The Key to Her Heart: A Highlander Time Travel Romance

by Blanche Dabney

  This was going to go the same way, she could just tell. He was bad for her, infecting her mind, poisoning her thoughts, making it impossible for her to focus on anything else. He was rude, weird, and aggressive. She shouldn’t even like him.

  Well, her method for dealing with him was going to be the same as with quitting smoking. She would say one final goodbye and then throw herself into other things, get a meeting with the bank, try and kick herself up the butt and get Out of Date Gingerbread on the go at last.

  Let him fill her mind while she weaned herself off him. It wouldn’t work. He would fade like the cigarettes had done as time went by. Soon, he would be gone from her head.

  “How you doing in there?” Tabby called from the bathroom. “Ready for the judge’s scores?”

  “Almost,” she called back, standing up and examining herself in the mirror.

  It had taken over an hour to choose the right outfit. She might be ready to get over Jock MacGregor but Tabby had still insisted she look good.

  “I don’t need to impress him,” she’d protested as her wardrobe was emptied onto her bed. “I’m just delivering the box, that’s all.”

  “You do need to impress him. Then he’ll hand over his bankcard and you can open your bakery.”

  “You think I want him for his money?”

  “No, I think you want him because you’re a dried up old spinster who’s not had a man in her bed since TVs were only available in black and white.”

  “I’ve had men.”

  “No, you haven’t. You forget, I live with you. Do you not think I’d notice if you brought a man back?”

  “What about Brian?”

  “Gay Brian who was here to cry on your shoulder about his relationship breaking up? I’m not a hundred percent sure he counts.”

  “He counts.”

  Tabby had chosen the dress for her. It did look good, she had to admit, as she looked in the mirror. Sure, she wouldn’t mind more curves, and maybe less unruly hair but at least the slinky thing was flattering.

  “Good luck,” Tabby said when she emerged at last.

  “Thanks.”

  “I meant good luck to him keeping his hands off you. If I was a man, I’d be all over you.”

  “I thought you were a man.”

  “I bleach this ‘tache, I’ll have you know,” Tabby replied, pointing to her face.

  They both laughed. “I better be going,” Daisy said, looking at the time. “Don’t expect anything.”

  “Go do him. God speed.”

  “Thanks.” Tabby gave her a rare hug and Daisy was glad. She felt more nervous than she would have liked to admit.

  The drive to the castle seemed to take forever. Every now and then Daisy would glance at the box on the passenger seat. What if the silver key was special?

  It didn’t matter. It wasn’t hers. Whatever magic it might contain, it was aimed squarely at Jock MacGregor, not her.

  She was surprised to find the door to the castle open when she arrived. There was no sign of the custodian. She called out a hello but there was no answer.

  Passing through to the courtyard, she couldn’t help but feel worried. Something about this was strangely familiar. How could she know that the window up there to her left was where the infirmary was?

  She shouldn’t know.

  The place was having the strangest effect on her again. Had she been in the infirmary? No, it was crazy to think that was possible.

  The door at the top of the stairs was also open. She passed through it, the box feeling heavy in her hands. She would be glad to get rid of the thing.

  She knocked on the laird’s bedchamber and waited. Was there anyone here? It took a brave man to leave a place open for anyone to walk inside. What if she were a thief?

  She held her breath. There was no answer. She tried again and the moment she knocked, the box fell from her hand. She bent down to pick it up and gasped. How had that happened? The silver key had somehow bounced up and now it was in the keyhole.

  She went to pull it out but her hand somehow twisted and before she knew what was happening, there was a click and the door swung inward.

  Jock spun around from his place by the window, looking furious.

  “Any news?” he asked, stopping dead as he saw who it was. “Jings,” he said, running over and grabbing her, pulling her into his room. “It’s you.”

  “Let go of me,” she replied, shoving him back. “What are you doing?”

  “I’ve had half the clan out scouring the countryside to find you,” he said, prodding her in the shoulder. “I cannae believe you just appear like this. Where did you go?”

  “What do you mean? I went home.”

  “You went home? You upped and vanished from the infirmary and you say you just went home?”

  “I…sorry, what did you say?”

  “You were laid in bed in the infirmary and then you were just nowhere. Alan thought you were a witch and I wonder if he’s right.”

  “Wait, you think I was in the infirmary? Here? At your castle?”

  “Aye, lass. Do you not remember?”

  She shook her head, refusing to think about it any longer. “I’ve got a box for you.”

  “I dinnae care about that,” he said, snatching it from her and tossing it aside. “You must get into some decent clothes. We have a feast to attend.”

  “That’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”

  “It’s tonight. I will send for someone to dress you.”

  “I can dress myself. I’ve been doing it for years.”

  “You are my guest tonight and you must wear something more appropriate than that.”

  “What’s wrong with this?”

  “You can see your legs, your arms, heavens, even your chest, lass.”

  “So?”

  He shook his head. “I will not argue with you. I say you change so you change. Sit there.” His voice was suddenly booming and she became weak at the knees.

  She sat down on the nearest chair as he left the room, looking back at her in time to say, “Do not move,” before disappearing.

  He was not gone long. He came back with a woman in her mid-forties. She had armfuls of clothes held in front of her and if she was surprised by Daisy, she did not show it.

  “My laird,” she said as he withdrew, leaving the two women alone.

  “Take that off,” the woman said, her highland accent a touch milder than Jock’s.

  “What?”

  “Take that off and I will help you put these on. You must look your best to attend a feast with the laird.”

  “What if I don’t want to attend?”

  The woman laughed. “You would refuse him?” She raised her eyebrows.

  Daisy shook her head.

  “Then take that nonsense off.”

  The next ten minutes were the strangest of Daisy’s life. Something about the woman put her at ease despite her discomfort at undressing in front of her. She thought about refusing to do what she was told but somehow it felt okay.

  She ended up looking like something out of a historical movie.

  She had on a chemise and two white wool stockings. On her feet were black kid leather boots. Above the chemise was a long flowing dress of scarlet red. A tartan belt was tied around it, pinching her waist in better than a corset ever could. Her hair was tied up and inside a pillbox hat that the woman called a coif. It was held in place by a length of fabric under her chin.

  She wished she had a mirror to look into but the best she could do was take the compliment from the woman who’d dressed her.

  “That’s better,” she said. “Fit for a MacGregor now. Your things will remain here until you get back. You better get moving. I can hear the horses already.”

  “Get moving where?”

  “Out the back stairs to the sally port. He will be outside.”

  She guided Daisy to a flight of stairs in the corridor and then down a maze of turns until she found herself passing through a wooden door and then she st
opped dead. She looked around her. “How long did that take? It was daytime when I arrived.”

  “Be off with you,” the woman said, pulling the door closed and leaving her alone.

  The sun had set while she’d been inside. All she could see was the light of a flaming torch in Jock’s hand. He was beside an enormous horse that stamped its hooves impatiently, flicking its mane at the same time.

  “Let me guess, no car,” she said, looking nervously up at the horse.

  “You talk strange but you look good,” he replied. “Now up you get.”

  “On that? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Would you rather walk?”

  “I’d rather get a cab. Where is this party anyway?”

  “The feast is at my financier’s house.”

  She noticed anger in his voice when he spoke. Had she annoyed him? “I can’t ride that,” she said. “I get scared on the merry-go-round at the seaside.”

  “I will do the riding for us both,” he said, holding a hand out toward her.

  She took it, not surprised to see her fingers swallowed up by his huge fist. His skin was warmer than she expected though just as rough as she would have imagined. He brought her to the side of the horse and then let go of her hand.

  Before she knew what was happening he had grabbed her by the waist and was hoisting her through the air. Her legs flailed but then she was on the back of the horse, feeling slightly embarrassed by her squeal as he’d lifted her up.

  He leaped up behind her and then took the reins with one hand, the other on her waist, pulling her back against him. “Haud on,” he said. “I wouldnae want you falling off now.”

  She could barely breathe, let alone reply. He had his hand on her waist. She could feel the heat of his body against her back, the warmth of his breath on her neck. Her skin tingled from the sensation.

  So much for saying goodbye, she told herself as they began to ride away from the castle.

  The journey didn’t take long but it was one Daisy would never forget. The entire time he held her, making her feel safe. It had been a long time since she’d felt so safe. Not only that, but he said nothing.

  In the silence she could indulge herself in thoughts of the two of them living a life together. Was it such an impossible dream as she’d first thought? Was he like smoking? Was he becoming an addiction? Was he so bad for her after all?

  When they arrived at the house, Daisy began to wonder if there was something in the water in the highlands. It wasn’t just Jock who was eccentric.

  There were people outside the house and every single man was in hose and tartan. The women were in dresses even more medieval than her own.

  Beside the door, a long row of horses had been tied. The place was lit by torches, not a lightbulb in sight.

  The house itself looked like a historic relic, a smaller version of the castle she’d just come from.

  Inside was a surreal sight. It had to be a group of historical re-enactors. That was the only possible explanation. The place looked like a movie set. If Merida’s mom had appeared in full bear get up, she wouldn’t have been that surprised.

  The food was laid out on trestle tables, roast meats and mountains of boiled vegetables. At the far end of the room was a minstrel’s gallery, a band playing up there on lutes, one man singing in Latin or perhaps Gaelic.

  People were dancing, talking, sitting, drinking. Ale was in tankards, not glasses. A roaring fire warmed the space, the flickering orange glow enough to illuminate the place as well as the torches upon the walls.

  “Where are we?” Daisy asked as Jock led her through the throng. “What kind of party is this?”

  “Robin,” Jock called out, ignoring her and waving a man over.

  Daisy saw where he was looking. The man coming over looked pale despite the heat. “You came, my laird,” he said when he reached them. “And you brought a guest, I see.”

  “I thought you had no money to finish the stonework,” Jock said, his voice jovial though Daisy thought she could hear ice behind it.

  “I came into some at the right moment.”

  “How fortunate for you.”

  “Well, I must mingle. Get a drink, won’t you?”

  The man was gone. In his place another man appeared, almost as tall as Jock though at least twenty years older than him.

  “Lachlan,” Jock said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for your orders. Have you seen enough profligacy?” Lachlan asked, lowering his voice. “Should I grab him?”

  “I have seen plenty. Let him have his feast. I will see you back at the castle. Speak of this to no one.”

  He turned to Daisy. “We are leaving.”

  “But we’ve only just got here.”

  He grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the door. “Alan is over there with the priest. Stay any longer and their tongues might slip too far.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  He got her outside, pulling her away from the revellers and not speaking until he was sure they were alone. “He thinks you are a witch. Speak your strange words in such a place and you might not make it out alive.”

  “But I’m not a witch.”

  “I ken you’re not but I also ken what you really are.”

  “And what am I?”

  “Do you trust me?” He looked into her eyes without blinking, a fierce gaze that burned her more than the fireplace ever could. As he stared he undid her coif, letting her hair fall free. He tucked a stray lock behind her ear.

  “Yes,” she said, falling back under that gaze. “I trust you but you’re frightening me.”

  “Then trust me and return to Castle MacGregor with me. There is something we must do at once.”

  “What?”

  “Come.” He again helped her onto the horse, climbing up behind her and riding fast into the night.

  “Why were you so angry with that man?” she asked as they rode.

  “What man?”

  “Robin was it? What had he done to you?”

  “I was not angry with him.”

  “I could hear it in your voice even if he could not. What’s he done?”

  “Dinnae worry about that. It is not your concern.”

  He spurred the horse into ever greater speed until it was foaming at the mouth, sweat pouring down it. In no time they were back at the castle.

  Before she was even on the ground Jock was shouting for a groom to come and tend to his horse which was steaming in the cold air as it dunked its head into the trough by the castle gates.

  “This way,” Jock said, leaving the grooms to tend to his horse. He walked through the gate into the courtyard where Daisy stopped dead.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, staring around her at the torchlit space. “Where did all these buildings come from?”

  The grass was gone, the space a ramshackle collection of thatch covered huts with mud and straw in between to serve as pathways.

  “Oh God. Tabby was right. The key. I’ve gone back in time.” The shock knocked the wind out of her. She could say nothing else. “I’ve actually gone back in time. This is insane.” She grabbed him by the arm. “Don’t you get it? I’ve broken the laws of physics. I’m actually here in the Middle Ages.”

  “Come on,” Jock said, grabbing her hand and pulling her up the steps. “It will all make sense soon enough.”

  She let him guide her upstairs, staring back and feeling dizzy. What was going on? It couldn’t be true. Could it?

  Once inside, she found herself in no time at all in Jock’s bedchamber. He looked furious once again. “What are you going to do?” she asked. “Are you going to hurt me?”

  “I promise I willnae hurt you. I intend to save you,” he replied, taking hold of her dress and lifting it from her shoulders.

  She should have told him to stop but she could say nothing at all. As the dress came free she began to wonder if she was dreaming.

  She had seen that bed before. She was sure of
it, in those regular dreams that had been haunting her for months. It had to be a dream. Else why would she be letting him undress her like this?

  With the dress off, and only the chemise to cover her, she felt lighter than air, blown rather than walked across to the bed where he lay her down, brushing her eyes closed with the tips of his fingers.

  “Dinnae move,” he said quietly.

  She heard something to her left and she was tempted to look but managed to resist. It had to be a dream. Any moment now she would wake up at home and all of this would become nothing more than a memory.

  “What are you doing?” she asked as she felt something at her left wrist. She looked up in time to see him binding her to the bed with a length of cord.

  She went to rise but he was faster, leaping across her and binding her right wrist to the bed. That done he moved down, ignoring her lashing feet as he bound her ankles in place.

  “You are no witch,” he said. “But you are possessed by a demon and I will free you from such torment. Then we can talk.”

  “Let me go,” she yelled, tugging at the bonds that held her tight to his bed. “Let me go right now. You’ve no right to hold me here.”

  She began ranting and raving again, spitting venom toward him. “You said I could trust you and you do this? Let me go!”

  She saw him kneeling in the corner of his room, genuflecting before lifting his eyes and hands up to heaven.

  “Save her, Lord,” he said, as she shouted again for him to let her go. “Banish the vile denizen of the underworld that lurks within her soul. Send it back to the fiery pit from whence it came and allow this innocent one back into the your good graces.

  Take me instead if you must punish someone. I have sinned, she has not. I should have prayed for her from the moment I first met her. Forgive me, Lord, my omission, and save her.”

  “There’s no demon in me,” she yelled back at him. “Stop saying that.”

  He was up and he had something in his hand.

  “What’s that?” she asked, seeing a perfectly calm monster looking down at her. Was that a scourge in his hand?

  “This is for your own good,” he said, whipping the scourge through the air to test it “It will free your soul and save you from your torment in this life and eternal damnation in the next. The pain will purify you.”