Trusted By The Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance

by Rebecca Preston

  She sensed without giving it much thought that the man behind the bar was the one they were looking for. There was something in his body language that suggested he owned the place, a kind of unconscious comfort and familiarity… and contempt for the people entering his space. As she reached the bar, she hoisted an automatic smile onto her face, trying to seem non-threatening as she sized him up. He was short, dark, burly and bearded — his gray eyes glittered unpleasantly when they landed on her, and she sensed rather than saw the lascivious way he appraised her figure and her looks. Well, she was used to that, too.

  "Good afternoon," she said levelly, ignoring the hostility in his expression and the men who were staring curiously over. "Are you Bran?"

  "Aye," he said, voice flat and disinterested. "Who's asking?"

  "My name is Melanie Orwell," she said brightly. "I'm from the Keep. Just wanting to know why you've been spreading false rumors about me and my friend?"

  The man's eyes narrowed, and with that simple gesture, she learned quite a few things — one, that he'd known who she was already, and two, that he wasn't used to being called out on his bad behavior. The men around the bar were muttering under their breath, and she felt a pang of relief that she wasn't there alone. Who knew what could have happened if she didn't have a crowd of witnesses? She glanced over her shoulder to check on her group. The villagers from the other village were clustered close, regarding the inn with distaste — Father Caleb was murmuring to them and shaking his head, no doubt giving an improvised sermon on the evils of places like this. But her attention didn't stay on them for long. Because she was realizing why Aelfred had been so quiet, so far — why he hadn't joined her at the bar, hadn't greeted the innkeeper, hadn't breathed a word since they had set foot inside.

  He was staring at the innkeeper, and he looked absolutely rooted to the floor. His silver eyes were wider than she'd ever seen them, and the expression on his face was complicated beyond belief — shock, horror, anger were all flickering across it in rapid succession, and as she looked at him, she felt worry grip her heart. He looked absolutely thunderstruck… and when she glanced back at Bran, he was glaring straight back. The two of them recognized each other, that much was clear as day. But how? Were her suspicions correct?

  "You —" Aelfred breathed, hardly loud enough to hear. "You're — you —"

  But Bran didn't seem interested in what he had to say — or, as Melanie suspected, he knew what he was trying to say and didn't want it said aloud. As Melanie watched, he came out from around the bar, tucking the filthy rag he'd been holding into the belt of his trousers and putting his hands square on his hips.

  "You aren't welcome here," he snarled, pointing a stout finger straight at Aelfred's chest. "You and your kind can sod off back to the depths of the Loch, as far as I'm concerned."

  But Aelfred didn't seem to hear him. His expression resolved and he tightened his jaw, standing straighter as Bran challenged him. "You," he said, voice cold. "I recognize you. You're my father."

  There was a sudden silence in the bar. Even Melanie was taken aback — she'd suspected, after the story of Bran's wife snatching away his child in the night, that there might be a connection to Aelfred's Changeling past, but she hadn't expected the man to be so openly hostile to his own son. Because it was clear he recognized him, clear from the complete lack of surprise on his face when Aelfred named him father — instead, his face twisted in dark anger.

  "You are no son of mine," he spat, his face pale as he shook with rage. "You're an impostor, a fake — some devil, some Fae-cursed monster from the other side. And you're all fools," he added, pointing a trembling finger at the villagers who'd accompanied them, who were now watching this little piece of theater unfold with some interest. "Fools to keep company with him, fools to do anything but burn it at the stake! It and its whore," he snarled, the pointing finger now returning to Melanie. Well, that was predictable.

  "You'll watch your tongue," Aelfred said, his voice dark and deadly as his hand went to the sword at his hip.

  But Bran sneered in response. "Oh, is that right? You're going to kill me in my own inn, for doing nothing but speaking the Lord's honest truth? Father Caleb, you useless coward," he spat, pointing at the startled priest. "Is this how far you've fallen from God's light? Consorting with devils?"

  "Both of these people took holy Communion this very morning," Father Caleb intoned, drawing himself up to his full and not especially impressive height and taking a few meaningful steps forwards. His flock gathered behind him — Melanie wasn't sure whether they were hiding from the aggressor or preparing to back up their priest. Either way, Bran looked utterly apoplectic with rage as he took a few steps toward Caleb. "If you were a wise man, Bran, you'd stop spreading these ugly rumors. Aelfred and Melanie are —"

  "Don't you speak his name," Bran spat, face twisted. "My son was stolen by his mother years ago. This creature is some fabrication of the devil. A man of God would know that — or are you an impostor, too?"

  Something wasn't adding up about Bran's behavior, Melanie thought with a frown as the villagers surged forward to get between Bran and Father Caleb, who looked frightened but angry at the same time, his back stiff as he held up under the man's verbal assault. He seemed angry enough, yes, but there was something… strange about it. Something almost performative. She'd known plenty of actors in her time — they were more common than basically any other profession in LA, after all — and she could usually pick up the difference between real anger and anger for the camera. What Bran was saying… she had a suspicion he didn't actually believe it himself. But he sure did want everyone in the room to believe it. He wanted that very badly — she suspected that that need, not his anger, was why his hand was shaking as he pointed it at Aelfred. It was fear, not rage.

  But what was he afraid of? Was it Aelfred, his lost son?

  "Get out of my inn," Bran snarled now. "Witches aren't welcome here."

  And with that, he lunged at Aelfred, fists raised. Aelfred readied himself — but Father Caleb was in the way. And when Bran roughly shouldered past the priest, the reaction was immediate from the villagers. With cries of outrage, they surged forward, grabbing Bran and bodily hauling him back away from the priest, pinning his arms to his sides. Melanie hid a smile at the sudden protectiveness from the villagers. They really were fond of their priest, weren't they? Bran struggled against them, but he seemed to know when he was beaten… and the group outnumbered the men in the bar, all of whom were watching the proceedings closely, but clearly a little wary of intervening… especially when Aelfred had such a long sword at his hip and a clear willingness to use it.

  "You are my father," Aelfred said levelly. "I remember your face, remember my childhood, remember my mother best of all."

  "You're not my son," Bran spat, trying to wrestle free of the villagers and failing. "My son had dark hair like mine. You're some pale-haired monstrosity."

  "He's the spitting image of Hannah, Bran," one of the villagers said tiredly — an older woman with gray hair and a pair of piercing blue eyes. "But for the hair, he could be her double. Those eyes, that face — anyone who knew her would say the same thing. He's your boy and no mistake."

  "Absolutely not," Bran spat, twisting in rage to look at the woman before turning his furious gaze back to Aelfred.

  She saw his expression flicker… and then he spoke again, immediately switching to a new tactic.

  "His mother took him, that's what happened," he growled, a suddenly wounded expression flitting onto his face. "She took him from me when I refused to let her continue her … her ungodly experiments, her evil works with him. She was selling him to the Devil himself, and when I tried to stop her, she fled. I didn't tell anyone at the time," he added, eyes flickering. "The pain was too great. The pain of her loss, my son's loss…"

  The villagers were murmuring amongst themselves, clearly intrigued by this new explanation, but Melanie narrowed her eyes. "You're lying."

  "Says the witch,"
Bran spat, swinging around to glare at her. "What are you then? His familiar? His pet, his whore? Or are you my wife," he added, eyes flickering strangely. "Are you her, transformed by evil magics and returned to plague me? To finish the job, you started in this village, of turning everyone to your wicked ways?"

  No, she realized, narrowing her eyes. He didn't believe a word he was saying. But Aelfred's face was bright with rage and his silver eyes were almost glowing in the low light of the inn, anger twisting him unrecognizably. He drew his blade, the metal scraping against the scabbard and silencing the murmuring of the villagers in an instant. Even Bran was cowed by the gesture, his eyes widening a little as he stared at the bright silver blade in Aelfred's hand. He wasn't pointing it at the man, not yet… but the threat was palpable.

  "You insult my mother," he said in a low growl. "You attack her memory. How dare you?"

  "I'm not listening to this poison from an impostor," Bran spat. "Every word is a corruption, every second I spend in your presence threatens to turn me to the Devil, too —"

  "You're the reason she fled," Aelfred snapped. "You drove her away. Your bad tempers, your surliness, your violence… it's no wonder she left you. If she even left at all," he added, a strange look in his eyes…

  And something about that seemed to hit home for Bran, who froze on the spot, his explosive anger giving way to a cold, strange silence even as his face went pale as snow. Jaw tight, he turned away from Aelfred, shaking his head and folding his arms across his chest. The villagers, sensing that the fight had gone out of him, released him… and without a word, he turned on his heel and strode away from the group, disappearing into the back of the tavern and slamming the door shut hard behind him.

  Father Caleb cleared his throat hard in the ringing silence that followed. The men in the bar were giving them distinctly unfriendly looks, and Melanie had a suspicion that respect for the Father in his robes wasn't going to keep the group safe for too much longer. She got to her feet and led the group outside. The villagers were clearly chuffed with what had gone on — quite an exciting morning, all told — but Aelfred's face was pale and his eyes flickering with whatever thoughts were raging inside of him. She was itching to get him alone, to speak to him about what was troubling him, about everything that had been revealed in the inn… but they needed their privacy, first.

  "Well," Father Caleb said once they were outside, shaking his head. He looked thoroughly shaken by the whole altercation, but she could tell he was pleased by how his flock had defended him from the innkeeper. "That was certainly less pleasant than it could have been."

  "I'm sorry, Father," Aelfred said, speaking for the first time since Bran had slammed the door on them all. "I didn't mean to put everyone in danger. I had no idea he'd be so… aggressive."

  "Well, we all behave in ways that are unbecoming to us, sometimes," Father Caleb said, clearly trying to draw some kind of Godly moral from the encounter. He continued to muse as the group of them headed back out of town, down the long straight road toward their home village. The villagers chattered among themselves, clearly of the belief that the problem was solved — Bran had been confronted and told off, that was enough, right? But Melanie wasn't so sure. The ugly look in his eye, the way he'd been lying through his teeth about Aelfred and his mother… there was a lot more to unpack, here. And she had a suspicion that their confrontation in the bar wasn't going to do much to stay the rumors.

  But for now, they needed rest. They found their way back to the village and said their goodbyes to the villagers, who promised to spread the word that Melanie and Aelfred were good God-fearing folks like anyone else… not technically true, Melanie thought with a wince, but their hearts were in the right place. Besides, she'd revisited her position on magic and the supernatural… maybe she could revisit her position on religion, too. If time travel was real, why not God, too? But that would have to wait for another time. They headed into the church with Father Caleb, who still seemed rather shaken, and the three of them shared some afternoon tea — some slightly stale biscuits that Father Caleb informed them had been baked for him by a woman in the village.

  "They really are fond of you, aren't they?" Melanie said — and the smile on Caleb's face was perhaps the most honest one she'd seen from him.

  "They are," he said softly. "And I of them. The road that has brought me here has been … well, beset on all sides, put it that way. But I wouldn't change it."

  "I feel a similar way myself," Melanie said thoughtfully, glancing up at Aelfred as she spoke. He gave her a warm smile, though she could tell his mind was still on the altercation that morning, on his father, and the terrible things he'd said. She was glad to be here, though. Glad to be here… and determined to help.

  Father Caleb amused them with stories of the village for the rest of the afternoon, and by the time they parted ways, he seemed to have more or less recovered from the excitement of the morning — color had returned to his cheeks and his slightly pompous demeanor was back in full force. Melanie smiled as they bid each other good day, and she and Aelfred turned and headed back for their camp by the church yard. As much as she liked Father Caleb, she was relieved to be alone with Aelfred again. Besides, she was ravenous. The cookies Father Caleb had shared with them had been good, but hardly a meal, and she was looking forward to digging into the rations they had in their packs.

  They checked on the horse first, giving him some of the oats they'd brought along, then Aelfred set about setting another fire to keep them warm in the late afternoon, which had come over a little chilly. She was grateful that the rain seemed to be holding off — they'd brought waterproof equipment along in case their little camp got rained out, but she wasn't looking forward to having to use it. They'd stay another night or two in town, check around to make sure the rumors weren't getting any worse, and then return to the Keep. She was already looking forward to it.

  "I miss home," Aelfred said suddenly, as though he was thinking along the same lines as her. She looked up, curiously.

  "The Fae?" she asked, tilting her head. "Or home with your mother and father?"

  "Neither," he said, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips despite the shadow in his eyes. "I miss the Keep."

  "I was just thinking that!" she said with a grin. "Me too."

  "Strange, how quickly it became home to me," Aelfred said, shaking his head. "I don't know how long I spent in the Fae, and it never quite became anything other than a place I was staying. But the Keep… I've been there barely a month, and I know I belong there."

  She took a deep breath. "Me too," she said softly, shaking her head in quiet surprise. "I mean… I miss LA, I miss my work and my father. But… this is where I want to be. I wouldn't go back, now, even if I had the choice."

  Aelfred looked at her, surprise shining in his silver eyes. "Is that so?"

  "Yeah," she admitted, shocked to realize she was telling the truth. "I wouldn't go back, Aelfred. My place… I belong here." She hesitated… but it seemed to be a time for telling the truth. "With you," she said softly… and a wondering smile broke out across his face. Thankful that they were alone, she reached up to kiss him, feeling him responding enthusiastically, his arm around her shoulder as he held her close.

  Chapter 27

  “That was crazy, this afternoon," Melanie said softly after a long silence. Aelfred's arm was still around her shoulders, and she was leaning against him, both of them gazing into the little fire that was crackling cheerfully in the stone circle Aelfred had made the night before. The sun was low in the sky, with nightfall hurrying in, and though they'd been enjoying the peace and quiet of the late afternoon, she knew they'd have to start on dinner soon. She was weary from the long walk to and from the neighboring village, burned out on the adrenaline of the confrontation with Bran in his inn… but she wanted to give Aelfred a chance to talk about what happened with her. She had a feeling he could have used a listening ear right about now.

  "It was," he agreed, shaking his head. "
I… I don't know what to do next if I'm honest."

  She hesitated. "What you said about him… recognizing him as your father…"

  "It was a surprise to me too," he said, shaking his head. "I didn't expect to look into his eyes and remember as much as I did. It was like… like remembering a dream," he said with a frown. "When I try to piece it all together, it runs from my hands like sand. But I know that he was my father. I know that he was angry, violent, frightening. My mother used to protect me from him. She always told me to run and hide when he came home… and then she'd have bruises, and pretend that they weren't anything to worry about…"

  Melanie felt a shiver run down her spine… and a great deal of sympathy for the child he'd been, the little boy powerless to stop his mother from being harmed.

  "I wanted to protect her," he whispered, his eyes on the fire. "I wanted… I wanted to take her away from there, to get her away from him. But she wouldn't leave, or she couldn't. She kept saying that her friends would keep me safe, that I didn't need to worry, that he'd never strike or hurt me because her friends would stop him… but that protection didn't seem to extend to her. Was it the Sidhe, do you think?"

  He was looking at her, clearly curious about what she thought, and she blinked, feeling out of her depths. "You did say she had silver eyes," she said softly.

  "Yes. A changeling, like me. Why didn't they take her away, too?" he whispered. "If they took me to keep me safe from my father…"

  "If her eyes were silver, she'd already been to the Fae," Melanie said thoughtfully, her mind ticking. "Is it possible that it's… it's a one-time only kind of situation? I mean, everyone's been very clear with me that there's no way of going back to my own time… is it possible that humans can only travel to the Fae once?"

  "Possibly," Aelfred said softly. But his eyes were distracted. "I wish he wasn't my father," he said softly. "I've been hoping and praying, ever since we heard that he was the source of the rumors, that he'd be a stranger to me. But he's my father. I know that in my bones. I just… wish I knew why he hated me so much," he added, face twisting.