gesture, signaling the beginning of the bout.

  The two men whirled into motion, both splitting away to grab the weapons. One seized a sword, the other a mace, and they began circling like two predators. The crowd burst into a chorus of yelling and whistling, shouting encouragement to whichever of the men they had betted on.

  Beth pressed her eyes closed, fighting the nausea that threatened to pitch her from her seat. No, no, no, she told herself. This is not happening. This is a nightmare and I’ll wake up in a minute. But the sounds that came to her from the fighting cage asserted that it was very, very real. She heard the clang of weapons, the grunt of exertion, the horrible wet crunch as weapon met flesh.

  A cheer erupted and despite herself, Beth opened her eyes. One of the men lay on the ground, a pool of blood spreading beneath his still form whilst the other stood over him, holding up his sword triumphantly. Beside her, MacGregor was clapping, a wide grin splitting his face. Alistair Stewart scowled and then handed over a fat purse which MacGregor grabbed.

  “Ye should have listened to me,” he said to his companion. “I told ye ye were betting on the wrong man. Mayhap ye’ll listen to my advice for the next bout.”

  Next bout? Beth thought. You mean there’s more of this madness? She looked around, desperately searching for a way to escape but she was surrounded by a sea of outlaws, all half-mad with the sight of blood.

  A sudden commotion spread through the crowd as they turned to look towards the corridor that lead to the room. Approaching footsteps echoed along its length and then three men stepped inside. Two of them were obviously MacGregor’s guardsman but the third was the sight Beth had been praying for.

  Cam.

  He walked with a slight limp and had a bandage torn from his shirt tied around his thigh but that was the only concession made to his injury. The guards grabbed him, forcing him to halt, and his eyes roved over the gathering, searching. They came to rest on Beth and she felt her breath leave her. The room, the noise, the yowl of the men, all fell away as she met Cam’s gaze across the room.

  Sudden hope flared in her chest and she surged to her feet, ready to fling herself in his direction, to fight her way through if she had to. But MacGregor’s cold fingers suddenly closed around her wrist, as hard as iron.

  He stood. A hush fell through the room.

  “Welcome!” MacGregor called. “Ye are right on time, my old friend. The second bout is just about to begin. I’m sure our champion, Iain, would like to test his mettle against the Demon Blade.”

  A murmur went through the room and Beth saw looks of disbelief on the faces of the spectators. The guards flanking Cam suddenly looked wary. They gripped the hilts of their weapons, expecting trouble.

  Cam tore his gaze away from Beth, turning to look at MacGregor. “Ye knew I would come.”

  “Of course. Men like us, we are what we are. Ye canna resist the lure of glory. I knew ye would fight for me! I’ll make ye a rich man, my friend!”

  Cam nodded. “Aye, I’ll fight for ye. But I dinna want yer polluted gold.”

  “Oh?” MacGregor asked, his grip tightening on Beth’s wrist. “What is it ye want?”

  Cam pointed at Beth. “Her. If I win, ye let her go. That is my price.”

  MacGregor grinned. “Done! Well, what do ye think, lads? Who will win? Our new champion or the old? Who’s betting on the Demon Blade?”

  The room exploded into a cacophony of yelling and arguing. The man
chalking up the odds on the piece of slate was suddenly inundated with people clamoring to make new wagers. MacGregor’s men stepped into the cage and dragged out the body whilst the champion stared through the bars at Cam.

  Through it all Cam stood motionless as the tide of blood-lust washed around him. His face was blank but the eyes that sought out Beth were haunted.

  Don’t do it, Beth thought. Don’t do it, Cam. Please.

  But when one of MacGregor’s men prodded him into the cage, he went. He limped to the center and stood facing his opponent. The new champion crossed his arms, glaring at his challenger. Cam’s expression didn’t change but his stance shifted slightly, rocking onto the balls of his feet, ready for action.

  Beth’s heart thundered in her chest hard enough to crack a rib. Cold sweat slid down her spine and her legs could no longer support her. I have to stop this, she thought. I have to. But she had no way to do that. She was as trapped as Cam in that cage. MacGregor released his grip and she slumped onto the bench, hugging her arms around herself as if cold.

  MacGregor raised his arm and silence fell across the crowd. An air of barely contained excitement filled the room, an excitement that sickened Beth. These men wanted to see blood and that blood might very well be Cam’s. MacGregor brought his arm swinging down and the contest began.

  The champion spun away and grabbed the sword. Cam remained still, his eyes tracking his opponent’s movements. The champion came up swinging, gripping the huge sword in a two-handed grip and swinging at Cam’s mid-riff hard enough to split him in two. Except Cam wasn’t there anymore. At the last instant, he side-stepped, neatly avoiding the swinging blade. The champion grunted, arrested his swing and pivoted, stabbing at Cam’s chest. Agile as a snake, Cam swayed out of the way so that the blade went past him.

  The fight went on like this for several minutes. Cam made no attempt to pick up a weapon or to engage his opponent, he just dodged out of the way and avoided the champion’s attacks. Even with a damaged leg his reflexes were like lightning and no matter what he tried, the champion wasn’t able to pin him down.

  The crowd began to get restless. They’d come here to see blood spilled, not two men dancing. Boos began to ring around the hall. The champion lost patience.

  He stabbed his blade towards Cam’s chest, then, as Cam darted away, lashed out with his boot and kicked Cam in his injured thigh. With a cry of pain, the leg gave out and Cam crashed to his knees, blood splattering the floor. The champion saw his chance. He brought his blade swinging towards Cam’s unprotected neck, the cold steel glittering in the light from the torches.

  Beth surged to her feet. “Cam!” she screamed but her voice was lost amidst the hollering of the spectators.

  The blade came singing down and when it was mere millimeters from his skin Cam threw himself to the side and rolled, but not before the blade sliced a red line across his cheek.

  He came to his feet. Reaching up, he wiped his hand across his face and stood looking down at his palm for a moment, staring at the blood that covered it. His fingers twitched. His tattoo, Beth noticed, was beginning to glow and when he looked up she saw that look in his eyes again, that look that said all reason had evaporated and he was in the grip of his curse. Rage and blood-lust shone in his eyes.

  He grinned. “Well played,” he said to his opponent. “But that will be the only mark ye make on me.”

  He spun and dived to his left, grabbed the spear and held it with hands on either end of the pole, using it like a staff. He slid to one knee and thrust the spear out in front of him, catching the champion’s sword on it, mere inches from his face.

  The champion pulled his lips back in a snarl of effort. His shoulders strained as he sought to push Cam back, to break his grip and send his blade crunching into his neck. But Cam held. Bracing his injured leg under him, he pushed, his face becoming a mask of pain and effort. With an almighty heave, he shoved the champion back and surged to his feet, the spear clasped in two hands.

  Making not a sound, Cam attacked. Using the spear like a staff, he swung at the champion and suddenly he was the one blocking and desperately parrying. Cam moved so fast he was a blur.

  A murmur began to go around the gathering and Beth heard the words Demon Blade muttered in awe.

  Beth perched on the edge of her seat, heart thundering, a growing sense of horror filling her veins. Here was the Camdan MacAuley that MacGregor had told her about. Here was the Cam she’d encountered in the clearing when she’d first fallen through time. This Cam wore a feral grin as he fought and his eyes were alight with mindless blood-lust.

  Then suddenly, Cam’s spear broke in half with a crunch that echoed through the chamber. The spectators gasped. The champion grinned, thinking he had the advantage. But Cam didn’t pause. Unarmed, he head-butted the champion square on the nose. Blood spurted and the champion staggered back, one hand going to his face. With an almost nonchalant ease, Cam smashed the sword from the man’s grip with one half of the broken spear and then slammed the hard wooden pole against the man’s knee-cap.

  The champion screamed and collapsed onto his hands and knees, blood from his broken nose slowly dripping to the floor. Cam bent and grabbed the man’s fallen sword, holding it above his neck like an executioner.

  The crowd broke into a fit of howling and hollering. “Kill! Kill! Kill!”

  “No,” Beth whispered. “Don’t do it. Please. Don’t do it.”

  As if he heard her words, even though they were drowned in the tumult, Cam suddenly looked up and met her gaze. His expression was ravaged. She could see the war that was raging within him. His arm, where it gripped the sword, was trembling. His curse was calling for fulfilment, calling for blood. Yet Cam resisted. He gritted his teeth and blinked rapidly, the madness fading from his eyes.

  He tossed the sword into the dirt and wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The room fell silent, the patrons giving each other confused glances.

  “It’s over,” Cam yelled at MacGregor.

  MacGregor rose to his feet. “Not yet it isnae! Ye know the rules! Only one man leaves the cage alive. Finish him!”

  The crowd took up the chant. “Finish him! Finish him!”

  Cam looked round at them with disgust. “Damn yer rules!” he yelled. “This day two men leave the cage alive!”

  MacGregor’s hands curled into fists. His face flushed livid. “If ye willnae finish him then ye forfeit the bout! Iain is declared champion!”

  It was a mistake. At his words the room burst into an uproar, those who’d placed bets on Cam rounding on MacGregor with angry shouts and raised fists. Nobody was paying Beth any attention. She seized her chance. She climbed slowly to her feet so as not to alert MacGregor who was busy remonstrating with Alistair Stewart, and shuffled to the edge of the row of benches where an aisle led through to the front of the room.

  Once there, she ran. Dodging quickly through the knots of arguing men, she kept low, bent almost double to try and lose herself in the press of waving arms and angry shouting. She skirted along the edge of the room to the cage door.

  Cam rushed to it, hands wrapping around the bars. “Beth!” he said hoarsely. “Have they hurt ye?”

  “I’m fine,” she muttered. “My god, Cam, we have to get out of here!” She grabbed the door and yanked but it was locked.

  “Stand back,” Cam ordered.

  He slammed his shoulder into the door. It sprang open with a crash but the room was in such an uproar that only one or two people noticed and their sudden shouts of alarm went unheard in the hubbub. Cam staggered through the door and grabbed Beth’s hand.

  “Come on.”

  Together they hurried into the corridor. Beth’s pulse was hammering in her ears and she clung tight to Cam’s hand as though it was the only thing that could keep her upright. Two figures came running down the corridor, alerted by the commotion in the fighting pit.

  “Hoi!” one of them shouted. “What are ye doing out here?”

 
They grabbed their weapons but Cam landed a blow to the man’s chin that laid him out cold, his sword clattering into the dirt. The second man sprang at Cam’s back but Beth grabbed the sword and smacked the flat of the blade into the man’s temple. His eyes rolled back in his head, his knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor, rolling around and groaning. Beth dropped the sword from suddenly nerveless fingers.

  Cam nodded his thanks then grabbed her hand. Together they pelted across an empty courtyard and then, instead of turning towards the main gate, Cam guided her left, down a set of crumbling stairs to a hole in the wall that led out onto a windswept plateau. Ahead the plateau plunged a hundred feet or more into a ravine below and the ground was slippery and treacherous. The wind snatched at Beth’s hair and sent icy fingers under her clothes but after the sweaty gloom of the fighting pit she sucked in the fresh air eagerly.

  “This way.”

  Cam kept a tight hold of her hand as they skirted the edge of the plateau, the rundown curtain wall of the fortress at their backs. Circumventing the wall, they reached the edge of the plateau and stepped out onto a trail that snaked its way downhill into a stand of fir trees. They ran.

  Beth dared not look back but any minute she expected to hear the alarm call and then pursuit but all she could hear was the blood roaring in her ears. They slipped and skidded on the muddy trail but dare not slow. Cam ran with this teeth bared, limping on his injured leg, blood seeping from the cut on his face.

  “Cam,” she said, shuddering to a stop. “Wait a minute. Let me look at those wounds.”

  “Nay,” he replied, shaking his head. “There isnae time.”

  “But you’re bleeding!”

  “Do ye think they’ll wait politely whilst ye bind it for me? They’ll be after us any minute and this time they willnae hesitate to kill me and have their sport with ye.”

  Beth’s blood ran cold. She nodded and they set off again. Beth was relieved when they reached the treeline and the fortress was blocked from view. Cam laboured on but his pace was slowing, his limp becoming more pronounced. How could the man run at all with an arrow wound in his leg?