Trusted By The Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance

by Rebecca Preston

  "Yeah, but you should see the other guy," she said weakly, trying not to remember the dull, sickly thud of the man's head hitting the ground. No wonder his companions were up in arms — it was an awful way to die. Then again if he hadn't attacked two people in their sleep… "Can you fix me?"

  "Of course I can fix you!" Maggie snapped. "Hold still."

  "Thank you," she said softly. "For coming to help me — I know it's dangerous out there…"

  But Maggie scoffed as she turned to rummage in the bag beside her, withdrawing a collection of strange-smelling herbs and ingredients that Melanie didn't think she'd recognize even if she could get a proper look at them. "Nothing in this neighborhood is more dangerous than me," she said with a smug tone in her voice… and though it sounded comical, Melanie somehow suspected that it was the honest truth. "Now, let's see. I doubt you'll be doing much resting, hm? You'll want something to seal this shut."

  "If that's possible."

  "Possible, yes. Pleasant, no. You might want to bite down on something."

  Melanie nodded, then took a deep breath… but she wasn't prepared for what Maggie was about to do. She buried her face in the pillow to muffle a shriek as she felt the woman's fingers dive deep into the wound, seeming to prod and poke at the absolute interior of the deep slash in her back… and what was worse, whatever substance was on her fingers seemed to be burning, too. She fancied she could feel the flesh bubbling, but she gritted her teeth and shut her eyes hard, determined not to let on how much pain she was in. Maggie worked deftly and swiftly, not speaking as she focused on her work, and finally, Melanie felt her withdraw her hands. The screaming pain in her back subsided to a low roar, and she took a deep, shuddering breath.

  "Braver than most men I treat," Maggie said. "Though women generally are. You can get up now," she added.

  Melanie did as she was told, wincing in readiness for pain — but the ache in her back didn't change at all when she moved it, and she got into a sitting position, her eyes widening with surprise.

  "You're a miracle worker."

  "I'm a Fae," Maggie corrected her, shaking her head. "You get people into a church and they think magic's all got to do with God all of a sudden…"

  Melanie couldn't help but laugh. "Thank you, Maggie. For everything you've done for me. I never got a chance to thank you for helping me figure out where I was when I first got here."

  "It'll be thanks enough if you sort out that Bran Grant," Maggie said firmly, a dark look on her face. "He's a nasty piece of work and no mistake. Every family has a bad apple or two, I suppose," she added with a shrug. "Trick is to throw them out before they can spoil the whole barrel."

  "You know him?"

  "Of course I know him. I know everyone. He's called for me to be burned at the stake several times, the old monster," she said, eyes narrowing. "What are you going to do about him?"

  Melanie hesitated. Now that she could move, she realized she didn't have much of a plan beyond getting down to where Aelfred was jailed and yelling at everyone to release him. "I was just going to speak in Aelfred's defense at the trial, or…"

  "Come on, now. You're smarter than that. The word of a witch, in defense of a witch? Worth less than pebbles."

  "I'm not a witch," Melanie protested. If anyone was a witch here, it was Maggie.

  But the woman shook her head. "Doesn't matter what the truth is. Those men, they've decided you and Aelfred are witches. The truth is not your ally here — at least, that truth isn't. Think of something else." Melanie hesitated… and Maggie made an impatient clicking sound with her tongue. "Come on, girl. They'll have your lover's neck in a noose by sunrise. What are you going to do about it?"

  "I don't know," she whispered, her heart pounding. "What can I do?"

  "All those brains," Maggie said, shaking her head. "Think, girl. Think."

  "Bran's behind all this," Melanie said, trying to focus on the basics – motive; that was important. "Bran's the one who sent the men to attack us… Bran must be the one stirring up the riots."

  "Aye, that's obvious," Maggie said impatiently. Melanie couldn't help but think of her father, who'd been similarly garrulous and difficult when she'd first been learning her craft. It was oddly inspiring… even if her words stung.

  "So — he wants Aelfred dead, and me too, I suppose," she said thoughtfully, feeling her mind kick into gear. "But Aelfred's his son. He knows that. What would make a father want his own son dead?"

  Maggie was looking at her intently. What was it about the woman that gave her the distinct feeling that she already knew all the answers — that she was waiting for Melanie to figure them out herself? Just like her father, she thought with some amusement… and a little bit of grief, missing him. Her father would have wanted her to get to the bottom of this. Her father would have been proud of her for sticking to her guns, for hunting down the truth at any cost…

  "He knew something," Melanie said firmly. "He knows something… something about Bran, something he's ashamed of. Something that hasn't bothered him for the last thirty years, clearly, or he wouldn't be kicking up all of this fuss."

  "Aye, sounds about right," Maggie said, her eyes glinting. "Sounds like you need to do some digging, hm? There's a couple of shovels in the church yard."

  And with that, she was packing up her bag, grumbling something about being an old woman who needed to get home to bed. Melanie watched her go, thanked her one last time for helping heal her back, which, though still aching and painful, was feeling much less crippling. And then she was gone, and Father Caleb was there in her place, his eyes widening when he saw Melanie up and about, fully dressed and clearly ready to go.

  "You're not going to go down to the jail, are you?" he said, worry evident on his face — though she noticed he didn't ask about her wound. Probably didn't want to have to confront the possibility of what could only be called a miracle taking place in his spare room, she thought with some amusement. "They'll tear you apart, Melanie."

  "No, actually. I'm going in the opposite direction. And I need your help," she said quickly. "Are there any villagers around — friendly people, people who were here yesterday morning and know that Aelfred and I aren't witches?"

  "A handful of townsfolk are taking shelter in the church, actually, yes," Father Caleb said hesitantly. "You'd be welcome to come and pray with us if —"

  "No time," she said firmly. "Sorry, Father, but I've got an idea about how I can get to the bottom of all of this… but I'll need someone with me who knows where Bran lives."

  The Father hesitated… but she saw him relent and raise his hands in an 'I surrender' gesture, before leading her out of the room and through the dark hallways of the Church. In the main hall where Caleb had held Mass the day before, there was a huddled group of a dozen or so villagers, their worried faces lit by candlelight. There wasn't much light coming through the windows — it was well after sunset, and she felt a chill run down her spine as she heard the distant sound of shouting.

  "Hi," she said, looking around at the little group with a worried smile. "Sorry for all of this."

  But to her relief, several of the villagers shook their heads. The gray-haired older woman who she remembered from that morning rose to her feet. "It's not your doing, lassie," she said, shaking her head. "That Bran has been trouble his whole life. All you did was bring the boil to a head."

  "I think I can fix it," she said, looking around at the worried group. "I think I know how we can get to the bottom of what's going on, once and for all. But I need to know — did any of you know Bran's wife?"

  A few nods from the older folks in the crowd — including the gray-haired woman, who she recognized as Olivia. "Aye, we were fast friends, a long time ago," she said, shaking her head regretfully.

  "Good. I have a hunch that … well, it's not good, but it will give us all an answer about what's going on." She sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Do any of you know where Bran lives?"

  Within the hour, they'd all set out on the road. In
the end, half a dozen of the villagers had volunteered to come with her. Father Caleb had prevaricated for a little one, then said that he ought to stay in the village to keep an eye on the riots — just in case things got out of hand and rioters began to call for Aelfred to be hung immediately. "I can hold them off," he said, giving the group a worried look. "But only for so long. I hope you know what you're doing."

  Melanie took a deep breath as they walked through the darkness, her stomach sick with worry. She hoped she knew what she was doing, too. Because there was a lot at stake here… a lot riding on what was, in the end, just a hunch. But her hunches had never steered her wrong before.

  And besides — what other recourse did she have?

  Chapter 29

  They reached the other village in the dead of the night. There was unrest in the streets here, too, but not nearly so much as in the village closest to the Keep — she supposed it had to do with Aelfred being there. Thankfully, nobody had realized that Melanie had left the church — they'd been informed that the 'other witch' had been seriously wounded and was lying low. They hadn't reckoned on Maggie's powerful healing abilities, clearly — something she was grateful for. They had to get this done.

  On her instruction, several of the villagers had brought spades and shovels. She wasn't looking forward to this part, but one of the villagers led them through the town until they came to a little house with a low fence and a fallow-looking garden out the front. It looked like it had once been well tended, with several plots carefully marked out with wooden beams that had long since rotted and fallen with age and exposure to the weather. She scanned the garden, glancing down at the woman who'd led them here.

  "This is Bran's place?"

  "Aye, he and Hannah lived here for years," Olivia said, shaking her head. "He always refused to move to a smaller place for just himself, for some reason. Refused to take visitors for years, too."

  They circled the house, which was closed up and clearly uninhabited — no doubt Bran was down at the other village, whipping up the crowd into an angry frenzy, determined to have Aelfred hanged before the dawn came. Melanie gritted her teeth, trying to put her fear at bay — part of her was petrified that even now, her love was being hauled out to the town square to be hanged. But Father Caleb wouldn't allow that, she reassured herself. He was going to stall as long as possible. They circled the cottage, and Olivia clicked her tongue when they reached the little garden down the back.

  "That was Hannah's vegetable garden," she said softly, pointing to a fallow corner of the little yard. "It was her pride and joy… he's clearly not touched it in years."

  Melanie felt something click. "Dig," she said softly, taking a shovel from one of the villagers and striding up to the empty garden bed. She dug the blade of the shovel into the soft earth and turned it back, gritting her teeth as she readied herself for a long shift of digging — but before she knew it, three or four villagers were at her side, joining her in the work. A couple more gathered around, holding torches high so they could see what they were doing. Full of gratitude for their help… and determination to get to the bottom of this mystery… Melanie kept digging, ignoring the dull pain in her back as they slowly excavated the garden bed. They dug a foot down, two feet, three feet… she was beginning to lose faith, but she couldn't give up now, could she? They had to keep digging… had to keep searching… Aelfred's salvation was at the bottom of this garden bed…

  And then her shovel struck something strange, something different from the dirt around it. Her eyes widened as she raised a hand, calling hoarsely for the digging to stop as she dropped to her knees in the deep excavation they'd made. Her fingers flew to the soil and she took a sharp breath in as she realized what she was touching. It was cloth. Frantic, she began to scoop carefully at the earth with her hands, heedless of the dirt getting under her fingernails… and in a heartbeat, the villagers were with her, tossing the shovels aside and digging carefully with their hands to avoid damaging what they'd found…

  It had been thirty years, she thought dizzily, gazing down at what they'd found once the digging was over. Thirty years was enough to take the flesh and hair and sinew from the body, leaving not much more than bones… but there they lay. And not just bones, either. There, at the skeleton's throat, lay a pendant with a curious pattern on it. Olivia pointed to it with a trembling hand, her eyes full of tears.

  "She wore that every day of her life," the woman breathed, the tears spilling down her cheeks. "Oh, Hannah, I thought you'd gotten away from him…"

  Carefully, with a silent prayer of apology, Melanie reached down to gently remove the pendant from the body's neck, promising to return it once its purpose was served. Hannah would want her son to be exonerated, she knew that, and she held the pendant tight in her hand as she stared around at the villagers, their faces drawn and shocked in the torchlight.

  "We have to get back," she said firmly. "You're all witnesses to what we found here. Bran Grant murdered his wife thirty years ago. When his son, the only witness, returned to the area, he immediately stirred up rumors against him and sent men after him to kill him — all to hide his own crime."

  "She'd have done anything to protect her boy," Olivia said softly, shaking her head. "Even die for him. Which she did."

  The group trudged out of the yard, shaking their heads. Olivia was murmuring about organizing a proper funeral for the woman, once Bran had been dealt with, and Melanie felt a shiver run down her spine. She had the proof, she knew the truth… she only hoped it wasn't too late to save Aelfred from his fate. They walked quickly through the dark of the night, torches raised high, determined expressions on their face — and when curious villagers emerged from their houses to ask what was going on, she heard the villagers filling them in. Word would spread quickly, she knew that much — word that Bran Grant, the tavern owner, was a murderer. But unlike the rumors that Bran had spread, these ones were true.

  It must have been two or three in the morning by the time they reached the village. The streets were still noisy, and the group of them stopped at the church first, a worried Caleb coming quickly out to meet them. It seemed more and more villagers were taking refuge in the church — meanwhile, the Watch had been called out to guard the house where Aelfred was being held, an angry mob forming out of the front of it, baying for blood. Melanie gritted her teeth.

  "We have to get down there," she told the group of villagers, lifting the pendant that hadn't left her hand since she'd taken it gently from Hannah's neck. "We need to tell them what's going on."

  Together, the little group set out, Father Caleb accompanying them this time. He was clearly frightened, but he held his head high, and Melanie appreciated his courage even in the face of his fear. The streets were full of villagers, milling about, looking tired, and angry, and confused, but the looks on their faces seemed to deter most people from interfering with them.

  Then they reached the cottage where Aelfred was being held. Sure enough, a huge crowd had formed — dozens of people, most of them surly men like the ones Bran had sent to their camp to kill them that morning, their faces drawn as they shouted angrily at the impassive watchmen who stood in front of the door to the cottage. Melanie recognized Galen among them, standing front and center, his imposing frame dissuading even the bolder men from trying anything. As she approached, his eyes widened in recognition, and he barked something over his shoulder. Brendan emerged from the cottage, looking utterly exhausted — and surprised to see her.

  "Melanie! We heard you were badly hurt —"

  "I got better," she said shortly, not wanting to get into it in front of everyone here — the last thing she wanted was for Maggie's kindness to be repaid with another witch hunt, especially with the villagers currently whipped up into their suspicious state. "What's going on?"

  "Calls for Aelfred to be executed for murder," Brendan said, shaking his head. "He's given us his side of the story, but —"

  "His side's the truth," Melanie said shortly. "We were f
ast asleep when those men rushed us. One of them slashed my back open. It's a miracle I survived. His actions were self-defense, plain and simple." She was speaking loudly enough for the crowd to hear her, and an ugly murmur went up among them at that.

  "Why were you attacked?" Brendan wanted to know.

  "Because they're witches!" a man in the crowd called — but Father Caleb puffed up his chest at that, surprising her with the volume of his voice.

  "Lies!" he boomed, quelling the crowd as he cast his beady eye over them. "Aelfred and Melanie took holy Communion in our Church barely a day hence. They are no more witches than I, or any man here, and those rumors are false."

  "Bran wants Aelfred dead," Melanie shouted over the murmuring of the crowd. "Aelfred, his own son, returned to him after thirty years!"

  Shock and consternation at that — and one voice, louder than the others, shouting that it was lies, all lies. She scanned the crowd… and sure enough, there was Bran himself, lit by torchlight. He had no idea where they'd been, she realized, her heart pounding. He didn't know that his secret had been found out… which meant that they had the advantage, well and truly.

  "Bring Aelfred out," she told Brendan, her heart pounding.

  He frowned. "With this crowd? I don't think —"

  "I need him to see something. Trust me," she said, willing Brendan to believe her.

  He hesitated for a long moment, worry clear on his face… then nodded, turning on his heel and striding inside. Her heart was pounding, and her blood felt ice cold in her veins. This was it. This was the moment.

  Aelfred emerged, a guard holding both of his hands behind him. He looked utterly exhausted, his face drawn and pale, though when his eyes fell on her, he looked shocked and relieved to see her upright. She realized with a wince that he hadn't known, until this moment, whether she was alive or dead… she wanted badly to go to him, to take him in her arms and promise him it was going to be alright, but she couldn't. Not in front of a crowd. Not when their fate rested on what happened next. She was acutely aware that Bran was in the crowd, that this was it… and she took a deep breath, turning to address the crowd.