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

by Rebecca Preston

  It would be hard work, of course — children always were. But she had something now that she hadn't had back in New York — she had a huge support network. Why, Edith and Maria would help her — and so would Erin, she had no doubt, especially as it would be her grandchild she was helping with. Hugh's sisters would be happy to babysit, she was certain… she effectively had a whole village to help her raise a child. This was how it was supposed to be, she realized, her heart filling with warmth as she gazed down at Hugh's sleeping face. And she knew, in that moment, that if he were to ask her to marry him — her answer would be yes.

  In the meantime, though, she'd keep taking the herbal fertility drugs. It wasn't a sure thing, she knew that — the tome didn't exactly have percentages, but it did warn that no herbs could stop new life taking root if that was fate — but for the meantime, it was better than nothing. The only other option was to stop making love to Hugh… and as she looked down at him, she knew by the thrill that raced down her spine that that simply wasn't an option.

  But she wasn't afraid. So, what if she fell pregnant? She'd simply have a child. Several of them, if she felt like it — she thought of Erin's pair of twins and smiled to herself.

  But for the time being, she had her studies to focus on. Hugh slipped away before dawn, as had become his habit, and she slept until midmorning before getting up and heading downstairs to grab some breakfast to eat in her room. She had lots of reading to do before she saw Erin again the following day — the tome had plenty of information on herbs other than the fertility ones she'd been interested in, and Erin had suggested she begin looking at the ingredients for a healing poultice before they saw each other again. It was apparently one of the most common requests from injured villagers, and helped with all manner of injuries, from grazed knees to deep infected wounds. Carissa had a suspicion that once she mastered the poultice, Erin might just teach her how to infuse it with magic to add an extra boost to its healing capabilities — and she was very, very excited to find out what that looked like.

  She was deep in thought, murmuring aloud to herself as she studied the various qualities of the herbs, when she heard footsteps outside her door. She'd taken to leaving it ajar when she was studying, appreciating the way it encouraged a cool breeze to move through the room — the fresh air helped her think. She was so focused on her studies that she barely heard the footsteps as they approached and didn't pay much mind to them when they stopped — until she looked up and saw a very familiar face peering cautiously through her doorway.

  "Oh!" she said, startled by the girl's presence — and apprehension flooded through her. "Niamh. I haven't seen you for a while."

  "No, I've been moved down to the kitchen," the girl said, idly examining her fingertips.

  There was a look on her face that made Carissa feel nervous… a smug look, like a cat that had gotten into the cream. What was she so happy about? Surely news would have reached her by now that Carissa and Hugh were an item — they'd been spending far too much time together for word not to have spread through the servants. Even Maria had confirmed that she'd heard a few servants gossiping about them, and someone like Niamh would be well abreast of talk like that. Why wasn't she angry?

  "Are you finding it okay?" she asked, feeling a little awkward. She was covering the book with her hand, not wanting Niamh to see what she was studying, remembering what Erin had told her about herbcraft being misconstrued as witchcraft.

  Niamh nodded brightly. "Oh, yes. I'm having lots of fun. Making lots of new friends with the girls down there, hearing all sorts of funny stories… and how are you? How's the sewing going?"

  "Well, I'm nowhere near as good as you yet," she admitted, dropping automatically into the habit of self-deprecation that had initially endeared her to Niamh during their sewing lessons. "But I'm doing my best."

  "Was that what you were reading about?" Niamh asked innocently. "I heard you talking to yourself like you do when you're writing…"

  She flushed, realizing with a start that she'd been muttering the ingredients of the poultice aloud. This girl must have ears like a bat… how much, exactly, had she heard? She bit her lip. "Just my journal," she lied. Inspiration struck her. "I've been writing a story… that's what I used to do back home, where I came from. I wrote stories."

  "Oh, how lovely." Niamh's face was unreadable — that bland, complacent smile making Carissa's skin crawl. "I love stories."

  "This one's about a witch," she said, worried that Niamh had heard her detailing the poultice ingredients and wanting to give her an explanation for them. "A witch who makes a potion that –"

  "That's nice," Niamh cut her off. "Anyway, I wanted to talk to you."

  She came into the room and settled herself down on the end of Carissa's bed without asking. Carissa was just glad she'd made the bed… and she hoped fiercely that Niamh couldn't smell the lingering scent of horses and hay, or that she wouldn't associate it with Hugh…

  "What's the matter?" Carissa asked, turning her chair around and making sure Niamh's view of the book was blocked — she didn't miss the way the girl's sharp eyes tried to dart to the book.

  "I just feel awful about how we left things," Niamh pouted, an insincere look of sorrow on her face as she pushed her hair out of her eyes. "The way I spoke to you and Hugh was very childish. I hope you can forgive me."

  "Of course," Carissa said cautiously, tilting her head curiously. She couldn't help but feel that this was a game — but what kind? "I understand that you… had some very strong feelings about him."

  "I do," Niamh agreed pleasantly, her eyes gleaming. "I adore him — and I'm sorry to tell you, Carissa, but he loves me too."

  Carissa fought the urge to laugh, trying to keep control of her response to that. It was a little bit tragic how convinced this girl seemed to be that Hugh wanted her… when Carissa knew for a fact that it was her he was interested in, not Niamh. But what could she say to the poor deluded thing? "I don't know if that's true," she said cautiously. "Niamh — you're a beautiful, clever girl. You could have a man who'd adore you. Why are you so fixed on Hugh?"

  Her expression darkened. "He wants me," she snapped, rising to her feet. "He just can't admit it yet because you're in his way. I know you're up to something. Or do you think I'm stupid enough to believe your stories about being from another town?"

  "Niamh –"

  "It doesn't matter," she said abruptly, waving her hand. "You'll see — soon enough, he'll come back to me. I just thought I'd give you fair warning," she added with a sickly little smile. "We girls have to look after each other. I hope he doesn't break your heart too badly."

  And with that, she was gone, flouncing out of the room as quickly as she'd arrived. Carissa watched her go, a little shocked by how rude she'd been… but worried, deep down, about the clear confidence she'd shown that she had some kind of power over Hugh. She didn't like the way she'd talked about where Carissa was from, either. What if she suspected witchcraft? But there was nothing she could do about it. All she could do was hope that Niamh was just convinced by her own delusions.

  Still, she couldn't help but feel a little distracted as she continued about her work, and when Hugh came to see her that night, she bit her lip and decided against telling him about her strange little encounter with Niamh. It would only upset him… and there was nothing to worry about, not really.

  Was there?

  Chapter 20

  Hugh slipped away in the wee hours of the morning again, and she lay awake for a little while, smiling to herself in the dark as she let her mind stray to the idea of a wedding. What were medieval weddings like, she wondered? Probably a great deal less stressful than modern ones… no need to worry about hiring a photographer when it would be hundreds of years before the camera was invented. Grinning to herself, she drifted off to sleep, but found herself awake for breakfast. She needed to be at Erin's cottage by noon, so she decided to head down for breakfast instead of relying on her usual habit of swiping a few bread rolls from th
e kitchens and eating them on the ride over.

  It was nice to be awake so early for once — she'd gotten into the habit, over the last few weeks, of sleeping through the morning, and it felt nice to be up and about so early again. She found Maria and Edith soon enough, and the three of them sat together, digging into huge bowls of steaming oatmeal — or porridge, as the locals called it.

  "How's the herbcraft coming along?" Maria wanted to know.

  "Great. Erin lent me this enormous book the night before last — I've been reading as much of it as I can get through. It's incredible. Generations and generations of women, all adding their own knowledge… I hope I'm smart enough to add my own recipe one day," she said with a smile. "I even made a potion."

  "You did?" Maria raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "Look at you. You'll be the village witch in no time."

  "Shh," Edith said sharply, glancing nervously around the dining hall.

  Carissa nodded, grateful for the reminder that what was she was studying didn't exactly need to be common knowledge… and frowning as she thought of the glint in Niamh's eyes when she'd made her strange little visit last night.

  "I made a kind of anti-fertility tea," she explained, still a little distracted by her thoughts of Niamh. "Not exactly as reliable as the Pill, but –"

  "Better than nothing." Maria shrugged. "I'm glad you're being safe."

  "That being said…" She toyed with her food, unable to stop the blush that was rising to her cheeks. "We might not have to be too safe for too much longer."

  Edith's eyes widened. "You mean — he didn't –"

  "Not officially," she said quickly, not wanting Edith to get too carried away. The girl was a hopeless romantic. "But we talked about it — about the future, committing to each other. It wasn't a proposal, exactly, but…"

  "Good," Maria said firmly, a smile on her face. "It's good to know where you stand with someone. Hugh's a good man — I knew he'd do the right thing."

  "I can't believe I'm considering marrying someone I've only known for a little more than a month," she said, shaking her head. "Everything logical in me thinks it's a terrible idea… but it just feels so right."

  "That's how I felt about Bran," Edith said simply. "I just… knew."

  "Me too," Maria said with a shrug. "When I met Cameron… it just all made sense. Like a puzzle piece clicking into place. And I'm hardly a romantic," she added with a roll of her eyes. "Back home it was all any man could do to get me to go on a date with him. I never had any time for it. But Cameron… well, I don't want to get all soppy, but…" She shrugged. "It was like I was meant to be here."

  "That's exactly what I've been thinking," she gasped, taken aback by hearing her own thoughts echoed by her friend. "It's like — hundreds of people visit the ruins and probably go through that door, right? But I was the only one who turned up here. Me and you two, anyway," she added with an apologetic gesture. "Does that mean we were meant to be here, somehow? That it was — fate, or something?"

  "I don't believe in fate," Maria said, frankly. "But I do believe in magic. Hard not to, around here," she said with a rueful grin. "And if magic likes to play matchmaker… well, I'm not complaining." She smiled across the dining hall, where they could see Cameron and Bran deep in conversation — presumably about something to do with the running of the castle. It always seemed like they were arguing, but Maria had assured her that the cousins were incredibly close. Arguing was their way of making sure they were doing the right thing for the castle.

  "Don't tell anyone about any of this, okay?" Carissa asked before they parted ways. "I don't want to jinx it."

  "Your secret's safe with us," Edith said with a smile dancing across her pretty face. "But if you need any help planning the wedding –"

  "Edith!" Maria scolded her. But she was grinning, too, and as the three of them parted ways Carissa found herself murmuring a little prayer of gratitude for her friends. It felt so good to have them to talk to — to have their support and their love. It had been so long since she had close female friends like that — Jim had seen to it that she barely got time to see her friends back in the city, and she hadn't realized how much she missed it.

  It was a gray, overcast day, and she bundled a cloak around her shoulders before she jumped onto Scath's back. She'd packed some shortbread as a gift for Erin's daughters, having learned that it was Mary's favorite, and it was tucked under her arm as she rode through the gate and headed for the cottage. By the time she arrived it was raining, and she steered Scath around the side of the cottage to tether him under the shade of a broad tree she knew grew there.

  But she began to suspect something was wrong when she finished tethering the horse and realized that there was nobody there to greet her. Frowning, she headed around to the back of the house — were Erin and the girls working in the garden out there? Had they not heard her arriving? Or had she gotten the day wrong somehow — was she supposed to come tomorrow? Maybe they were all in town?

  There was nobody in the garden — but she did see a couple of pale faces pressed against the windows of the house, peering out at her with dour expressions. She smiled, lifting a hand to wave to the girls — but to her surprise, they turned and vanished into the house. Frowning, she headed up to the back door, raising her hand to knock… but as she stood, she realized that nobody was coming to answer the door. What was more when she tried the handle it was locked. Confusion rising, she walked around to the front of the house. Were the girls playing some kind of game with her? Maybe Erin was in the front room by the fire and hadn't realized she'd arrived?

  But the front door was locked and barred, too. Anxiety rising in her, she knocked again — harder and harder, hoping against hope that someone would come and explain what was going on. She knew that someone was home, at least — she was pretty sure it had been the twins peering at her through the window, and they knew her well enough to let her in, or at least come to the door to explain why they weren't letting her in. She knocked and knocked… and finally, the door flew open. Carissa sighed in relief when she saw Erin standing there — but her relief was short-lived when she saw the look on Erin's face.

  "Get out of here," the woman said flatly, and she recoiled physically at the look of abject dislike on her face. "You're no longer welcome in my home. Stop knocking. You're disturbing my children."

  She peered around Erin, shocked by her words, to see all six girls standing in a gaggle in the hallway. Their expressions were mixed — sweet Maggie and Brenna looked heartbroken, but Leah, standing in front of them, looked like she was just about ready to lay a fatal curse on Carissa's head. Shocked and reeling, she took a few steps back automatically, her mind racing.

  "Erin — what's happened? What did I do?"

  But before she could ask any more questions, the door slammed hard in her face. She stood on the doorstep for a long moment, staring at the polished wood, utterly at a loss. The door swung open again after a moment, and her heart leapt — but Erin just reached out and yanked the book in her hands away. With a last contemptuous snarl, she slammed the door again, leaving Carissa bereft on the doorstep as the rain began to pour down in earnest.

  Shellshocked, she walked back around the house to where Scath was tethered. The gelding huffed at her as she untethered him, clearly confused as to why she was coming back so early — he'd probably been looking forward to getting a good start on the fresh grass that grew under the branches of the tree.

  "Sorry, boy," she whispered. "I guess we're headed back to the castle."

  He whinnied.

  "I don't know either," she said softly, climbing up onto his back and settling into the saddle. The package of shortbread felt heavy under her arm and she adjusted it, feeling utterly dejected. What had happened? Why was Erin so angry with her? Had she done something wrong? Fear shot through her — did it have something to do with the fertility potion she'd made? Was she angry with her for trying to do magic? But she hadn't tried any kind of magic — she'd followed the instr
uctions carefully and made a perfectly mundane potion, with Erin's blessing — hadn't she?

  No — she suspected something else was going on. And she knew just who to ask. Wincing as Scath set off down the road, she realized the rain was falling harder, and she urged the gelding into a brisk trot, wanting to get back to the castle as quickly as possible. If anyone knew how she'd managed to get on his mother's bad side, it would be Hugh.

  The ride was long and wet and very unpleasant, and she was grateful for the cloak she'd thought to put around her shoulders — though it wasn't long before the cloak, too, was soaked through with rain. With a heavy sigh, she steered the gelding through the gates, grateful to be home… but still very upset by Erin's anger with her. Whatever the misunderstanding, she hated to think of being on the woman's bad side. She'd come to admire and respect her so much in the last few weeks. She gave Scath a thorough grooming, making sure he was warm and dry before she put him away in his stall. Was it just her, or was she getting dirty looks from the grooms?

  She was on her way into the castle when a man stopped her — tall and broad, she recognized him vaguely as one of the grooms from the stables, around Hugh's age, and clearly a good friend of his. But the expression on his face was anything but friendly as he scowled down at her.

  "You're not welcome here," he said abruptly, and she blinked, taken aback by his tone.

  "What?"

  "Don't come back again, you hear? If you need a horse you can take it up with the Laird. You're not to let yourself in and out like you own the place."

  "What do you mean?" she said, a little shocked. She'd always pulled her weight around the stables — she'd done her best to make sure that every time she borrowed a horse, she left the place better than she'd found it. The tack room had never looked better — at least, that was what Hugh had told her. What was going on? "The stablemaster –"