RESCUED BY THE HIGHLANDER

by Preston, Rebecca

  Anna moved to the other side of the turret, entranced by the view, peering down south of the castle — and sure enough, there was a little cluster of buildings, the town she’d been hearing about. It wasn’t the kind of town she was used to. Even from here, she could tell it was properly medieval — no electricity, no smog or concrete. Her heart pounded heavily in her ears. It was hard to deny it, from up here — she just wasn’t in the twenty-first century anymore.

  “Well? What do you think?”

  Anna turned around, surprised by that familiar voice, to discover Donal Grant himself, grinning at her from the other side of the turret.

  Chapter 17

  “Good morning, Laird Donal,” Maeve said.

  Anna could hear the surprise in her voice. So, this wasn’t a scheduled meeting. Good. Anna would have felt strange if Maeve and Donal had conspired to meet her up here — like she was some kind of pet or object to be wrangled. But she had to admit, it was good to see him, especially in the full sunlight up on the roof. His handsome face was thrown into sharp relief by the light, his pale eyes gleaming. And in the light, she could get a proper sense of his proportions. He was a powerful man, that was for sure — not some kind of muscle-bound bodybuilder, but definitely a powerful man, well-built and well-muscled to go with it. No wonder he’d been able to haul her out of the water like he had.

  Speaking of — she wondered how his arm was doing. To her surprise, he seemed to have taken the bandages off already — she certainly couldn’t see it under the sleeve of the tunic he was wearing. The poultice Maggie had applied hadn’t exactly smelled good, on reflection… perhaps it had troubled him in his sleep. He was wearing a tartan kilt, a color and pattern that was familiar… she’d seen it on several tapestries and decorations throughout the castle. Probably Urquhart colors, then. His upper body was clad in a simple tunic, not the light armor he’d been wearing the night before, and there was a gleaming metal pin affixed to the front of it, a symbol she also recognized from their tour. If he was wearing a tunic now, why had he bothered with armor the night before? He’d had a sword then, too, which was also missing from his current outfit. Perhaps he’d been expecting trouble from his meeting with her — more of the evil faeries Maeve had hinted about, perhaps. She just couldn’t bring herself to believe in faeries, no matter how hard she tried. It was difficult enough to believe she was truly in medieval Scotland, even with the countryside spread out around her, plain as day.

  “Good morning,” she echoed Maeve, even as her mind raced. “How’s your arm healing?”

  “Well, thank you, Anna,” he said, a little formally. There was an odd energy to the way he was holding himself — almost like he was nervous to be speaking to her. Why would that be? She supposed it must be strange, talking to a time traveler. If someone came to her home from four hundred years in the future, she supposed she’d be a little uncomfortable around them, too. She moved a little closer to him so he wouldn’t have to shout across the roof.

  “You’ve taken the bandage off already? Is that wise?”

  “Well, I didn’t think it necessary to bandage a healthy arm,” he said blankly. When she tilted her head in confusion, he rolled up the sleeve of his tunic, pushing on the fabric roughly in a way that made her catch her breath — he was bound to reopen the wound by doing that. But she realized that that was no problem at all, because there was no wound to be seen at all. Only a pale arm, dotted with freckles, bound in an impressive quantity of powerful muscle (don’t get distracted, Anna, she warned herself with some amusement) and no trace whatsoever of the nasty scrapes she’d seen on the arm the night before. He was looking at her with a twinkle in his eye, clearly enjoying her surprise.

  “Was it the other arm you hurt?” was all she could think to ask. There was no way the arm had healed so quickly. Even with antibiotics and steroids, all the modern conveniences of twenty-first century medicine, she’d never seen a wound heal like that. She simply must have mistaken which arm had been injured, and he was playing a joke on her… but no. Donal rolled up the sleeve on his other arm, too, and revealed a similarly uninjured arm (though this one, his right arm, bore a nasty scar on the bicep.) She stared at him. “Seriously?”

  “Maggie’s famous for her poultices,” was all he’d say, shrugging. “It’s a Fae thing. She won’t do it for just anyone, mind you.” He chuckled, and Maeve joined him with a knowing little laugh. “She’s very discerning. If someone hurts themselves by bein’ a damn fool, she won’t heal ‘em. But accidents — and injuries sustained in the course of being heroic — she’ll heal.” He puffed his chest out a little bit, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Heroic? Are you talking about you?”

  “Well, aye. I saved your life, didn’t I?” His eyes were twinkling again.

  Was he flirting with her? It felt a little like it.

  “I suppose you did,” she admitted — but as much as she was enjoying this kind of attention from him, she couldn’t help but keep frowning. “What on earth was in that poultice, though? That’s — unbelievable.”

  “There are a number of herbs with healing properties that grow locally,” Maeve said quietly, “but the speed of the healing is all magic, Anna. There’s no other explanation.”

  She frowned at that. There was absolutely another explanation — there was always a rational explanation. But she didn’t want to be rude to Maeve, not when the woman had been so kind in showing her around the castle all morning. No doubt she had plenty of tasks to be getting on with, but she’d taken the day to help Anna, and the least she could do to repay her kindness was to not point out that what she believed was irrational and made no sense. So, she just smiled.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re all mended. It was a nasty scrape.”

  “And how are you faring?” he asked politely. “Have you rested from your journey?”

  “A little. Breakfast helped,” she said, thinking back to Emily bringing her the bowl of oatmeal and smiling to herself. “The sleep deprivation’ll hang around for a while, I think, but I’m feeling okay. Maeve’s been kind enough to show me around this wonderful castle.”

  He glowed a little at her praise of the castle, and she smiled to herself. This place was clearly important to him. She’d be interested to know a little more about his time here — it must have been interesting, growing up in a castle. There’d be a lot of detail her SCA re-enactor friends would absolutely kill for, she thought with a little smile. She wished she had her phone — that she could somehow text them photos of all the unbelievable things that she was finding. It was a little sad to think of how far away they were. How did time travel work, exactly? She couldn’t help but think in a linear way — she’d left early Saturday morning, and now it was around midday. Though she knew none of her friends would even be born for hundreds of years, she couldn’t help but think that somewhere, it was Saturday midday back in Washington. Everyone would be getting ready for the meeting, getting all their stuff together, looking forward to comparing notes on armor and weaponry and medieval life… but that wasn’t happening now. Only now was happening now. She shook her head, feeling a little dizzy. It was hard to think about time like that.

  “She’s very interested in the military side of things,” Maeve said, nodding toward Anna with a smile. “I wasn’t a very good tour guide for all of that, I’m afraid. Perhaps you or Brendan could show her around the armory?”

  “I’d love to see the top of the walls, too,” Anna confided, her eyes glowing. “Get a sense of the strategic strengths of the castle.”

  “Oh, aye?” He chuckled a little, as though she was a little girl playing soldiers.

  That needled her, but she resisted the urge to pick a fight with him. After all, he was her host — and Maeve was standing right there, too. She didn’t want to cause a fuss. But they were going to have to have a long talk, sooner or later, about his clearly archaic attitudes to women. He needed to know women could lead and fight, too. What a waste, to ignore the potential of
half of your population to help fight and protect! Especially if they thought they had supernatural foes… she shook her head, banishing those thoughts. First things first, she needed to get to know this guy. Know your enemy, she thought with a grin. Well, he wasn’t her enemy. Just an ally who needed to get his head on straight about what women could and couldn’t do.

  “Aye,” she echoed him now, with a cheeky grin. “I mean, I can see them from up here, but I’d rather get a sense of what can be seen from the tops of the walls by standing on them, not standing up here and guessing.”

  “And fair enough, too,” he allowed.

  “I might leave you to it,” Maeve put in gently, moving up beside Anna to gently touch her forearm. “I’ve a few errands to be getting on with —”

  “Maeve, of course. I’ve taken up enough of your day,” Anna said sincerely, giving the woman’s arm a grateful squeeze. “Thank you so much for showing me around.”

  “We’ll talk later, over dinner. You can tell me everything you’ve learned about the armory,” Maeve suggested with a little laugh. “That way I’ll be a better tour guide the next time some warrior woman comes through.”

  “Absolutely,” Anna promised. “You’ll be a weapons expert in no time.”

  Maeve patted Donal fondly on the shoulder as she moved past him, headed for the spiral staircase back down to the rest of the castle. “I’ll leave her in your capable hands, Donal.”

  “Are you sure?” Donal said with mock concern. “She might beat me up, Maeve, I’m frightened.”

  “I’m sure you can look after yourself.” Maeve laughed. “Just mind your manners and she’ll have no reason to throw you off the roof. And Anna? Feel free to throw him off the roof if he doesn’t watch himself.”

  Anna laughed as Maeve made her exit, taking the spiral steps with care. She gave Donal a challenging look, acutely aware of the fact that they were alone together again — just as they had been on the moors the night before, trekking through the cold night air. But this time she was well fed and somewhat rested. He no longer had her at a disadvantage as he had the night before. He was aware that they were alone, too, she could tell by the slightly wary way he was looking at her… she wondered if this had been intentional on Maeve’s part. After all, she hadn’t said anything about errands until Donal had arrived. And in the medieval era, a man and a woman being alone together… well, it had a certain stigma around it in some areas.

  “Well?” she asked archly. “Am I going to have to throw you off the roof, Donal Grant?”

  Chapter 18

  “I hope not!” He laughed.

  The tension dispelled a little, she turned and wandered over to the edge of the turret, peering down into the courtyard below. He joined her, leaning on the rocky wall, and she could just feel the heat of his body against hers — not quite touching, but very close to it. Leaned on the wall, their height difference was less pronounced, which she appreciated. They peered down at the courtyard together for a moment, the only sound the gentle whispering of the wind, and the distant shouts of men training with swords in the courtyard.

  “Is that Brendan?” she asked suddenly, pointing — there was a dark-haired man standing by the group of men sparring with swords, seeming to be presiding over them, watching them fight as he walked back and forth. Probably giving instruction, she thought. It was a role she’d played more than a few times. Something nice about that — to know that even five hundred years ago, people were still doing the same things they were doing in the twenty-first century. There were only so many ways to train men to fight, after all.

  “Aye, I think so. Silly old fool.” Donal chuckled. “You made quite an impression on him last night, you know.”

  “Oh yes? How so?” She had gotten the sense that the dark-haired man had taken a particular interest in her… it was flattering, if she was honest.

  “We don’t meet many women like you,” was all Donal would say.

  She wanted to ask more, to pry a little, and some part of her wondered if he shared Brendan’s feelings that she was impressive and unusual. But in the light of day, it wasn’t as easy to flirt as brazenly as she had the night before, so she left that impulse alone.

  “You’ve known Brendan a long time?”

  “Oh, aye. He’s one of my oldest friends. It’s been a bit tense between us, though, ever since I made Malcolm my tanist. He was convinced it should’ve been him, see. Took it very personally that I picked someone else over him.”

  “I can understand that,” she said. There had been a certain energy between them the night before, now she thought about it — the kind of tension that lingers under the surface, but never gets resolved, no matter how many times it gets dragged up and talked through. Giving a friend a promotion over another friend… that was a tough thing to handle. A burden of leadership that Anna would rather never have to deal with, if she was honest. “Is he angry with you?”

  “Not exactly,” Donal admitted thoughtfully, clearly working through the question. “I wouldn’t say angry. He’s certainly still disappointed. And I think he’s lost a bit of trust in me, which isn’t ideal.”

  “No,” she agreed. A leader would want the complete trust of his subordinates. “You chose Malcolm instead? Why was that?” The impetuous young man hadn’t exactly seemed like leadership material to her. “Because he’s family?”

  “No,” Donal said sharply. “I mean, yes, he’s like a brother to me, that’s true. But that’s not why I chose him for the position. He’s a better administrator, that’s all. Excellent head for numbers, keeping track of rations and supplies, that kind of thing. The armory’s never looked better since he took over keeping it in line. And that’s most of what a tanist does, in peace time at least. Brendan would’ve hated it. By now he’d be chafing at all his duties, complaining constantly, getting that dour look on his face he gets…”

  Anna giggled at the dismayed tone in his voice. This was clearly something he’d given a lot of thought to — quite a sore spot. The internal politics of a castle… how fascinating.

  “Have you explained this to him?”

  “Oh, aye, but he never listens. That’s another reason he’d make a terrible second-in-command.” He rolled his eyes. “I told him a thousand times — it’s not that he’d do a bad job, it’s just that Malcolm would do a better one.”

  “That’s a pretty terrible way of putting it,” Anna pointed out, suppressing a laugh. “What are his strengths, then, as a person?”

  “Tactics. He’s a brilliant tactician. I’d never doubt a word he said on the battlefield, that’s for sure. Which is why I made him captain of the guard.”

  “Did you tell him that when you told him you weren’t making him tanist?”

  Donal hesitated. “I don’t remember. I think so? Maybe? I would’ve… he knows! He knows I think he’s great! Why should I have to tell him over and over again —”

  Anna sighed. Men were useless at this kind of thing. “It might’ve helped if he’d known you valued his strengths. He might be less grumpy if he knew that.”

  “Aye, maybe,” Donal said, looking thoughtful. He looked sideways at her, as though realizing something. “You’re good to talk to.”

  “Pleased to hear it,” she said, feeling an odd burst of warmth move through her chest at the compliment. “It’s the least I can do, with you saving my life and feeding and housing me…”

  “Aye, I suppose so,” he grinned, “but the pleasure of your company is more than worth the expense of your board.”

  “Maybe you ought to check that with Malcolm,” she suggested brightly. “Make sure all the numbers add up.”

  “How d’you know about people management, anyway?” he asked. “Did you run a big household where you came from?”

  That needled her — the assumption that any skill she had must have domestic origins. “No, actually. As I believe I told you — I trained soldiers.”

  “Aye, but that was a joke,” he said patiently.

  “It was
n’t. I don’t know why it’s so hard for you to believe that I’m a soldier. Served two tours of duty overseas. I’ve got medals,” she added irritably, thinking of them — they were locked up safe and sound in a little wooden box her father had carved for her. In her apartment. Which was five hundred years and a few thousand miles away. “I work part-time training recruits, and I teach self-defense to women as well. Ask me anything. Seriously.”

  “So, you know how to use a sword, then.”

  “The military doesn’t fight with swords anymore,” she said irritably. “I know about swords as a hobby, not as a career. But you don’t know anything about guns or artillery or tanks —” The blank expression on his face would have made her laugh if she wasn’t so irritated about his refusal to accept that she was a soldier. So, she tried a different tact. “Are there seriously no female fighters around here? At all?”

  “No,” he said blankly. “None. I mean, there are women who are skilled herbalists, skilled occultists… women like Maggie who can weave healing spells, women like Maeve who know enough Fae magic to impress children with conjuring tricks and the like, but… no, women don’t fight. It’s just…” He shrugged. “Some things, men just do better than women. I’m not saying men are better than women!” he said quickly, clearly frightened by the look on her face. “I mean — women are much better at raising babies than men.”

  She ground her teeth, infuriated. “Maybe if they grow up in a world that tells them that that’s all they’re ever going to be good for, yeah! My father was a great warrior,” she said, using his word for soldier to emphasize his point. “But he also raised me and my brother. He did as much work as my mother did. More, even. Because she was a warrior too.”

  He looked surprised by that — and a little confused. But she could see his stubbornness coming through, his resistance to what she was telling him. “Aye, maybe,” he said evasively, clearly wanting to dismiss the subject. “But around here, women don’t fight.”