Highlander Cursed: A Scottish Time Travel Romance

by Preston, Rebecca

  Gavin glanced down at her, raising an eyebrow, and she grinned a little. As traumatic as the evening had been, it felt kind of good to have a war story to tell.

  Chapter 29

  Delilah rode beside Gavin on the march home. The sun was beginning to creep over the horizon, and she felt tired down to her bones — and worried by the way Gavin wasn’t talking to her. He’d moved like a robot since the fight with Kenneth, gathering his men and heading for the horses. There were no casualties more serious than the man she’d seen bandaging his wound, to her great relief. But she wasn’t going to be the one to break this silence. She’d already done her fair share of running her mouth off. It was Gavin’s turn.

  The castle was in view before he finally broke the silence between them, and her heart leapt as he turned to meet her eyes.

  “Delilah, I cannot tell you how sorry I am for how I reacted at the meeting the other day,” he said softly, his eyes full of feeling. “I panicked. Twenty years of misery and you’re the first thing to bring me out of it — and I treated you like that. Humiliated you like that, in front of everybody. It was absolutely unforgivable.”

  “Not quite,” she said, grinning a little. “I think rescuing me from witch hunters is a pretty good apology, honestly.”

  “You mean — you’ll forgive me?”

  “Aye,” she said, feeling her chest explode with warmth. “Of course I will, you great big idiot. Will you forgive me?”

  “What on Earth for?” The gates were being lowered, a raucous cheer going up from the top of the gate, where a skeleton crew of guards had remained to keep watch over the castle. They were pleased to see their comrades home, Delilah saw with some amusement — there were several bottles of what looked like whiskey being lifted high in celebration, and she imagined there would be a great deal of carousing before anyone went to bed. But Gavin only had eyes for her — he steered them toward the stable, but reined his horse aside to talk to her as the rest of the men went ahead to untack their horses before heading inside for the celebrations.

  “What do you mean? I rode off in the middle of the night like an idiot, didn’t tell anyone where I was going, nearly got myself killed and put you and all your men in danger—”

  “And helped us root out a dangerous cell of witch hunters and gain considerable political leverage with Lord Weatherby. Nobody got killed, Delilah, and we’ve gained so much. I’m calling this one a win, and I’d advise you to do the same. That being said — we need to speak to Laird Donal.”

  “Okay,” Delilah said, a thrill of dread running through her despite Gavin’s words of comfort.

  Gavin led her through the castle — she’d never been so happy to see those stone walls again in her life. Laird Donal was waiting for them in the kitchen, of all places, and she frowned in confusion — before realizing that he was casually snacking from a huge plate of what she recognized as the pastries Dolores made for breakfast. Fiona had mentioned them being Donal’s favorites — there was something absurdly charming about the idea that even the Laird of the castle still enjoyed sneaking them from time to time.

  Gavin made a full report on the mission to Lord Weatherby’s, leaving nothing out — and she had to admit, the story overall sounded good. No men lost, a dangerous threat to the castle eliminated, and Lord Weatherby owing the MacClarans a serious favor… not bad for a night that had briefly looked like it was going to end in excruciating death for Delilah.

  “One more thing,” Gavin said — and Delilah blinked up at him. She could see through the open kitchen doors that the other time-lost women were already gathering in the Great Hall, and she was itching to talk to them about everything that had happened, to reassure them that they were safe from the witch hunters. All six of them were craning their necks to see her through the door, and she grinned and waved, sure she must look quite a sight in her bloodstained clothing.

  “Laird Donal, I’d like to formally request your permission to marry Delilah Cortland. Today, if possible.”

  Delilah turned back to Gavin, certain she’d just hallucinated. Laird Donal was gazing at them both, a very serious expression on his handsome young face — undercut only slightly by the half-eaten pastry in his hand.

  “I see. And will Delilah Cortland have you, after what you put her through the other day?” He quirked an eyebrow at her, and she pretended to give serious consideration to the question, even though her heart felt like it was going to leap out of her throat with joy.

  “I suppose so,” she said archly. Then something clicked home. “Wait — did you say today?”

  “If you’re willing,” Gavin said, grinning — and she hurled herself into his arms. He swung her around, laughing, and they kissed until Donal cleared his throat in a pointed kind of way.

  “Well? Are we having a wedding? Audrina is going to be very disappointed if we’re not, she’s been up all night planning with Dolores and Marianne —”

  Delilah stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  Gavin cleared his throat. “The women may or may not have had a little chat with me after the meeting. Helped me get my head straight.”

  “Those interfering old busybodies,” Delilah said, her eyes widening. “I love them so much.”

  “One condition for the wedding,” Donal said, eyeing them both. “You have to wash the blood off before I let the priest see either of you. He’s already suspicious of the short notice.”

  “I don’t have a dress,” Delilah said, staring blankly at Gavin. “Or — or — or anything!”

  There was a gentle cough from the doorway — there stood the other women, trying to look nonchalant even as they all vied to get a good look at Gavin and Delilah. Audrina was at the head of the little group, and she grinned at Delilah.

  “Come with me, darling. We MacClaran women know how to throw a wedding.”

  A few hours later, Delilah could hardly believe what was happening to her. Cora had helped her bathe and wash her hair, then helped her into an absolutely beautiful long white dress that somehow fit her perfectly. The other women were ready and waiting in the Great Hall, which had in record time been decked out with flowers, and Delilah could smell the sumptuous smell of lunch cooking in the kitchen. And there stood Gavin, looking bashful but extremely handsome, decked out in MacClaran tartan with Eamon MacClaran at his side, adjusting his clothing with a fastidiousness that was surprising.

  The ceremony was short, but beautiful. The priest performed some of the blessing in Gaelic, which Gavin translated for her under his breath. All of the MacClaran ‘witches’ stood beside her as her bridesmaids — Audrina, Cora, Marianne, Fiona and Karin, each with a matching flower either woven through her hair or pinned to her gown, and each wearing an identical look of love and joy at the ceremony they were witnessing. And the Great Hall — full of the people of the castle — roared its approval as Gavin took her in his arms and kissed her. And though neither of them had slept since the previous day, they somehow had the energy to dance all afternoon and into the evening (Fiona, it seemed, had managed to track down and enlist a small band at incredibly short notice.)

  But as the night drew in, and tipsy wedding guests began to roll off toward their quarters, Delilah found herself drawn outside, to the steps of the Great Hall that overlooked the vegetable gardens behind the castle. It was quiet, here, and she took a deep breath, feeling the cold air of the night beginning to creep in. She’d never felt happier in her life. But was Morag happy? Was she at peace, wherever she was?

  As though he’d sensed her, Gavin appeared by her side, slipping an arm around her shoulders and gathering her slender frame to his side. She stood, leaned against the warmth of his body, and they gazed into the darkening night sky together, content not to say a word. She knew he was thinking about Morag — and not a flicker of negative feeling disturbed her at that knowledge. Morag would always be with them in some way — she was the woman who had brought them together. And for the rest of her life, Delilah would be grateful she had. Because wit
hout Morag, she wouldn’t have found Gavin, or Castle MacClaran, or any of the women who’d become her dearest friends. She wouldn’t have found this place — the first place, of all the places she’d been in her long and travel-heavy life, where she felt she truly belonged.

  “Shall we go home?” Gavin asked, his voice low and soft in the evening air.

  Delilah nodded, and he leaned down to kiss her, soft and sweet and gentle — and the feeling of his lips on hers stirred her in ways she thought she was far too tired for.

  “Let’s,” she breathed — she could tell from the look in his eyes that they were both on the same page. “Do we have to go back through there?” She loved her friends dearly, but she wasn’t very interested in a protracted series of goodnights — or the knowing looks they were bound to subject her to.

  Gavin chuckled — then grabbed her hand and led her through the gardens, both of them laughing like disobedient children as they found a secret entrance to the castle around the side and moved undetected through the corridors like ghosts.

  “Finally,” she groaned as Gavin closed the door behind them. His quarters were warm and cozy, and she looked around with approval. There was a cheerful fire burning in the hearth, clearly waiting for them, and the table was decked out with flowers. Even the bed was strewn with petals — she wondered who’d been responsible for that little gesture. And on the table was a bottle of wine — and she gasped, suddenly putting the pieces together with a grin that spread across her face like wildfire.

  “Mary MacClaran,” she said, grinning widely as she poured her new husband a glass of red wine. They toasted one another as the evening gathered in, the distant sound of the band rising up through the castle.

  “They’ll dance all night, I’d wager,” Gavin said softly, nodding toward the raucous sounds of merriment as he finished his glass.

  “Mm. Maybe we should go back down and join them?” Delilah said archly, sitting back on the bed and pinning him with a look.

  “I’ve got a few other plans for the rest of the evening, if I’m honest,” he said, his voice low and intense, and suddenly he was upon her, his body pressing against hers as he kissed her hard and longing and desperate, and sleeping was the last thing on her mind as he tugged her dress from her shoulders and ran his hands across her body, kissed her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach—

  They spent the rest of the night exploring each other, hardly disturbed by the raucous sounds of merriment that continued long into the evening, and fell asleep just before dawn, absolutely exhausted and absolutely content, wrapped in one another’s arms.

  Chapter 30

  Delilah stood, her hands on her hips, staring around the quarters she and Gavin had moved to shortly after their wedding. These were on the ground floor, and had a back door that opened directly onto the courtyard and allowed for a quick exit when she was feeling overwhelmed by castle life. Which wasn’t often, if she was honest — but sometimes she started to feel a little claustrophobic. And though she had less time than she used to, it was still nice to get out into the forest outside the walls a few times a week to train with her sword, just like old times. Sometimes she’d take a wooden sparring sword — but mostly she’d take the longsword she’d had for over a year, now. Baldric had brought it to her a few days after the conflict at the Weatherby mansion, presented it solemnly as a gift in thanks for her assistance in clearing out the witch hunters.

  That strange little confrontation had been rather a significant historical event, in the end — for all that it had come about as the result of a very rash and impulsive decision on her own part. Thankfully, that particular element was often left out of accounts of the story — there was much more focus on Delilah’s quick thinking and heroism in overcoming her captors and escaping, and on Gavin’s incredible ride from the mansion to Clan MacClaran to muster the forces that had taken the house back from the mercenaries.

  Brother Willows had been sent back to the Vatican, where he claimed to have received his orders, in great disgrace. Lord Weatherby had made it clear that if he or any of his men were ever seen in this part of the country again, they’d be put to death the way Kenneth had been, without trial. It suited Weatherby to be so strict and fierce about all of this, Delilah had thought with some amusement — after all, Baldric had confided in her that the man had stayed hiding in his chambers for a solid forty-eight hours even after the mercenaries had been banished, so frightened was he that they’d come back and seize him again. They hadn’t harmed a hair on his head, of course, but he wasn’t exactly a brave man, Baldric had explained, grinning — one of his eyes was still almost swollen shut from the beating he’d taken from the witch hunters, and his nose was crooked in a new and interesting way. Still, Delilah was delighted to see him again. She’d apologized for not inviting him to her wedding.

  He and Gavin had shaken hands, and she’d smiled a little at the faint note of jealousy lingering on Gavin’s face — but a long conversation about sword fighting later, and the two were fast friends. She was pleased — it was good to be able to maintain her friendship with Baldric. They fell into a habit of writing one another letters, but not without agreeing on a series of coded drawings that would indicate whether or not the communications were being made under duress or not.

  Not that there was much of great secrecy to discuss with Baldric any longer. Life in Castle MacClaran settled easily into a pleasant pace, not marred at all by death or calamity. No young women went missing or were tragically killed — and though they waited with bated breath, no confused twenty-first century women appeared in their midst either. Delilah had complained about it, tongue-in-cheek, over breakfast with all the other women one morning.

  “I just don’t want to be the new girl for the rest of my life,” she complained, gesturing with her fork. “I want some poor new sap I can teach about riding horses and sword fighting!”

  “Well,” Marianne said thoughtfully. “We’ve been asking around, doing a bit of research, and in terms of women the curse applies to… well, there were a few unexplained deaths that we may still be waiting on.”

  Delilah stared at her. “Really? I was joking — honestly, I’d be thrilled if I was the last woman who got pulled back through time like this. It hasn’t exactly been the easiest few months of my life, you know?”

  Audrina put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I know, dear. And I’d be glad not to make any new twenty-first century friends myself, too. But we must be ready for them, if they do come. We’ll make them a safe home here, keep them from danger, and help them find the happiness we’ve all found.”

  “Speaking of,” Marianne said significantly, cutting her eyes at Delilah.

  “Let me tell them, you witch,” Delilah had scolded her. “This absolute madwoman came to me this morning to tell me about a dream she’d had. I was most unimpressed. That’s the problem with witches, you can never surprise them with anything. Anyway. Long story short… we don’t have to worry about time paradoxes anymore.” She grinned at her friends, who had all leaned forward curiously in their chairs, and put a hand unconsciously on her belly. “I’m pregnant.”

  Cora had actually screamed, drawing the concerned attention of a handful of guards eating at the next table — her husband Ian, who was eating with the Laird, had glanced over with a fond smile on his face to watch her leap to her feet and cavort gleefully around Delilah, already rattling on a mile a minute about herbs to ease morning sickness, sources of valuable nutrients to keep the baby healthy and strong, and conjecture about when exactly the baby would be born. Marianne idly informed Delilah that the baby would be a Leo—

  “Oh, and do you want to know the sex?”

  “You used to be shy about your powers,” Delilah objected, laughing. “Remember? You used to say they were unreliable?”

  “I can’t do stuff, but I can certainly know stuff. And I know stuff. I’ll keep it a secret, if you like.” But Delilah had caved almost instantly — and Marianne had laughed. “A girl! She’s
a girl.”

  “You’ve got the same odds of winning a coin flip,” Karin pointed out diplomatically, ever the scientist.

  But sure enough — six months later, after a fairly smooth delivery (all thanks to Cora, whose obsessive preparations made everything run like clockwork) Delilah held a tiny little girl in her arms — and beamed wide enough to split her face open as the baby opened her bright green eyes. Gavin’s eyes. He was there beside her — he’d been a rock through the delivery, holding her hand, coaching her through the worst of the contractions, full of love and kindness, and the look on his face as he looked down at their new daughter was absolutely breathtaking. Delilah hardly knew whether to look at her daughter or her husband, she was so overwhelmed with love for them both — and exhaustion from the long delivery.

  “Emily,” she told Cora her name, grinning — she’d picked it only a few days after Marianne had told her they were having a girl, with Gavin’s delighted approval. They hadn’t even considered names for boys, despite Karin’s objections to their certainty. “Welcome to the world, little one.”

  Then Cora had gently taken her to bathe her, and Delilah had fallen into an exhausted sleep. An hour or so later, she’d woken with a start — only to discover Gavin, sitting at her side, gently rocking the sleeping Emily in his arms with so much tenderness that she almost wept to watch him with her.

  They’d briefly considered naming the little one Morag — but it felt strange to remember the woman that way. It almost felt like naming her Delilah. Morag was too close to them still, too much a presence in their lives for her name to feel unfamiliar enough to give to a baby. Delilah still talked to her, occasionally, in the same way one would talk to an old friend. She had the strangest feeling that the spirit of the witch was still around, watching over them — and that she was happy with what she saw. Perhaps she’d stay around until the curse had completely resolved itself — until the last of the time-orphaned women had returned from the future to join them, playing out the conditions of the blessing. At least the tragic deaths had stopped. Young MacClaran men felt free to court and fall in love, and young women of the village no longer had any reason to keep a wide berth (not that they often did — you couldn’t stop young love with silly stories about curses. If Delilah had learned anything from her study of folklore, it was that.)