Lost in the Highlands, Volume Two

by Lorraine Beaumont

  “By keeping yer bloody mouth shut. That’s how.” Gavin shuddered involuntarily when a rat ran over his leg.

  “I was jes trying to help.”

  “Och Callum, you heard the man. Just keep yer bloody trap shut,” Muir snapped.

  “Muir, who asked ye to put yer two cents in?”

  “No one. But I can no think with all the caterwauling ye are doing.” Muir wrinkled his nose in displeasure.

  “What do ye need to think about? We are stuck in this filthy pit and will die sooner rather than later,” Callum defended. “The way I see it, there is no time like the present ta have a bit o’ conversation to help keep our minds off our current situation.” Callum made a face at Muir but since his eyes were shut, it didn’t really have the effect Callum was hoping for.

  Gavin sighed.

  This bickering between the two of them was driving him to distraction—but then again, now that he thought about it—it was better than the alternative. “What would ye like to talk about, Callum?”

  Callum jerked his head up in surprise and then smirked over at Muir. Again, it did no good because Muir was keeping his eyes closed tight. “Do ye ken if they are going ta feed us tonight?”

  Gavin gaped at Callum. “How the bloody hell am I supposed ta know that?”

  Callum shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I can hope, can I not?”

  Muir snorted. “If they are going ta feed us it will probably mean it is our last meal. I will no be hoping for that and neither should ye,” he scolded Callum.

  Callum tensed. “How do ye know, Muir?”

  Muir sighed. “It’s how they do things around these parts. As long as they are starving us at least we know they won’t be killing us.”

  “Och Muir, now ye think ye are an expert on these kinds of things. Ye do not know any better than I do what will happen if they decide ta feed us.”

  Gavin exhaled through his mouth. He was trying not to use his nose because of the smell but he found out very quickly that breathing this way was worse since he could now taste the rot in the air. “Callum,” he said, trying to stay calm. “Muir is right. If they feed us it would most likely mean we are to be disposed of shortly thereafter.”

  Callum choked. “That’s no fair.”

  “Life is no fair, Callum,” Muir noted. “Ye better get used ta it.”

  “I don’t need ta hear yer dark thoughts, Muir.”

  “It’s hard not ta have dark thoughts when we are stuck in a filthy pit with no light, no water, or food.”

  “Ye can dwell on the dark all ye like. I choose ta think o’ better things,” Callum rebuked, always being the optimist.

  “What are ye thinking about?” Muir asked.

  “When I get out of here I am going ta find a woman and bed her.”

  “Och Callum, how are ye going to manage that with no coin?”

  “I will use my good looks,” he boasted. “All the women swoon when they see me. That’s how.”

  Muir snorted. “Keep dreaming, Callum. With that wee bit between yer legs I doubt any woman would even be able ta find it let alone do anything with it.”

  “How would ye know about my wee bit, Muir? Have ye been spying on me?”

  Muir snorted derisively. “Ye found out my big secret, Callum.”

  “Ah-Ha, so ye have been looking even though ye told me ye have not.”

  “Och, that’s right Callum. I live me days ta see yer wee bits,” Muir dripped.

  Gavin had enough. “Cease yer prattle, both of ye,” he bellowed.

  The room fell blessedly silent once more with the exception of the squeaking rodents moving in to feast on Angus.

  Taking Callum’s suggestion for his own, Gavin closed his eyes and tried to think of what he might do if he ever got out of this Hellhole alive.

  CHAPTER TWO

  LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND

  Sometime during the reign of King James

  A fortnight later, mayhap a bit more, he had lost count; Gavin de Gray took his first breath of fresh air.

  Early morning mist clung to the Earth like a shroud as he and his men were ushered from the filthy pit they had been held; out into the full morning light. Blinking against the bright rays, he stumbled up the steep steps, his legs leaden from lack of use, to the landing in front of the executioner’s block. A solitary black hooded man stood at the ready with an ax in his hand.

  Gavin averted his eyes.

  He tasted bile on his tongue, burning hot and bitter. That unholy sight was the last thing he needed to see on a day such as this.

  “Have ye any last words?” bellowed the stout powdered-wigged Magistrate from his lofty perch on the dais, which was lifted only slightly higher than the scaffolding where Gavin stood.

  “Aye.” Gavin looked at his men. They were skin and bones. Some did not even have the strength to stand fully. A deep sadness closed in on him as he gazed at each one. Morgan, Muir, Callum, Alec, Graham and the apparent empty spot at their side where Angus would have stood had he not died so painfully before this day. There were other men; ones he did not know well. They too were on their way to meet their maker. Like Callum and Muir, some had barely become men.

  “What say ye?” the Magistrate bellowed once more pulling Gavin back from his dark thoughts.

  Gavin tried to stand fully, but the lack of food and the cramped space they had been held had taken its toll on his person. His body bent in half and his head listed to the side as darkness closed in, surrounding him on all sides until there was nothing left but a miniscule ray of light shining down on him from above. He lifted his face to it, trying to garner what little warmth he could before the end came.

  “I beg ye,” he rasped, his voice barely audible. “Have mercy on my men. Tis not their fault,” he said. “I was acting alone. Punish me for the crime, but please,” he begged. “Have mercy on them.”

  The Magistrate rolled his eyes and pulled a snuffbox out from under his robe. Taking two fingers, he dipped them inside and pinched out small amount of the powdery substance. Holding one finger on the side of his nose, he snorted the powder. Then he repeated the action on the other side. With watery eyes, he put the box back inside of his robe and then he placed his meaty hands on the table and tapped his fingers in an uneven cadence on the rough surface.

  “That is not for me to decide.”

  Gavin forced himself to his full height. “Then who?” he asked.

  “She is the one ye need ta convince.” The Magistrate pointed a stubby finger at a woman huddled in the corner.

  Gavin frowned. Why would he need ta convince her? She was just some old crone—at least that is what he thought at first glance until she turned her rheumy blue-green gaze on him. What he saw made his blood run cold—she wasn’t just some old crone…she was a witch.

  CHAPTER THREE

  BLOWING ROCK, NORTH CAROLINA

  The Cottage Property- Present Day

  “Did you have another bad dream?” Paige pushed her hair away from her face and sat up.

  “Aye,” Gavin choked, shivering.

  “Do you want to tell me about it?” She rubbed her hand across the bunched muscles between his shoulder blades.

  He shook his head. “Nay.”

  Reaching over to the bedside table, she lifted the carafe and filled a glass with water. “Drink this. It will make you feel better.”

  Gavin took the glass and gulped down the contents like someone dying of thirst. It was the same feeling he had when he was trapped in that foul pit. His hand shook as he passed the glass back to her.

  Paige took the glass from his shaking hand and set it on the bedside table. This wasn’t the first time he had such a dream. Since she brought him with her to the future, it had been a nightly occurrence. He never told her what they were about. But she gathered from his responses that it was more than one nightmare that plagued him while he slept. She just didn’t know to what extent—or who they were about.

  Gavin rolled from the bed and slipped on a pair of loos
e sweatpants. The waistband rode low on his hips revealing the enticing cut of muscles on either side of his taut belly. Raking his hands through his damp hair, he walked over to the window and opened it up. Cool air slid over his sweat-dampened skin, making gooseflesh rise as he stared bleakly outside into another moonless night. It reminded him of his home at Loch Morar.

  Inhaling deeply through his nose, he mentally tried to vanquish the remaining dregs of his disturbing dream.

  Pulling a pillow onto her lap, Paige hugged it against her body for comfort as she watched him silently battle against the remaining vestiges of his nightmare. It made her sad to watch him in such obvious discomfort, but she didn’t know what else to do. No matter how hard she tried, he wouldn’t confide in her what bothered him.

  They had only been back about a month. To her, someone from this time, it seemed like a month too long. Even with all the luxuries that she loved in the future such as grocery stores stocked with food along with the modern conveniences of running water, electricity, and indoor plumbing, she too found, on more than one occasion, that she missed the simpler time she had briefly visited in the past.

  Paige missed more things from the past as well. Not only the lack of beautiful women throwing themselves at Gavin each time they went out in public together, but also Gavin’s men—especially Callum and Muir. She couldn’t help but wonder how they were fairing. Were they doing well or did some malady waylay them. It hurt her heart to think on it overmuch and by the actions or lack thereof by Gavin, she knew he wondered the same. Not about the women, mind you, but the well-being of his men.

  The first days with Gavin in this time had been such fun, especially watching him marvel at the modern conveniences with unfettered enthusiasm.

  After that night in the past with the monster and his men being killed, he would not let her call him Laird any longer. And if she did, unthinkingly, call him that, he would grow silent and his mood would turn dark. She couldn’t blame him, really.

  What she saw that day still turned her own stomach and made her heart hurt. But there was nothing to be done about it now…at least she didn’t think there was. But that didn’t stop her from wondering what Gavin was thinking about, or how he was dealing with their deaths.

  Gavin turned from the window. His lass had her head on the pillow on her lap, hugging it closely to her body with the now familiar worry etched on her face as she looked at him. “I am fine,” he told her.

  “You don’t seem fine.” His face was pale and there was a residual wet sheen on his skin from his sweat, clinging to his bare chest and shoulders.

  “Och, woman,” he growled. “I told ye it was only a dream. There is no need to look at me thusly.”

  “Tell that to the mirror.”

  “I already told ye, I do no like that looking glass of yers capturing my likeness.”

  “It doesn’t capture your likeness.”

  “Tell that ta the mirror.” He turned his back and resumed his vigil by the window.

  Paige sighed. Gavin still had issues with the mirrors in her house. He didn’t like them. She tended to agree. She didn’t like the mirrors in her house either. Every time she looked in them, she could swear she had gained more weight—and of course, that couldn’t have happened. Right.

  Since she had been back from the past, it didn’t take long for her svelte muscular body from working and cooking all the time to turn mushy and soft again.

  “What time is it?”

  She glanced over at the red numbers on the clock radio. “It’s almost five.”

  “That late?” he asked, sounding distant.

  Paige stifled a yawn. “It’s early.”

  “Aye, but I like to train before it gets too warm.” He turned towards the bed again.

  “But you have no one to train with,” she reminded him without thinking.

  Gavin tensed. “I can train by myself.”

  Paige cringed from his tone. She felt horrible. She didn’t mean to say that. It was a sore subject but she was too tired to think clearly. Glancing out the window, she could see the faint pinkish hues of early morning light spread across the sky and sighed. Once Gavin made up his mind about something, she couldn’t change it. “Do you remember where to go?”

  “Aye.” He pushed his hand through his shoulder length hair. “I go out the back door, down to the lower garden to the strip of land before the stream.”

  “Do you want me to make you some coffee?”

  “Nay.” He shook his head. “It makes my skin feel crawly.”

  “That’s the caffeine. It does it to me too, if I drink too much.”

  His eyes widened. “Then why do ye drink that foul brew?”

  “Because I love coffee.”

  He made a horrified face.

  She laughed. “It’s not that bad. If you like, I can make you some decaf or tea?”

  “Mayhap, I will try one of those later,” he said, looking squeamish.

  “All right.”

  He walked over to the bed. “Go back ta sleep.” Leaning down he gave her a chaste kiss on top of her head. “I will be back in a few hours.” He stood up once more.

  “You sure you don’t want me to go with you?” She turned on her side to look up at him.

  “I am sure.”

  He reached over and turned off the bedside lamp. “Sweat dreams, lass.”

  Paige smiled and hugged her pillow tighter. “Have fun.”

  His brows creased. “I will endeavor to try.” And with that, he turned and left the creature comforts of the cottage to exorcise the demons roaming inside his mind once again in the early morning light.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  BLOWING ROCK, NORTH CAROLINA

  The Cottage Property- Present Day

  Gavin stepped out the back door. A warm breeze blew in from the south, lifting his long hair as he walked down the cobbled stones to the lower garden. A few bees were buzzing around, pulling nectar from the buds of freshly opened flowers before they moved on to the next one. The cottage was away from the prying eyes of the people he had seen in town. He didn’t much care for them. They were loud and always in a hurry. Not to mention the strange looks he kept getting from the women folk. He could swear they looked hungry but for what, he couldn’t fathom since food in this time always seemed plentiful.

  When he asked his lass about the cottage, she told him she inherited it from her grandmother.

  The cottage itself was a cozy place situated between a pair of towering oak trees that covered the building in constant shade. In a way, it reminded him of the cottage he had stayed in for a time in the past.

  And even though he could appreciate the simplicity of the structure, it was nothing like Greystone castle with the exception of the rocks used to adorn the outside walls.

  The inside of the cottage had carpet underfoot, smelled fresh, was furnished nicely and had a slew of what his lass, called, modern conveniences. He wasn’t too sure about some of them especially the loud boxes with moving pictures inside. It wasn’t a natural sight, and he said as much to his lass. She told him he could turn off the television but when he did, he couldn’t help but wonder what happened ta all the colorful moving pictures inside.

  However, he did like some of the modern conveniences. The running water was nice, as were the soft furnishings and so was the electricity. He was becoming restless though. He missed his men, riding his horse, and the simple freedoms ta do as he pleased that he had taken for granted in the past.

  Regardless of how he felt, he did notice that Paige, his lass, seemed content. When she wasn’t creating art in some form or other, she tended to her garden or picked an array of flowers to fill the brightly colored vases that dotted the tables inside her house. She still didn’t cook well but luckily, with her telephone she could dial a number and had food delivered ta the house from the different establishments in town. The cars, or rather automobiles, were still a mystery ta him. Wheels instead of hooves seemed a strange way ta get from one place ta ano
ther, even though it was faster.

  On more than one occasion, he had ta shut his eyes or he would feel a sickening swooshing in his belly from the fast speeds in which they traveled.

  Stopping by the edge of the stream, he removed his sword, dagger, kilt, and boots; then waded into the cool water. It wasn’t very deep, only up to his waist, but he liked the feel of the fresh water on his body. It reminded him of home.

  Dipping his head under, he wet his hair and flipped over, floating on his back. The early morning sun broke through the clouds overhead and dappled down through the overhanging branches onto his face. Closing his eyes, his let his mind drift back to the past…

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND

  Sometime during the reign of King James

  “Will ye do the task I have set for ye and yer men?” the old crone asked.

  Gavin swallowed past his trepidation. He would make a pact with the devil himself if it would mean gaining freedom for his men. “Aye, I will.”

  “Do ye swear on yer life and those of yer men?”

  “I swear,” he lied baldly, thinking to stave off the inevitable for just a bit longer.

  Her rheumy eyes widened. “Are ye sure ye are a true descendant of the clan from Loch Morar?”

  “Aye. That I am.”

  “Good. Good.” She rubbed her gnarled hands together. “And are ye sure ye can gain entrance to the cave below the dark waters of Loch Morar guarded by the serpent?”

  “Aye. I am sure.”

  She frowned. “Will ye make the ultimate sacrifice ta the serpent ta get the treasure for yer king?”

  “Aye,” Gavin agreed assuming the ultimate sacrifice would be his life and he would readily give that for his men.

  “Then it is settled.” She thumped her cane on the boards.

  “How many men do ye ken ye need to perform such a task?” He could see she was overly excited; her breath came out in rushed hitches.

  Gavin, feeling the glimmerings of hope unfurl in his belly, turned away from the witch and the powdered wig Magistrate, then cast his gaze on the row of men behind the Headsman. He quickly counted off their numbers. Swallowing hard, he turned back to face the crone. “Thirteen, including myself,” he said.