Highlander Guarded: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander In Time Book 10)

by Rebecca Preston

  "Laird Donal," Eamon said formally as he showed Scarlet into the room. "Scarlet Adams."

  She took a deep breath as she stepped into the room, not sure where to go, where to stand, how to behave… but thankfully, Baldric was ahead of the curve, and nimbly got to his feet to slide a chair over for her to sit in, positioned between Weatherby and Laird Donal so that she could keep an eye on them both. With a grateful smile, she settled into the chair, feelin the full skirts of the gown she was wearing gather and bunch beneath her. The clothing was still a learning curve, she missed the dark clothing she'd broken into Weatherby's house in. He was clearly thinking along the same lines — his beady little eyes were fixed on her, clearly examining what she was wearing. One of Karin's borrowed gowns — a little looser in the bodice on her than she was happy with, but overall fairly comfortable. And she looked the part of a nice little medieval woman. Not that she loved that, particularly… but at least it was going to make it harder for Weatherby to make her out to be the villain.

  She wasn't going down without a fight.

  Chapter 23

  “Well, Lord Weatherby, it seems you have your audience." Laird Donal sounded tired, but he also sounded deeply angry — an anger that was barely being kept at bay by the forced smile on his face. "I'm so glad your journey here hasn't been wasted."

  "So am I," Weatherby said stiffly, narrowing his eyes at Laird Donal. "I'm still unsure as to why she wasn't sent for the moment I arrived —"

  "Probably having breakfast," Baldric broke in cheerfully, tipping Scarlet a wink that made her resist the urge to giggle.

  He was clearly working hard to keep the tension in the air from its breaking point — Weatherby and Donal both looked like they wanted to fly across the room at each other, and Scarlet had a suspicion that that wouldn't go very well for Weatherby. Then again, it was two against one. Would Baldric step in to defend his Lord? He certainly had the look of a man who could handle himself in a fight… nobody's going to fight, she told herself firmly. They've got more self-control than that.

  At least, she very much hoped they did. She could handle herself in a lot of situations, but armed combat wasn't one of them — least of all the kind of armed combat that involved swords.

  "Well, Laird MacClaran, thank you for your hospitality, but if you'd allow me a moment alone with Miss Scarlet here…"

  She hid a grin. At least he was using her actual name this time. Had Baldric seen to that? she wondered. Donal bristled at the slight, and she realized belatedly that it was rather an insult to ask a Laird to leave his own audience room. She could feel Eamon bristling behind her in the door, too, and took a deep breath.

  "Perhaps we could go for a walk, Lord Weatherby? I could use the fresh air," she said brightly, realizing as she spoke that she'd slipped automatically into the false English accent she'd been using in the village and at Weatherby's manor.

  Eamon's eyes widened a little, and she saw Donal hide a smile behind his hand. They probably thought she was making fun of Lord Weatherby… well, she was, in a way. At the very least, it had lightened the tension considerably as Laird Donal fought not to laugh aloud and Eamon turned away to fiddle diplomatically with the doorknob. Lord Weatherby, who didn't realize anything was wrong, huffed, seeming on the verge of rejecting her suggestion — but then Baldric got to his feet.

  "Some fresh air sounds like a wonderful idea, Lady Scarlet," he said firmly, looking down at Weatherby. "Shall we, my Lord? The doctors did say you could use a touch more fresh air… it's all that work you do inside."

  "Yes, yes," Weatherby said with a grimace. "These lands don't run themselves, you know."

  Scarlet saw Laird Donal sit forward at that, a look of utter rage on his face — but Eamon cleared his throat hard as he swung the door open, successfully drowning out whatever Donal had been about to say. "Please let us know if you need anything," he told the three of them, and as Scarlet followed Baldric and Weatherby toward the door, she could see him shooting a very meaningful look at Donal behind them. She couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief when they were finally out — and as they headed down the hallway, she saw Fiona coming the other way, an amused smile dancing around her eyes.

  "Didn't kill each other, did they?" she murmured, voice low enough that only Scarlet heard it, and she held back a giggle. It seemed egotistical men didn't change much over the centuries.

  It was a very pleasant morning, at least — the sun was shining for once, and though there were clouds on the horizon, she suspected they wouldn't be looming over the keep for a few hours at least. Baldric and Lord Weatherby were strolling on either side of her, and she felt rather like she was being escorted by armed guards… that was, until she glanced up at the walls and saw the reassuring presence of the real armed guards of the Keep, all peering down curiously at them. Keeping an eye on her, she thought with a grateful smile. Making sure that Weatherby didn't get a chance to sweep her into his carriage and off away across the moors, all the way back to London to be someone's pathetic little wife. If she was going to be anyone's damn wife, it would be Kieran.

  God, where had that thought come from? She really needed to root out a few of these deeply worrying ideas that seemed to have taken root in her subconscious without her consent…

  "How are you, Lord Weatherby?" she asked, dropping into the accent again. But he simply scowled at her.

  "No need to keep dissembling," he said, narrowing his eyes at her. "I know that's not your real voice."

  "Oh, good. I was getting tired of it." She let her American vowels come back and grinned a little as she saw Baldric clear his throat and cover his mouth, clearly hiding a smile. "Anyway, you were demanding an audience with me? Trying to take me hostage again?"

  "As if I'd try something surrounded by these godless brutes," Weatherby snapped, gesturing up toward the walls and reminding her firmly of why the Scots didn't like the man too much. "No, don't be dense. I've come with a warning."

  That made her frown despite her irritation with his comment about her new friends. "What kind of warning?"

  "A warning about my family." The man looked tired, she realized — under all his pomp and bluster, there was something like real worry there. Something about it made her feel oddly… well, not sympathetic, not exactly, but she felt the need to bait him fade away.

  "What about your family?"

  "It seems that word spread very quickly among my domestic staff after your little escapade on my lands," Weatherby said through gritted teeth. "And some of those staff are in contact with my sister's staff back in London. In short — word has spread of your return from the dead, Emily."

  She narrowed her eyes. "Do we need to get into the 'I'm not Emily' conversation again, Weatherby? I don't remember it ending too well for you last time."

  "I'd thank you not to threaten me, even if you must insult me by omitting my title," Weatherby said through gritted teeth. "I know you foreigners are ill-versed in etiquette, but there are basic minimums of decency —"

  "Yes, like not threatening to kidnap women who bear a resemblance to your dead cousin. What do you want from me, Weatherby?" she snapped, feeling her temper flaring again — even as she discretely double-checked that there was an archer nearby, just in case Weatherby got nasty with the ornate dagger she'd noticed he always carried on his person. God, what she wouldn't do to pickpocket that dagger… it would be easy as blinking. Weatherby was so easy to distract… but she couldn't risk it. Weatherby might be dumb, but his manservant was whip-smart, and she couldn't risk giving her true nature away to Baldric, no matter how much she might suspect that he was on her side.

  "My sister is on her way to stay," Weatherby said, spreading his hands with an expression of grim dismay on his narrow features. "Arabella is… well, she's a unique woman. Very headstrong. And she's firmly of the belief that Emily somehow survived the birth, as she made abundantly clear in her letter to me. She'll be here with her staff in a manner of days, and they will all be scouring every inch of
the countryside to find you." Weatherby sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I'd tell you that I tried to stop her, but I've known Arabella all my life, and trying to stop her is like trying to ask a stampeding bull to slow down. Futile."

  "Did you tell her I'm not Emily?" Scarlet demanded, feeling a chill run down her spine. If even Lord Weatherby was worried about this woman, that didn't bode well.

  "She doesn't believe in witches or magic or any of that hogwash," Lord Weatherby said stiffly. "Even if I did bring it up, she wouldn't hear it."

  Scarlet could feel irritation rising in her. "So your sister's coming here to — to capture me like some runaway pet — and in response you… didn't try to stop her coming, or convince her that I'm not the person she thinks I am. What did you do, exactly?"

  "I came here," Weatherby said darkly, looking at her pointedly. "Something that I never wanted to do again I'll have you know. This is a great favor to you."

  She couldn't help but glance at Baldric at this admission — the man was listening impassively to the conversation, but when Scarlet's eyes flicked his way, he gave her an almost imperceptible little nod. Weatherby was telling the truth, then. Fascinating. He'd risked a lot, coming here, antagonizing the MacClarans, just to warn her about his sister… she was almost feeling warm toward him when he spoke again.

  "So you'll stay here, of course. Don't leave the keep walls. Ideally inform your new friends here to pretend that you don't exist — Arabella probably won't be bold enough to try to breach the walls, but if she does, I'd hide in whatever room they've given you until she's gone. Is that understood?"

  Scarlet felt her hackles rise. "So you've come here to boss me around, is that it?"

  "Don't be stupid," Weatherby snapped, his hard eyes glinting. "I've come here to give you some sensible instruction, to keep you from causing any more problems than you've caused already."

  "Oh, I've caused problems?" Scarlet asked, raising an eyebrow, fighting the urge to punch the man right in the nose. "It seems an awful lot like it's your family causing the problems. Just how accidental was Emily's death, anyway? Because from what I've heard, she was doing just fine until your goddamn family got their claws on her." She could feel real anger burning in her chest, a desire for justice that she'd only been vaguely aware of suddenly flaring into life. Was it for Kieran? she wondered. Or herself? Or for Emily — her distant ancestor, lost so tragically young? Where were all these Robin Hood instincts coming from?

  Weatherby was glaring back at her, his lips tight, his beady, hard green eyes flashing with utter rage. Baldric was tensing up, too, a look of worry beginning to break through his calm, placid exterior. Interesting man, that Baldric. He seemed cool as a cucumber… but Scarlet knew that he was no friend of hers, not really. He'd chosen his side… and that side was Weatherby's.

  "If I were you, I'd watch how I spoke to nobility," Weatherby hissed, voice low and deadly.

  She bristled. "I don't give a shit if you're nobility. From what I've observed, nobility treat their families like shit. What does that say about how you'd treat me, given the chance?"

  He gritted his teeth, studying her face with a curious expression — a mixture of worry, and resentment, and resignation. His eyes flicked to Baldric, something strange and beseeching in them — an odd gesture, almost as though asking for help. It had the energy of a shrug to it — See? he was saying, I've tried my best, haven't I? She's still being stubborn… and with a rush of clarity, Scarlet could see what was going on. She cooled her temper forcibly, took a deep breath through her teeth and let it out.

  "I understand that you're trying to help," she said meaningfully, looking at him closely.

  He hadn't said anything to reject her rather bold assertion that his family had had something to do with Emily's death. What did that mean? Surely, if it was nonsense he'd have reacted with a scoff or a snide comment… but instead, he'd simply told her to watch how he spoke to her. Could that mean she was onto something? Why wasn't he trying to head her off? Was it possible that he, too, was curious about what exactly had happened to Emily all those years ago? After all, it hadn't been him who'd swept her off to London to die...

  "I think that's more than enough of that," Weatherby said now, stiffly, as he continued to glare at her. "Mind what I've said, if you've got any sense whatsoever in that head of yours. My cousin certainly didn't," he added grudgingly, shaking his head. "Baldric, alert the driver. We'll be returning to the manor at once."

  Baldric nodded, sketched Scarlet a neat, formal little bow, then turned on his heel and strode toward the gates that stood in the Keep's wall.

  As he walked, the men atop the wall hauled the gates up — she realized with amusement that a few of them had been standing rather closer to where the three of them had been conversing than was strictly necessary. Had they overheard? Well, let them eavesdrop. She didn't mind who heard what she had to say.

  "Just try not to do anything stupid," Weatherby said, shaking his head. Then he was gone, turning on his heel and striding after Baldric, looking for all the world like a duckling struggling after its mother, for all his fancy clothing and putting on airs.

  Scarlet watched him go, intensely curious for perhaps the first time about exactly what it was that he knew about everything that was going on.

  She knew one thing — she couldn't wait to get back to Kieran. The two of them had a great deal to discuss.

  Chapter 24

  “He's definitely up to something."

  She didn't bother with preamble. What would have been the point? She'd been waiting long enough to have this conversation, after all — Weatherby had been there and gone, and it had been nearly three days since their conversation, but the stupid dutiful Kieran of course had been on duty all day, guarding the walls and then gone out on patrol. What was the point when they knew exactly where the enemy was? In a carriage, headed back to his stupid sumptuous mansion. She was itching to rob the place, rob it properly — she wouldn't even ask for any of the proceeds. Donate them to charity, as far as she was concerned — all she wanted was to see his smug face fall when he realized how badly he'd been had…

  Anger had always been a bit of a problem for her, hadn't it? She shook her head, a little amused by how strongly her irritation had gripped her. The next morning, she'd marched up to the walls to find Kieran but had had no luck finding him. A few irritated enquiries had revealed that he was out on patrol and wouldn't be back for two days. Patrol? What was the bloody point? Irritated, she'd returned inside to try to find some way to pass the time, and in the end had been pressed into service in the kitchen. At least it kept her busy… though by the time lunch was served, microwaves had eclipsed hot showers on the long, long list of things that she missed about the future.

  Funny — she'd barely given any thought to going back home over the last few days. Too invested in figuring out what Weatherby was up to.

  And finally, finally, she'd heard the gates rising, and hastened outside to see the patrol riding in, exhausted and dirty, but finally back. It was nearly dinnertime at that point, so she waited — less and less patient — for Kieran to eat his fill with his mates from the guard. She didn't much fancy discussing the Weatherby situation in the dining hall, not with curious ears to overhear. You never knew how quickly gossip could spread… and after all, there was a new Weatherby in town, wasn't there? Lord Weatherby's sister. She couldn't wait to discuss her with Kieran.

  He looked up with surprise as she barged her way into his quarters. Belatedly, she realized that that was probably easily misinterpreted… but the look of amusement and intrigue on his face died quickly when he saw the expression on her face.

  "Who's up to something?"

  "Weatherby," she said quickly, heading over to join him by the fire where he appeared to be polishing his entire weapon collection. For Scarlet, who couldn't even be bothered to carry a pocketknife, it seemed ridiculous. Then again, thinking back to her encounter on the rooftops, maybe there was something to be said for bei
ng armed. "Remember I spoke with him?"

  "Oh, yes?" Kieran frowned. "And did you manage to avoid starting a war between our countries?"

  "I think so," she said with a quick grin, remembering what he'd said about being diplomatic. "Though I can't say the same about his family and me. He told me his sister's coming into town."

  Kieran's face went white. "Arabella?"

  "Oh, you know her?"

  "Only by reputation," Kieran said darkly, putting aside the long knife in his hands and leaning forward, his expression darkening as he spoke. "I met her maybe once or twice — not enough to fix a true impression, I'm sure, but Emily kept me well and truly appraised of exactly what kind of a woman she was. A spinster who compensates for her lack of a husband to manage by sticking her nose into everyone else's business — that's Emily's words, not mine," he added, raising his hands as Scarlet raised an eyebrow.

  "She didn't like her much, huh?"

  "Not at all," Kieran said with a fond smile. "Distant relative or no, there was no love lost there. It was Arabella who swept Emily off to London to recover after the birth, actually," he said with a frown. "I wonder if that's why she's here."

  "Weatherby said she's come to track Emily down, now that word has reached her that she's back from the dead," Scarlet told him, wincing at the look of worry that flashed across his face. "Don't worry. Weatherby knows I'm not Emily now — he made that much clear when we spoke."

  "Aye, he ought to be familiar enough with the nature of the curse by now," Kieran said with a shake of his head. "Though this is certainly the first time it's affected him so personally."

  "Maybe that's why he was talking to me," Scarlet said, tilting her head thoughtfully. "He seemed almost… worried about me. Like he was trying to warn me about Arabella. I mean, he did it in the most insufferable way possible," she added with a wrinkle of her nose that made Kieran chuckle. "Bossing me around, forbidding me to leave the castle if I know what's good for me, telling me she's got people out searching for me —"