Highlander Hunted: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander In Time Book 8)

by Rebecca Preston

  But the hall they emerged in made her gasp. It was like some kind of movie set — the torches on the walls, the intricate tapestries hung on each side of the hall, and at the other end from the staircase, the enormous wooden doors that stood slightly open to allow people to come in and out. And so they were — dozens of people, servants in the uniforms she'd seen the young girls in earlier, men in armor with swords at their hips, women in gowns like the one Audrina was wearing… all talking and laughing, all headed for a pair of doors in one of the walls. A few curious glances flew her way, and Helena suddenly felt a little strange in her jeans and T-shirt… then immediately felt ridiculous for feeling out of place in this absolute madhouse. If she was here… if this was real… then wearing strange clothing was the absolute least of her problems.

  Feeling a little faint, she reached out, and Audrina steadied her gently as they made their way down the stairs. The woman was smiling faintly at her, and she resisted the urge to scowl. Like it or not, she was beginning to realize that she might have to give a little more thought to the possibility that this was actually happening… or at least, that whatever hallucination she was experiencing was pretty realistic…

  "It's not a dream," Audrina said softly, as though reading her mind. "Or a hallucination, or a near-death experience… trust me, we've heard all the explanations. If it's comforting, you can believe that to be the case… but ask yourself how many of these details your mind would be able to come up with on its own? I imagine you're no expert in medieval castles?"

  "Rocks, yes," she said faintly. "What people do with them… not so much."

  Audrina chuckled as they moved through the doors into the room beyond, and Helena gasped again. An enormous hall, full of heat and laughter — she gazed around, taken aback by the sight of the place. Why, there must have been close to a hundred people in here, all sitting at long tables with low benches pulled up to them. And every surface was groaning with plates of food — mostly meat, she saw, along with roast vegetables, plates of fresh-baked bread rolls, wooden flagons presumably holding… what, mead? Did they drink mead in Scotland? Or was it beer? She knew the history of the planet a lot better than she knew the history of human civilization that was for sure… then she frowned, realizing that she'd let herself think of the time-travel scenario as being the truth.

  There was a table on a raised platform at the end of the room which drew Helena's attention as Audrina guided her to a less-crowded table to sit and eat. There were maybe a dozen men up there, talking and laughing, each of them wearing the same shade of tartan her rescuer from the night before had been clad in.

  "Why are they at a special table?" she asked Audrina.

  The woman smiled. "That's the Laird and his men," she explained with a smile. "Donal's in charge around here."

  "Like a king?"

  "Not at all." She chuckled. "More like — well, this is Castle MacClaran. The Laird is chosen from the MacClaran clan. My husband was Laird when I came here. He's since stepped down. He said it was because of our son, but I think he was just getting tired," she said with a smile. "I'll introduce you to Donal sometime soon. You'll meet his wife Fiona, too. She's like us — brought back from the future. And she's set about making a lot of improvements to the castle, too. We find ways of using our knowledge," Audrina said with a laugh. "It's part of why the castle's so famous for its witches."

  Helena's jaw dropped as a memory came shooting back to her. "Witches! The cab driver and the guy at the airport both told me this place was famous for witches."

  "Is that so? Guess our reputation survived down the centuries," Audrina said thoughtfully. "Fancy that."

  But Helena was feeling lightheaded. Was it really possible? Something about this connection — the stories about witchcraft, the confirmation that it had something to do with the future-knowledge of the women who'd been sent back in time… something about it had shaken her to her bones. The hall, the castle, even the smell of roasting meat… it was all so real, so terrifyingly real. How could she deny that she was here? How could she resist the obvious truth any longer? She was either having a psychotic break the likes of which she'd never experienced… or this was real.

  Audrina was squeezing her arm, concern on her face. "Helena? You've gone pale."

  "I think —" Helena swallowed hard, trying to get control of herself. "I think I need something to eat, honestly."

  Audrina smiled, though she still looked worried. "Definitely. You've been through a lot, Helena. It will be good for you to get your strength back. Mary's helping in the kitchen tonight — her soup's the stuff of legend," she said with a smile, serving Helena a bowlful of steaming vegetable soup.

  She had to admit, despite the mounting panic and confusion in her mind, the soup smelled great. And it tasted great, too, especially with a little bread roll, still warm from the oven. She felt a stirring of curiosity — did they cook over fireplaces? Electricity wouldn't have been invented yet, obviously…

  "Just take your time," Audrina said softly. "That's my best piece of advice. You'll have a lot to think about, a lot to work through… you're likely to be in denial of what's happened, at least at first. But we're all here to help you. Just go at your own pace. You've a safe and happy home here for as long as you need it."

  She thanked her, and they both set about eating their meals in silence… but deep down, Helena couldn't shake the deep sense of dread that had gripped her. How had she gotten here? How was any of this possible?

  And how was she going to get home?

  Chapter 5

  It was amazing how quickly she got tired after dinner. For someone who'd been asleep for what felt like most of the day, she was certainly running out of energy fast. It was all she could do to climb back up the stairs — Audrina showed her back to her room, smiling when she confessed that she'd already lost track of the castle's winding corridors.

  "Do you think you can find your way down again for breakfast tomorrow?" she asked as they lingered outside her door. "If you're feeling up to it, I'll introduce you to the other women."

  "Sure," she said faintly. "I think I can handle that."

  "Good. Sleep well, Helena. I'll see you in the morning. And if you need anything, don't hesitate to call a servant. They know you're our guest — they'll be more than happy to help you."

  Then she was alone. Someone had come through and tidied up her room — made the bed, set a fire in the little hearth and even lit a candle on her bedside table. She looked down at it for a long moment, trying to come to terms with the fact that electricity just… wasn't a concept anymore. How did they get anything done? How did they bathe, she wondered with a frown? Surely there wasn't running water in a castle… she bit her lip, wishing she'd spent a little more time reading about human history and not just geological history. Bec had gone through a phase where she'd been obsessed with historical fiction — she'd know how the hell Helena was meant to wash the grime off herself.

  Remembering what Audrina had said, she poked her head out of the door and stared up the corridor. Sure enough, a servant was emerging from one of the rooms with an armful of what looked like sheets — the girl looked up at the sound of the opening door, her bright face curious.

  "Oh! Good evening, ma'am. Can I get you anything?"

  "I was wondering — I haven't washed in a while," she said, feeling strangely awkward. But the servant just smiled.

  "Of course! I'll have someone bring some warm water up for your bath straight away." She bobbed a little curtsey — Helena attempted a bow in response, making the girl giggle. She hesitated before she turned, her blue eyes bright. "Forgive me —"

  "What's that?"

  "Are you — one of them?" The girl stole a little closer, lowering her voice. "One of the — the women from the future?"

  Helena felt a little faint. "I guess so, yeah." This felt strange — being interrogated about who she was, where she was from. Not that the girl was being rude… but it was a little overwhelming.

  B
ut the girl didn't seem interested in the future. "That's incredible," she said softly, her eyes glowing with fascination. It seemed that being from the future wasn't nearly so unbelievable to this girl as it was to Helena… "So who's your destined one?"

  "My what?"

  The girl's eyes brightened. "Your man! All of the women who've come back from the future, they've ended up marrying one of the MacClarans, right? So who's yours?"

  She blinked, feeling at a loss. "I don't think I — have one."

  "You must," the girl said blankly. "They all do. Isn't that how the magic works? I shouldn't gossip," she added with a musical little laugh. "But from what I've heard around the place… the women are pulled back through time to reunite with their lost loves."

  Now she thought about it, Audrina and Cora had said something like that… something about a curse, and fate, and descendants… she wished she'd been paying closer attention. "I guess," she said faintly.

  "Well, I hope you meet him soon," the girl said, seeming to remember herself with a little giggle. "My name's Amelia, by the way."

  "Helena. Nice to meet you."

  "And you too. I'll fetch that water for you right now."

  And with that the girl was gone, scurrying off down the hallway and leaving Helena feeling more confused and worried than she had been before. She went back into her room and sat on the bed, half tempted to go straight to sleep… but she wanted to stay up long enough to bathe, at least. Her fated love? What kind of ridiculous notion was that? Bec would have loved this, she thought irritably. Bec would already have explored half the castle by now. She was such an enthusiast… why had this happened to her and not her little sister?

  "Miss you, babe," she said softly, wishing that she could text her sister, see what she made of all of this. But her phone was gone… presumably left in the future, in the twenty-first century where it belonged. God, this was ridiculous. All of it. Irritable, she got up and paced back and forth, trying to settle her nerves. She had to operate on the assumption that this was real, that much seemed obvious. What good would it do to reject everything around her as the product of psychosis… even if that was the case? She'd play along. And maybe she'd be able to figure out how to get home.

  Amelia returned half an hour later with a basin of steaming water, which she left on the wooden table in the room before bobbing a curtsy and leaving. She'd brought a little bar of soap, too, which reminded Helena of the handmade soaps she sometimes bought at the local market, and some cloths, presumably to bathe with. Feeling a little awkward, she undressed and did her best to wash herself. It felt good to rinse some of the grime from her body, though she wished she'd asked for a second basin to wash her hair in. There'd be time for that tomorrow, she supposed.

  "I'm going to need some more clothes," she said softly, looking down at the clothes she'd been wearing for more than a day now. There was a chest of drawers in the corner, and she turned to it, curious. It was mostly empty, but in the bottom drawer she found a soft cotton shift, something like a nightdress. Shrugging, she pulled it on, surprised by how comfortable it was. It would do for pajamas, at least. Tomorrow she'd worry about getting a change of clothes. For now… well, for now, she was exhausted. She climbed into bed, grateful for the little fire that was still chasing the chill from the room, and despite her anxiety and dread about where she was and just what the hell was going on, it wasn't long before the exhaustion of the day caught up with her and she fell into a deep, soothing sleep.

  It was the sunlight that woke her first — she winced a little as it fell across her eyes, turning away from it as she emerged from what was almost, but not quite, a dream. Helena sat up, blinking around the room, a little disappointed not to be waking up in the cave… part of her was still hoping this was a dream, it seemed. But did you usually have dreams while you were dreaming? She'd dreamed last night — dreamed of a strong, masculine shape that she kept running toward … but every time she reached it, it would disappear into tendrils of mist. It made her blush, that dream. It must have been that servant girl, planting ideas of fated romance in her head… but she couldn't help but feel a little curious about that. Was it possible that she'd meet someone here?

  Her romantic history wasn't exactly an exciting one. She'd spent her whole life working so hard that romance just… didn't come up as an option. Sure, there'd been a few guys here and there who she'd spent some time with… but they'd always wanted more of her time than she was willing to give, and the relationships had gone nowhere. Part of her had hoped, now that she'd graduated and settled into a steady job, that she might find a bit more time for companionship… but nothing had really eventuated. It was an odd thing to think about, now, with all the chaos that had consumed her over the last day or so…

  A soft tap on the door made her frown. A visitor, so early? She looked down at the shift she was wearing, then grabbed her jacket from the table and pulled it on. A strange outfit, but at least she was covered. She opened the door, expecting Audrina or maybe one of the other women she'd met — then covered her mouth in surprise to see a familiar stranger standing at her door.

  His blue eyes widened. "Oh! My apologies — you're not —" He turned away, for all the world as though she'd been naked, and she frowned, looking down at herself. Was a jacket over a cotton shift not acceptable attire?

  "Sorry," she said blankly. "Give me a minute —"

  "Of course, of course —"

  She shut the door and dressed quickly in her clothes from the day before, wrinkling her nose a little at the necessity of wearing clothes that so clearly needed a wash. Dressed, she opened the door again. Sure enough, the man was still standing there. Now she looked at him, she remembered him properly.

  "It's you. You're the man from the other night," she said, looking up at him. He was taller than she remembered — but sure enough, he was wearing the same tartan kilt he'd been wearing the other night, the same color and pattern as the one the men at the high table had been wearing. "You brought me here."

  "Aye, we didn't exactly have the chance to make introductions," he said, smiling at her. There was an odd look in his eye — a kind of distraction. What was that about? "I'm Brendan MacClaran."

  "Helena Crane," she replied, extending a hand for him to shake — then blinking with the realization that his arms were full. "Oh. Sorry."

  "Gifts," he said, gesturing. His arms were full of fabric. "Audrina suggested that you might need a change of clothes, and… well, these dresses seemed about your size." Something was strange about the way he was looking at her, that was for sure. And why on Earth had he had dresses lying around? Still, she was grateful for a change of clothes, and she accepted the armful with a smile.

  "Would you like to come in?" She pulled the bedding up quickly and lay the dresses out on it. They weren't quite as elaborate as the gowns Audrina and Cora had been wearing, but they were beautiful, nevertheless. "These are lovely. Thank you."

  "There's a comb, too, I wasn't sure if you'd need…" He trailed off, standing a little awkwardly in the doorway. "My wife's," he said finally, and it sounded like a great effort.

  "Oh," she said, blinking. "She won't miss them?" She appreciated the gifts, but she didn't want some poor woman to be deprived of half her wardrobe on Helena's account.

  "No. She passed away, I'm afraid."

  "I'm sorry to hear that," Helena said softly. Something was prickling at her — the memory of what Audrina had said about the curse.

  "It's strange," Brendan said faintly. "When I saw you on the moors last night… for a moment I was convinced you were her, come back to me."

  "Really?"

  "Aye," he said, and she could see that the grief in him was fresh. "You look just like her."

  "That's a funny coincidence," she said with a smile. A memory of that night came back to her suddenly. "Oh! Is that why you called me Brigid?"

  The sound of the name seemed to make him flinch, and she bit her lip, regretting asking. "Aye," he said softly. "Her name w
as Brigid. It's truly a wonder, how much you look like her. You don't sound like her, though," he added with a smile.

  She wanted to ask what had happened to Brigid, how such a young woman had died… but she sensed that that would be prying.

  "Not many American women around here, I suppose." She tilted her head, curious — and wanting to get Brendan away from the subject of his dead wife, something that was clearly causing him a lot of pain. "Speaking of what people sound like… is your accent a little different to everyone else's?" Listening to Amelia last night, and to the other men and women of the castle, she'd begun to get a handle on the Scottish accent… but there was something about Brendan's accent that didn't quite seem to match the others.

  He smiled. "Ah, you caught me. I'm a MacClaran, but something of a distant cousin. My mother was an Englishwoman, and I studied in London. Haven't quite shaken the accent off since I've been back," he said with a smile. Now that she knew what she was looking for, she could hear the difference in his voice.

  "Interesting. But your wife was Scottish?"

  "Aye, well, she was born here. Her mother Anne's from Dublin originally. Was from Dublin," he corrected himself, a shadow passing over his face.

  Not wanting to prompt any more grief, Helena chose to change the subject. There was a pair of boots wrapped up inside one of the dresses, made of soft brown leather — clearly well worn, but still in good shape.

  "Were these hers?"

  "Yes, I thought you might need a change of shoes. They may be the wrong size," he added with a shrug. "But you look so much like her, I thought there was a chance they'd fit…"

  She pulled one of the boots onto her foot — and sure enough, it was a perfect fit. He smiled at her, the sadness in his eyes balanced by the sweetness of that smile. He was quite a good-looking man, she observed suddenly, feeling an unfamiliar thrill run down her spine at the observation. Was it something about the way he was looking at her?