Highlander's Hope: A Scottish Historical Time Travel Romance (Called by a Highlander Book 2)

by Mariah Stone

  She didn’t notice that, but mayhap Tamhas saw more than her. The thought made her blood chill. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps it was a good idea to let Konnor go. No one knew him, and no one had any idea if he could be a threat—to her, to Colin, or to anyone else in the castle.

  “Mayhap ye’re right,” she said. “He should leave. I kent I can trust ye.”

  Tamhas’s eyes burned. Something in his gaze made her uncomfortable, like she wanted him to leave. It was too much. Too much love, too much support, too much devotion. He was her childhood friend, and she’d known him her whole life. He was like another brother to her. She knew he used to have a crush on her when they were teens. He was a man now with wants and needs, and she wondered why he’d never married.

  She didn’t want to think of Tamhas like that.

  He gave her a nod, and a lock of his black hair fell on his forehead. “I’ll tell him.”

  He turned to leave, but she called after him. “Tell him to leave tomorrow. He can rest one more night.”

  Tamhas gave another nod and walked to the tower. Strangely, the thought of Konnor leaving made her very sad.

  Chapter 9

  Later that evening, Konnor made his way to the dining hall. It was a separate stone building that looked like a church without a bell tower. It had tall walls of rough rock and mortar with narrow, long glassless windows that were split horizontally by the shadow cast from the curtain walls, one part dark and one bright orange from the evening sun.

  Konnor’s stomach rumbled when he wobbled inside using his crutch. Orange-golden sunrays fell from the slits in the windows and onto the long tables where men sat huddled over their bowls and cups. The large room smelled like fresh bread, cooked meat, vegetables, and beer. The walls were decorated with wooden shields with painted emblems that Konnor couldn’t quite distinguish from here. A large fireplace was lit, and a fire played there cheerfully. The floor was covered with rugs made of reeds.

  There were around forty people in the hall occupying half of the long tables available. Braziers made of straight, riveted pieces of iron stood between the tables, and the fires in them cast devious shadows on the rough walls. A servant woman in a long, woolen dress and white kerchief on her head walked along the tables with a basket with bread and distributed loafs on the tables.

  The longer he was here, the more often the probability of time travel came into his mind. A tiny part of him wondered if Sìneag was right, after all.

  But the rest of him, the logical grownup in him wasn’t convinced. He had seen death and seen the closest person in the world to him get hurt in the worst possible way. He didn’t believe in miracles and magic. There must be another explanation, and if Marjorie refused to tell him, he’d find someone who would.

  Heavy, estimating gazes followed him. Warriors who’d been engaged in friendly conversations with each other turned cautious and even antagonistic. Great. But he hadn’t come to make friends. He needed information.

  He glanced at the main table. There was a big wooden throne with intricate carvings there. And there was Marjorie, the Highland Queen. She wore a beautiful, blue medieval dress with draped sleeves. Her hair was gathered in a braided hairdo, and her lips glistened red as she bit into a chunk of bread and chewed on it. He wished he was that piece of bread she held and touched with her lips. Her eyes locked with his, and she stilled, stern lines forming around her lips.

  He looked away and searched for a free spot. He saw two familiar faces, the warriors he’d seen Marjorie talking to, and he went to sit at their table.

  “Is this seat taken?” he asked as he stood at the head of the table.

  The table full of men glanced at him. The Highlander with long, white hair gathered in a ponytail frowned at him. Malcolm.

  “Nae,” he said and shifted on the bench without breaking eye contact. “Take a seat.”

  Across the table sat a tall and lean man who looked about thirty years old. He had long, dark hair that he’d gathered in a partial ponytail and had stubble on the lower part of his chin.

  “Tamhas,” the man said, but his face practically said he wanted to murder Konnor the first chance he got.

  Why did Konnor feel like he was walking into a trap? Every instinct Konnor had set his body to alert. His muscles tightened, and his knees bent a little. He relaxed his grip on his crutch in case he needed to use it as a weapon.

  The man next to Tamhas was a little younger than Malcolm, short and stout with a graying beard and hair. He had intelligent eyes and a big, meaty nose. Konnor immediately liked him.

  “Muir.” The man nodded with a smirk in his eyes.

  “Konnor Mitchell,” Konnor said.

  “I’ve been looking all over the castle for ye,” Tamhas said.

  Konnor’s jaw ticked. “Oh yeah? What did you want?”

  Tamhas took an empty cup and poured some beer from a jar into it. He moved the cup towards Konnor. “Sit. Drink. I’ll tell ye.”

  Konnor glanced at the other two men sitting across the table. They were watching the exchange with frowns.

  Cocking his head, Konnor sat at the bench and drank the beer. It was warm and tasted like weak Guinness.

  “Is there something stronger?” He wiped his upper lip with his sleeve.

  “Aye.” Malcolm reached to his belt and unhooked a leather wineskin. “Uisge.”

  He poured the liquid into four cups. The men took their cups and drank without clinking. The liquid went down his throat like fire, and Konnor realized it was moonshine, not whiskey.

  “Hmm. Why do you guys drink moonshine instead of a proper Scotch?”

  The men exchanged puzzled glances.

  “Who talks like that?” Muir chuckled. “What’s a proper Scotch? Scotch what?”

  “I think he may be a wee bit slow,” Malcolm said.

  Konnor’s hands tightened around the cup. “Come on, guys. Let’s stop the pretense. We all know you have this whole eclectic community thing going on. But I’d hoped we could speak man to man. Drop the bullshit.”

  Malcolm’s face fell. “Bullshit? ‘Tis ye who should drop it.” He removed a dagger and stabbed it into the tabletop, his fist clenched around the handle.

  Tamhas leaned forward. “Everything is strange about ye. The way ye speak. Yer clothes. Even yer goddamn hair. I canna place ye anywhere. Are ye a nobleman? A Sassenach? Do ye belong to a clan? Chances are, if I canna understand yer background, ye’re a threat to our mistress. And that is just something I canna have.”

  Konnor ground his teeth. “I’m a regular guy from the States. What the fuck is wrong with you? These are regular cargo pants.” He pointed at his legs. “This is an army jacket. This is a T-shirt.”

  They scowled at him as he pointed to his clothes.

  “I’ve never seen anything like those in my life,” said Malcolm. “And what is that thin material? Wool? Linen?”

  “Dinna ken,” Tamhas said. “And dinna want to ken.”

  Konnor wasn’t a stranger to animosity. There were all kinds of guys in the Marines, and he wasn’t afraid of any of them. He didn’t particularly like these guys, though he understood why they were being like this. They thought they were protecting Marjorie. He’d hire every one of them as a bodyguard at his firm. Their dedication to her was impressive.

  “My business is protecting the mistress,” Tamhas said, “And right now, ye’re more a threat than a friend, simply because I dinna believe ye and dinna trust ye.”

  Tamhas threw a glance at the main table and the mistress herself. What was that Konnor saw in his eyes? Longing. Admiration. Love.

  Was the guy in love with her?

  Unexplainable jealousy slashed him across his gut. That wasn’t Konnor’s business. He didn’t belong here. There was absolutely nothing between him and Marjorie—and there wouldn’t be. But he wanted to punch the guy for looking at her like that.

  “Are you her bodyguard?” Konnor asked.

  “Aye,” Tamhas said. “Muir and I are.”

&
nbsp; Konnor looked him over from the perspective of a soldier and someone who owned a security firm. The man was tall, though he was a bit shorter than Konnor. Under his slightly dirty linen tunic were broad shoulders and lean muscles. He looked like the a professional athlete. He had intelligent eyes, like someone who could think for himself and estimate threats. Though Konnor would need to see him in action, the dedication to Marjorie was certainly there.

  Konnor leaned forward. “So what about this siege that’s coming? Who are the MacDougalls, really?”

  “One of the most powerful clans in the Eastern Highlands,” Tamhas said, looking a little bewildered.

  Maybe Konnor could get the truth this way. “And what kind of weapons will they bring for the siege? A catapult or something?”

  Tamhas leaned back and crossed his arms on his chest. “They could if they wanted to. They certainly have the wealth to order a war engineer and have one built.”

  Konnor drummed his fingers against the table. “Will they bring guns?”

  “Guns?” Malcolm said like he heard the word for the first time.

  Gimme a break.

  “So just swords and shields?” Konnor said, the hope they’d show any sign of reason and open up was disappearing quickly.

  “Nae, spears and bows, too,” Malcolm said. “Mayhap even crossbows.”

  Spears and bows… Crossbows… They weren’t backing down.

  Konnor leaned forward and looked at them conspiratorially. “But they’re plastic, right? Like props in a movie?”

  “What the feck is plastic?” Tamhas said. “And a movie?”

  Konnor sighed. At least he’d tried. He should just accept his failure with them. In the end, all he wanted was to get out of here.

  He looked at the loaf of bread and chunk of cheese. He reached for it, but Tamhas took Malcolm’s dagger and thrust it between Konnor’s hand and the food.

  Konnor could disarm him with two easy movements and stick that dagger right into the guy’s eye. He looked at Tamhas’s snarl. “Now, now. That’s dangerous. You should take care when you play with grownup toys, or you might cut yourself.”

  “Shut up. Ye’re here because of mistress’s kind heart. But even she is out of patience now. She wants ye out of here on the morrow.”

  Konnor looked at Marjorie, who had turned and was talking to a servant girl. Her long, dark hair had spilled over her shoulders. Her eyes sparkled, her hand held her cup gracefully, and something in his chest squeezed at the thought of leaving her.

  “She said that?” he asked.

  “Aye. With her own words.”

  What changed, Konnor wondered? She’d been afraid to let him go because he might be a spy, and now she wanted him gone. Was that because of his compliment?

  So he’d leave tomorrow. Good. He was grateful to Marjorie and Isbeil for treating him and for feeding him, for taking care of him, and despite the strangeness of this place, a part of him didn’t want to go. A part of him didn’t want to leave Marjorie.

  Though even if he stayed, nothing would be possible between them, no matter how attractive she was. His life had taught him well that romantic love only led to pain. He’d experienced that for himself. Although he tried to avoid relationships, he had liked a woman enough to give the whole girlfriend-boyfriend thing a try. It was five years ago. She was sweet, kind, and beautiful. A nurse. Spoke Spanish. Surfed. Volunteered at a homeless shelter. Great sex. The whole package.

  They’d dated for about three months. She’d said she didn’t really know Konnor and started asking him about his childhood. Wanted to meet his mom. Suggested they go on a weekend trip to Santa Catalina Island.

  If he hadn’t even told Andy about what he’d endured from Jerry, how could he tell her?

  It only took a couple of weeks after that for them to break up. Well, for her to break up with him because he was “an emotionally unavailable fuck”.

  “Good,” he said. “Then she’s finally came back to her senses.”

  Tamhas removed the dagger, and Konnor tore a piece of bread from the loaf. But as he chewed it and looked again at Marjorie, he couldn’t help but wonder how he would ever forget her.

  Chapter 10

  The sound of footsteps in the hallway woke Konnor later that night. Using an old soldier’s trick, he opened his eyes without moving another muscle. He was still in his room in the castle. It was dark, the middle of the night, and the torch on the wall was out. He was alone, as far as he could tell.

  He heard another scrape of a shoe against the stone floor from somewhere outside his room. He automatically slid his hand under his pillow for a weapon, only to find nothing there. He cursed inwardly. Of course, he didn’t have a gun, or even a knife. The castle was full of swords and spears and arrows, but he didn’t have anything.

  He sat up and reached for the crutch. He’d gotten the hang of it during the day, making his way up and down the stairs and along the uneven stone floors and the courtyard. Without putting his shoes on, he stood up and made his way towards the exit. He put the end of the wooden crutch against the floor as quietly as he could. Once he came to the door, he listened. Someone yelped, and then there were muffled grunts and curses.

  Hell.

  Marjorie’s room was next to his. He opened the door to a slit. The landing was lit up by a torch.

  Empty.

  The sounds came from the circular flight of stairs leading to the next floor. Metal clanked softly, barely audible. Steps.

  That didn’t sound good at all.

  Konnor took the crutch in his hands like a weapon and moved onto the landing without a sound, ignoring the pain in his ankle. A muffled cry reached him from upstairs.

  What was there? Someone’s room? Konnor made his way towards the stairs, making sure he stepped without a sound. Halfway up the stairs, he heard a voice.

  “Dinna make a sound, or I’ll cut yer throat,” a man whispered loudly.

  Konnor peeked around the round wall at the next landing, his ankle tearing him apart from pain,. Empty. But one of the doors was open.

  He moved towards it and looked inside. There were three men in the room. Two held a boy in his bed, trying to tie him up. One stood by the door with his back to Konnor.

  Konnor didn’t hesitate. He took five steps and hit the back of the man’s head with the crutch. The intruder fell to the floor like a rock. The two others looked up at Konnor, as did the boy. He was probably ten years old, eyes big and white against the darkness of the room, and he thrashed and kicked in the hands of the fuckers.

  Fire lit Konnor’s blood. He wouldn’t let them hurt the child.

  One of the men left the side of the bed and drew his sword. The blade glistened in the moonlight. He thrust the sword, but Konnor ducked, stepped aside, and hit his side with the crutch. The guy crumpled but rose to his feet again.

  The boy thrashed harder, and the man by his side grunted in pain. The boy’s scream pierced the air. A hard slap followed, and he was silent for a moment. He screamed again, but the man gagged him.

  “Finish him,” the guy growled. “He’s just a cripple with a stick!”

  A cripple with a stick? Konnor swung the crutch and struck the man on the side of his head. His sword fell to the floor with a loud bang, and Konnor leaned down to take it, but his opponent was smarter than he’d thought. The man thrust both elbows into the back of Konnor’s head. Pain exploded in his head. He fell forward and landed against a wall, knocking wooden swords and shields that hung there.

  There was one real sword that glistened in the light of the fireplace. Konnor grabbed it, spun around, and slashed at the man. The blade sliced through flesh, and blood sprayed on Konnor as the man yelled in pain and fell.

  Without knowing if he was holding it right, Konnor thrust the sword towards the third guy but hit only air. The man holding the boy let him go, and the boy removed the gag from his mouth. The guy drew his own sword and came towards Konnor making a series of downward strikes. Konnor defended himself from the
thrusts with his sword and moved back step by step. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. The room was filled with the ring of metal against metal.

  From the corner of his eye, Konnor saw Marjorie appear in the room, a sword in her hand, and fear for her twisted in his gut. He had to act. The man he faced wasn’t bigger than him, but he was much more experienced. Konnor took the initiative and went on the offensive, but the man easily deflected his strikes.

  Somewhere in the storm of sharp swords, blood, the unconscious man lying on the ground, and the men’s attempt to hurt Marjorie, a thought entered his mind.

  This is real.

  He knew it like he knew he might die by the sword wielded by this intruder. This castle wasn’t a small medieval community. It wasn’t a cult. And it wasn’t a dream. Whatever explanation there was for all this, this was a different world—or era—altogether.

  Suddenly, time travel didn’t seem like such an impossible explanation.

  Konnor’s back was against the wall. The man raised his sword high above his head. Just as Konnor stared death in the face, Marjorie appeared behind the man and pressed the edge of a sword to his neck. The man froze, his eyes wide.

  “Aye, ye pig,” Marjorie said. “If yer life is dear to ye, throw yer claymore on the floor far away from ye and step away from him.”

  The man’s lip curved downward in an angry snarl. He threw the sword, and it landed on the floor with a loud clank. Konnor put the tip of his own weapon to the man’s throat.

  “Put your hands behind your head,” Konnor said. “And lie on the floor facedown.”

  The guy did as he was told. When he lay on the ground, Marjorie’s and Konnor’s gazes met. He now noticed she was in a nightgown. The shape of her body was visible under the thin white material in the moonlight.

  She rushed to the boy, who was now standing. With the sword trembling in her hands, she cut the ties on his wrists and then scooped him in a hug.

  “Oh, Colin, my lad,” she said, her voice a shaky whisper. The boy buried his face at her chest.