Hold A Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (A Highlander Across Time Book 3)

by Rebecca Preston

  "Why didn't you come straight in?"

  "I did," Niamh said innocently. "But I couldn't help hearing what you said, first. Who you were talking about." There was a wicked gleam in her eyes as she stared at her, insolent and cavalier. "You were writing about Hugh MacLeod, weren't you? I heard you say his name."

  "He's a friend of mine, that's all," Carissa said levelly, fighting to keep herself from blushing even as her heart pounded and anger began to swell up inside her. How dare this young slip of a girl eavesdrop on her private thoughts! She was a combination of angry and embarrassed, and the two emotions warred for dominance as she fought both of them down to maintain her composure. Niamh was trying to get a rise out of her. And she wasn't going to give her what she wanted, even if it killed her. "I was writing about something we were talking about a few days ago. In my private journal," she added, stressing the adjective lightly.

  "Oh, I'm so sorry if I've caused you offence," Niamh said, her dark eyes filling with mock sincerity. "I truly didn't mean to."

  And then she was off with one more half-hearted and profoundly insincere apology, leaving Carissa to stew. Why did it bother her so much that Niamh knew she was friends with Hugh? It wasn't as though much had happened between them… it hadn't exactly had the opportunity to, not with her stuck in bed most days and his visits being only as frequent as propriety would allow. It was just that she didn't like being gossiped about, that was all. But even her annoyance with Niamh and her ways wasn't enough to take the edge off her good mood. With Maria finally having agreed that she was well enough to be out and about again, she was heading down to the stables later that night to have dinner with Hugh.

  And she was looking forward to it a lot more than she liked to admit, even to herself.

  Chapter 11

  “Do you like it?”

  Carissa twirled in her new dress, the skirts kicking up pieces of hay as the hem scraped against the floor of the stables. Hugh nodded in admiration, standing back to take the full effect of the dress in with a smile dancing across his face.

  "And you said you sewed this?"

  "Oh, no. I helped a little, that's all. I wasn't the mastermind. But I did all of the stitching on the bodice," she said proudly, tracing her fingers over the slightly uneven stitching she could feel along the sleeve of the dress. "It took ages. I miss sewing machines."

  "Sewing machines?" He was always interested to hear about technology from the future — they'd had a long chat about exactly what a car was, during which she'd tried and failed to explain exactly how a combustion engine worked. Probably for the best, all things considered. He might have tried to actually build one, and then where would they have been? Standing next to a smoking crater in the ground, most likely.

  "Sewing machines," she agreed. "My mother had one. She was always mending things… but I don't think she ever did any actual dressmaking. Sewed patches on all my jeans when I was a kid," she said with a fond smile.

  "Do you miss her?" Hugh asked, tilting his head to the side a little.

  She nodded mutely, feeling a lump rise in her throat.

  "I can understand that."

  "You're close with your mother, aren't you?" she asked, smiling a little as she thought of the gray-haired woman she'd met that first day. It felt like years ago, though it was only a few weeks.

  "Aye, I suppose I am. We adults have to stick together," he added, rolling his eyes.

  She chuckled, well aware of the house full of ruffians he and Erin had to deal with on a daily basis. Six younger sisters… no wonder he preferred the peace of the stables. And, of course, she hoped he preferred them for another reason too, at least over the last few weeks… but she didn't dare breathe that hope aloud.

  "She's been asking after you," he added, glancing up at her. "Hopes you're feeling well again."

  "I am," she said, remembering something that Maria had brought up to her with a start. "Oh! I completely forgot to send thanks for the tea she sent. It made me feel a lot better."

  "Tea?" He looked suddenly shocked — for all the world as though she'd referenced some great weapon instead of a simple herbal tea. "She sent you a remedy?"

  "Something like that, I guess." It had tasted of herbs — of chamomile and a few other things she didn't recognize. The steam had soothed her sore throat and swollen sinuses when she'd breathed it in, and the taste had been delicious, too, seeming to restore her strength right when she needed it most. "A remedy, huh? Like — herbal stuff?"

  "Something like that," he echoed her, looking lost in thought.

  "What's wrong? You look worried about something."

  "Not worried. Just thinking." He hesitated. "Carissa… would you like to come for dinner at my mother's cottage at the end of the week?"

  She blinked, surprised by the invitation. "That would be lovely. Is there some occasion?" She could feel her heart pounding hard in her chest — and it didn't ease up when Hugh took a step closer to her, a meaningful look in his eyes.

  "In a way. Carissa, I — I'm rather taken by you, if I'm honest."

  She felt her stomach lurch at that admission, forced herself not to blush to the roots of her hair, waiting with bated breath for what he was about to say.

  "I want you to know I — I intend to court you properly. And I'd like you to meet my family before things get too… I mean, if things get — I mean — " He looked flustered.

  She bit her lip, torn between giddiness at what he was confessing to her, and a burning desire to help him out of whatever hole he was talking himself into.

  "Am I making a fool of myself, Carissa?"

  "No!" Shocked, she moved closer to him before she could stop the instinct — but at the same time, he'd taken a step closer to her, and before she knew it she was in his arms and his face was close, full of shock and something else — something that mirrored the feeling that had been deep in her chest for the last three weeks… and before she knew what she was doing, before she could talk herself out of it, she reached up and closed the distance between them with a kiss.

  It could have lasted a minute or two, or even longer, and when Hugh finally broke away she knew two things. One — kissing hadn't changed much in hundreds of years. And two — she very, very much wanted to kiss Hugh again. His eyes were full of desire and the smile on his face was utterly bewitching, but when she went to kiss him again he pulled back a little, shaking his head gently with that breathtaking smile widening.

  "I'm so glad I wasn't imagining this," she said breathlessly, and that won a laugh from him.

  "Imagining it! I'm surprised I didn't give myself a way that first night we met. You're a beautiful woman, Carissa."

  That hit her so hard she saw stars, and she ducked her head, grinning abashedly. Had Jim ever told her she was beautiful like that? More to the point — had Jim ever called her a woman? He'd said 'girl' plenty of times, usually dismissively… but the way Hugh had spoken her name… God, it sent electricity shooting up and down her spine. But he was stepping back, ever so cautiously, releasing her waist, and she frowned a little, confused by the mixed signals.

  "I — I would very much like to kiss you some more," he said, a little stiffly. "But I worry that I might… lose control of myself, a little. And I'd like you to know more about me, before we… I mean, if we even… if you're the kind of woman who — not the kind of woman, but the — ugh," he finished, scrubbing his face with his hands.

  She couldn't help but laugh. "I know what you mean," she said, feeling a pang of disappointment that she'd have to wait for him… but at the same time, a pleasant glow in her chest that he was serious enough about her to want her to meet his family first. That being said, she didn't exactly know much about courting customs in the medieval era. Quietly, she made a note to ask a few questions of her friends… and then she cleared her throat and their conversation moved on, a little awkward, but not too much.

  She waited until she was back in her room to scream her delight into her pillow, kicking her legs on the bed
like an overexcited schoolgirl. If you couldn't indulge those kinds of impulses in private, where could you? Grinning to herself, she dug out her journal, knowing that she wouldn't be able to get to sleep any time soon and wanting to record every last detail of the conversation she'd just had with Hugh. Was this what it felt like to develop feelings for someone who wasn't… well, awful? Kissing him had felt unbelievable… and what was more, there was nothing in his behavior that made her uncomfortable. Quite the opposite… she felt more comfortable around him than she had around anyone she'd ever dated. She barely even wanted to compare him to Jim — they were like night and day.

  "Calm down, you've only known him a few weeks," she murmured to herself, shaking her head ruefully as the candlelight danced across the pages of her journal. But she couldn't help the giddiness she was feeling. They'd agreed on the following evening for dinner at his mother's house — she was looking forward to spending a little more time with Erin, whose quiet, friendly presence she'd greatly appreciated on her first day here. And she was excited to meet all of his little sisters. They couldn't possibly be the raucous hellraisers he'd told her about… could they?

  Even after filling several pages of her journal with excited scrawlings, it took her a long time to get to sleep — and when she did, her dreams were full of Hugh. She woke bright and early, refreshed with her heart pounding hard in her chest. Everything felt so … awake, somehow. Full of zest and life. Was this how normal people felt? Was this what it was like to live without depression? No — it wasn't that the fog was completely banished. She could feel the edges of it around her consciousness when she looked for it, subtle but present, ever so slightly filtering the light of her mind… but it was nowhere near the overpowering fog that she'd experienced when she'd gotten off the plane in Scotland. It was incredible, what a difference being in a new place could make. Depression wasn't something she was ever going to be rid of, not completely… but right now, in this new place and time, it felt like far less of a burden than it ever had.

  At breakfast, she sat with Maria and Edith and their husbands. All four enquired after her health — after all, they hadn't seen her for several weeks since she'd fallen sick.

  "You're looking much better today," Maria said with satisfaction. "I imagine Erin's tea did a great deal, hmm?"

  "She's a godsend, that woman," the Laird nodded. "She makes an herbal poultice for wounds that I swear could cure a decapitation."

  "He's not exaggerating," Bran said, nodding. "She's also the best midwife in Skye, if not in the whole of Scotland." She didn't miss the glance he exchanged with Edith, but the redhead sighed after a moment, glancing up ruefully at the table.

  "Everyone in the castle is talking about it now," she said with a shrug, "so we may as well talk openly. I don't know how the secret got out."

  Carissa's eyes widened. "I didn't tell a soul," she said quickly, worried that Edith would think that revealing her secret to Carissa could have had something to do with the knowledge spreading around the castle. "I swear, Edith. But one of the servants did tell me about your pregnancy," she added, frowning a little as she recalled the casual way Niamh had revealed what she clearly thought to be a secret to Carissa.

  "I bet I can guess which one," Maria said with a roll of her eyes.

  Carissa blinked, feeling like she was missing something. "What do you mean?"

  "It was Niamh, wasn't it?" Edith said with a sigh, her downcast eyes on her meal. Bran reached over to squeeze her hand reassuringly, anger stark on his solemn face. "I had hoped she was growing out of her fondness for gossip…"

  "Not likely," Maria said darkly. "I've known a thousand girls like that. Mouths too big for their own good. It doesn't go anywhere nice, that's for sure."

  "How would she have found out?" Carissa wanted to know, frowning. "Surely nobody would have told her, if she has such a reputation for gossip…"

  "Not just gossip," Brand said darkly, but Edith shushed him.

  Carissa looked up, curious despite herself about what he was about to say… but she didn't want to irritate Edith by preventing a conversation from moving on, so she left it alone, save for a quick apology for any part she might have played in the spreading of the news.

  "It's good news, overall, so I'm not too worried," Edith said with a shrug, her eyes bright as she glanced up at Bran. "But… well, yes. It's worth being careful around Niamh. She's an excellent seamstress, but she tends to draw disaster with her wherever she goes."

  "Noted," Carissa said, grateful that she hadn't said too much to Niamh. Still, she couldn't help but worry that the girl already knew a little more than she was comfortable with her knowing.

  Chapter 12

  It was later that afternoon that Niamh came by her room again, more fabric in her arms. They'd agreed to work on a blouse and skirt set next so that Carissa would have a few outfits to choose from, and Carissa had already gotten the little sewing kit that Niamh had left in her room out ready for their afternoon of sewing. She couldn't help but worry about what Edith and the others had said about Niamh over breakfast, but the girl was in an unusually good mood today, and they chatted quite pleasantly as they worked about life in the village. Niamh, it seemed, was feeling good about her gentleman friend — the one she intended to marry one day.

  "He'll ask me soon enough, you just wait and see," she told Carissa brightly, her eyes sparkling. "You have to do what you can to get a man and hold him down while you're young. You might want to think about doing the same," she added, raising an eyebrow. "Before that figure of yours goes."

  She was good with the sidelong insults that was for sure, Carissa thought with a roll of her eyes. But after a few weeks spent sewing with the girl, she honestly wasn't too bothered by her little barbs. As they chatted, she found her mind returning again and again to Hugh — especially as Niamh continued to chatter on about marriage and courtship, about how important it was to retain power in the interactions. As mercenary and cold as she sounded, Carissa had to admit, she had a point. Hadn't that been part of what had gone wrong in her relationship with Jim? She'd given him all her power almost immediately — and he'd never given any of it back. Not until she'd left him and taken it by force, of course. And even then, wasn't he still taking up space in her mind?

  "Shame we can't work past sunset in this drab little room," Niamh said idly as she stitched a line down the hem of the skirt she was working on. Carissa had been entrusted with marking out the panels for the blouse, something she was taking very seriously, mindful of Niamh's sharp tongue in the event that she make some minor catastrophic mistake.

  "Oh, I can't work too late tonight anyway," Carissa said without thinking about it, focusing on the stitches she was putting in. "I'm having dinner with Hugh and his family."

  She heard a clatter as Niamh dropped what she was holding, and there was a cold, ugly quality to her voice when she spoke. "You're doing what?"

  Carissa realized what she'd said, and her heart sank. "Um," she started — but when she looked up at Niamh, the expression on the girl's face frightened her to her core. She'd never seen such a pretty girl look so tortured by rage — her lovely face was twisted with fury and she looked at least a decade older as she snarled at her. "Woah. What's wrong?"

  "You — you're going — no," she hissed, low and vicious. And then, without another word, she dropped her handful of sewing and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut so hard behind her that Carissa could feel the windows shaking.

  "What the hell was that?" she whispered to herself, gently pinning her needle into the fabric she was working on and rising to her feet. She padded over to the door and peered into the corridor, where a couple of shellshocked looking servants blinked at her curiously — it seemed Niamh had stormed through them and down the corridor out of sight. Confused, and not particularly keen on going after her, she returned to her room, tidied away the sewing, and settled onto the bed, lost in thought.

  What was her problem? It was pretty clear she had som
e kind of strong feeling about Hugh, she could deduce that much — but why had she been so angry at the idea of Carissa going to have a meal with his family? She hadn't been this angry when she'd mentioned being friends with him… did she want him for herself, perhaps? Her eyes widened as she remembered a conversation they'd had several weeks ago about a young girl in the village who was besotted with him… was it possible Hugh had been talking about Niamh?

  Whatever the case, she knew it wasn't going to be good for Niamh to have to continue to be assigned to her room — to have to teach her to sew as well as bringing her meals and changing her sheets. Shaking her head, Carissa got to her feet and headed for Maria's quarters. The woman looked a little worried when she answered the door — but by the time she'd told her the story, a smile was playing around the corners of her eyes.

  "Interesting. I had a feeling that might be the case." She raised an eyebrow. "You and Hugh, hmm? Oh, don't blush," she added impatiently. "He's gorgeous, you're gorgeous, it's a match made in heaven. I'll see to it that Niamh's assigned to a different set of rooms, alright? I doubt she'll want to sew with you anymore."

  "That's alright." She shrugged. "I learned plenty from her already. Maybe I can find a teacher who doesn't hate me."

  "She does give that impression, doesn't she?" Maria sighed. "Hugh begged Cameron to stop employing her here in the castle after all of that — unpleasantness — went on a few months ago, but apparently she's dearly beloved by several of the ladies here. Few people can sew as well as she can, you see." Maria rolled her eyes. "Talent will get you forgiven all manner of sins. Anyway, if she gives you any more trouble I'll see to it that she loses her position here."

  Carissa hoped it wouldn't come to that. For all that she didn't like Niamh's little barbs, she didn't think the girl deserved to be punished. But she was fiercely curious about just what all the so-called 'unpleasantness' had been. Hugh had been rather elusive when he mentioned it, too. At the time she hadn't minded, because Niamh had been a stranger — but now, well, she was a little more invested in knowing about what kind of competition she was going to encounter when it came to Hugh's affection for her.