Needed By The Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Forever Book 5)

by Rebecca Preston

  Maybe that was what made Niall call her name an hour or so later, his voice sounding cautiously excited. She raised her head from a rock she’d been studying for bloodstains, a little annoyed to be distracted like this — but her annoyance changed to intrigue when she saw what he was pointing at. Up on the bank, closer to shore where the sand turned to grass, just clear of the road, she could see Niall standing by a bush. But there was something wrong with the bush — it was broken, she realized with mounting excitement. Broken as though someone — or something — had walked through it, or over it.

  Carefully, she ran up the beach, making sure to skirt widely around the area between the bush and the water. Niall was almost vibrating with excitement when she reached him, his eyes wide and his body full of tension, and in that moment he reminded her so much of his son that she almost burst out laughing.

  “Down here,” he said softly, as though he would wake something if he spoke too loudly — and she blinked down at what he was pointing at, reaching out automatically to dissuade him from touching anything (even though they were hundreds of years away from any kind of fingerprinting technology, old habits died hard, and her crime scene muscle memory was firing on all cylinders.) She scanned the bush — crushed, she realized with mounting excitement, the damage came from up above — and noticed that it was growing out of mud, not sand. The mud continued a little way down the beach before it gave way to sand, and to her delight, there were several prints preserved in the hard mud.

  “Do you remember the last time it rained?” she said softly, shooting a look at Niall.

  He frowned. “It was … a while ago. It’s been overcast, but not raining —”

  “These prints were made the last time it rained properly — rained enough to leave thick mud like this.”

  “It was before we discovered the raft,” Niall said, his eyes wide. “Back when people were still going missing. This — this could be something to do with the disappearances.”

  “It could also be completely unrelated,” Helen pointed out, trying to remain realistic in the face of both of their rising excitement. “People travel along this road all the time, right?”

  “But these bushes are badly damaged. That doesn’t just… happen.” He squinted down at the prints, moving carefully around to examine them more closely. Helen gave closer consideration to the damaged bush. It had been hit hard, that was for sure — she frowned at the thickness of the branches that had been snapped.

  “Someone could have fallen off a horse?” she suggested, thinking of how unsteady she’d felt on horseback earlier, before she’d gotten the hang of it. “That would probably deliver them to the ground hard enough to break the branches like this…”

  “These are hoofprints,” Niall said softly. There was something odd about his body language — he’d frozen in place, staring out at the waters of the Loch. “Hoof prints, pointed into the sea.”

  “Could the monster have taken a horse?” she said blankly. It was a sad thought, a horse being dragged out to sea, but it was a much better prospect than the thought of a human being taken out there to be killed… but the look on Niall’s face when he turned around was far from reassuring. “Niall? It kind of looks like someone fell off their horse, broke a bush, then got back on.”

  “That’s not what happened,” Niall said softly. “Look — look at the hoofprints.”

  She squatted down by the patch of dried mud, squinting down at them, curious to see what Niall had seen. “Okay. Hoofprints… a little obscured. Almost looks like something got dragged over them. Maybe the horse ran off the road, dropped his rider, made these prints, then the rider rolled over them? No — looks more like drag marks. Could he have gotten tangled in the reins somehow, gotten dragged over the prints?” She sighed. “At any rate, it’s not exactly monster prints, is it?”

  “We have to go right now,” Niall said softly, his eyes on the water. “Quickly.”

  Something in his voice sent a shiver up her spine, and she stood up, concerned by the tone in his voice and the look on his face.

  “Niall? What is it?”

  “We have to go to Old Maggie’s. She’ll know what to do,” he said softly. “I’ve — I’ve heard stories about… but why didn’t the Monster… sorry,” he added, shaking his head as Helen stared up at him, confusion warring with worry in her mind. “Let’s go to Maggie’s.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’d rather not say until we’re sure,” he said softly. “But if it’s what I think it is… Maggie will know, and she’ll know what to do.”

  “I trust you,” Helen said simply, though the worry was still gnawing at her gut.

  Niall smiled — and to her surprise, he reached out and pulled her into a hug. Lightning quick, but it still set her heart pounding and her whole mind spiraling crazily.

  She cleared her throat, trying to keep the grin from spreading across her face completely. “Right. Maggie’s. It’s not far, is it?”

  “Just up there,” he said, nodding up the rise, and she blinked with shock — they’d come further along the beach than she’d thought. There was the little cottage, nestled in the woods — a crooked chimney perched on its thatched roof, a little veranda with a rocking chair, and a pair of old boots sitting by the door. It was inviting, in its own way. “I’ll walk back and get the horses. You head up and knock on the door, okay?”

  She nodded, glad she’d get a chance to thank Maggie for her cure finally. It felt like it had been far too long. She only wished she had a gift, or something to give Maggie in appreciation. Growing along the bank were wildflowers, and she hesitated for a moment before scooping up a few into a loose bouquet. It wasn’t much, but it would do, she thought, smiling as she adjusted the flowers. At the very least, she’d made an effort. And she’d make sure to ask if there was anything she could do for Maggie to make up for the favor she’d done her — any errands to run, tasks to finish off, maybe even some gardening. The place seemed to need it, she thought with amusement as she headed toward the porch. There were weeds growing wildly everywhere — they seemed to get even stronger as she approached the house. Behind it, she could just make out a huge vegetable patch, overgrown and tangled — it looked like a formidable plot. Maggie must grow most of her food out there, she thought with surprise. The little old woman must do more gardening than she thought.

  She tapped on the door, her mind already on what Maggie was going to say about the creature that was kidnapping their fishermen. Would she know what it was straight away? Did she know already, perhaps — had she asked the Monster? Had the Monster encountered the creature? Why hadn’t it stopped it, like it presumably stopped so many other Unseelie Fae? Did it have something to do with the tracks that she and Niall had found — and if so, what did someone falling off their horse have to do with a lake-dwelling monster?

  But all of these questions fell away from her mind completely when the door creaked open. The first thing she saw was an unbelievably cluttered living space — beyond the door the place was jam-packed with furniture, with couches and armchairs, low side tables and what seemed like hundreds of bookshelves, all groaning with trinkets and jars and what looked like bizarre ingredients for (could it be?) spellcasting. But as her eyes tracked down, it was the person at the door who really caught her attention.

  Because standing at the door, peering up at her with a look of fierce curiosity in its strange little eyes, was what she could only describe as a monster. Three feet tall, it had long, batlike ears protruding from the sides of its vaguely humanoid head. It was gray and scaly, with patches of gray fur seemingly dotted at random around its body, and her eyes widened as she looked down at its arms — one of them was twisted and withered, much smaller than the other, and even seemed to be missing a hand. It was wearing an odd little tunic over its body, which only served to make it look more monstrous, not less. The effect wasn’t helped by the sharp claws she could see on its hand and feet — and (she recoiled a little in shock) it looked for all t
he world like it had webbing between its fingers and toes. That seemed to fit in with the vaguely aquatic impression she got from the creature — it looked like it belonged at the bottom of the Loch with the other monsters, not here in a crowded living room, answering the door to guests as though it lived here. What was it? What had it done with Maggie? Was she in danger?

  The word sprang to her mind before she could even think, and she spoke it with horror in her voice.

  “Goblin!”

  Chapter 23

  The creature stared up at her for a long moment — and was that disappointment in its eyes? Dismay? A trace of fear, maybe? As she stared at it, wishing desperately that she had a weapon — could she made it to the tree in the yard, maybe find a stick before it caught her? — its little shoulders raised and lowered, and it made a sound that sounded for all the world like a sigh.

  “Yes, hello, nice to meet you.”

  That shocked her out of her weapon-search, at least for the moment. Though its voice was oddly high, it was nevertheless very human-sounding — not at all the shriek or chatter that she was expecting. Weren’t goblins Unseelie Fae? Wasn’t this one of the enemy? Could it be a Redcap, the kind that Niall had told her about? No — it didn’t seem to have any kind of headpiece on, red or otherwise, and redcaps (this part Eamon had been delighted to tell her about) got their name from wearing hats soaked in the blood of their victims.

  “My name is Darter Hob, I live here, I’m a — yes, in fact I am a goblin. A Glashtyn, to be precise. And I’m Seelie, not that you asked.”

  “I — I —” She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to get control of herself. The creature — Darter, had he said his name was? — was standing back in the doorway, extending a hand for all the world as though he was inviting her inside. “You’re -”

  “Seelie Fae,” he said patiently. His accent was the same as Maggie’s — Scottish, undeniably, though a shade different from the way the people of the castle and the village spoke. “One of the good ones. Wasn’t always, of course, but … well, I changed sides. And it cost me,” he added, his eyes flicking down to th withered arm she’d noticed. “So you’ll understand if I get a bit impatient with people looking at me like I‘m about to start trying to feast on their eyeballs.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Helen said faintly, trying to regroup. “I honestly didn’t mean to offend you. I just — I haven’t met — I haven’t seen — you took me by surprise a little,” she finished lamely, her cheeks burning. “I’m not from around here.”

  “Oh, I know. I could sense it a mile away.” The goblin — the Glashtyn — smiled at her, an oddly endearing gesture that made him seem a great deal younger. “You’ve been touched by the Sidhe.”

  “I have,” she said, blinking. “Have you met them?”

  “Oh, no. But I’d like to.” He tilted his head. “Do you remember much?”

  “No, I’m sorry.”

  “Shame. Please, come in. Maggie’s out gathering herbs, I’m sure she’ll be back promptly. Are those for her or me?” he added, raising an eyebrow at the impromptu bouquet in her hands. She’d forgotten she was holding it.

  “You, I think. Call it an apology for my rudeness.”

  “No need,” he said, but there was a broadening to his smile that he couldn’t quite hide as he accepted the gift. “Thank you. Can I have your name?”

  “Of course! I’m —”

  “Nope!”

  Niall’s voice, shocking her from the porch — he strode to her side, putting a protective arm around her waist as he glared down at Darter — but there was a twinkle in his eye. The little goblin raised his hands innocently, and Helen looked between the pair of them, confused.

  “Sorry, Niall. Old habits. I wouldn’t have done anything with it.”

  “Sure you wouldn’t have,” he growled, wagging a finger. “I’ve got my eye on you.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “I see you two have met,” Niall said, rolling his eyes. “Darter’s a Seelie Fae, but even the Seelie can get up to mischief if you let them. You have to pay close attention to what they say, not just how they say it.”

  “And what did I say, exactly?”

  “You asked what my name was,” Helen said blankly.

  “Try again,” the goblin said, mirth dancing in his eyes and making him seem a lot less innocent than he had earlier. “Really think.”

  “You asked me — if you could have my name.”

  “And you almost gave it to him,” Niall said disapprovingly. “The Fae can get up to all kinds of mischief if you give them possession of your name…”

  “Fine, let’s start again. Would you mind telling me your name?”

  Helen hesitated, shooting a wary glance at Niall, who nodded reassurance. “Helen.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Helen,” Darter said brightly. “And good to see you again too, Niall, even if you spoiled all my fun. I’d have given it straight back,” he added to Helen with a roguish little wink. “Now. Please, have a seat. Can I offer you some tea?”

  They both settled down in a pair of squashed and ancient armchairs that happened to be the most comfortable Helen had ever experienced. She sank into the softness, tempted to shut her eyes and drift off to sleep… but before too long, Darter was pressing a hot cup of tea into her hands, and she sipped at it gratefully, raising an eyebrow at the unusual taste.

  “What kind of tea is this? I’ve never had anything like it.”

  “Maggie’s own blend.” Darter shrugged. “Don’t ask me, she won’t tell me how she makes it. There’s a touch of magic in there. Nothing too special,” he added as Helen’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “I think it’s mostly just to make the taste better. Frivolous, some might say, but… well, it’s good tea.” The little goblin had poured himself a cup, too — Helen couldn’t help but smile at the dainty way his clawed hand wrapped around the mug.

  “So — how did you come to live with Maggie, Darter?” Helen asked into the silence that had fallen. Now that her initial shock at the creature’s appearance was fading — thanks in part to his manners — she was keenly interested in knowing more about him. He gave her a toothy smile as he lowered his teacup.

  “It’s a rather long story, but I suppose Maggie won’t be back for a little while… hm. The short version, I think. As a younger goblin, I fell in with an unruly band of Unseelie. Their leader promised adventure, riches, all the finest things in life… those things that liars often promise. He approached me — said that as a glashtyn — we’re aquatic goblins, we can breathe underwater — I offered a unique perspective and set of skills to the group. Made me believe I’d be valued, important. So I joined the group, mistakenly thinking that they valued me for more than just my ability to breathe underwater. Not the case,” he said, and she could see a hint of sadness in those strange eyes. “The group were determined to invade the human world through the Burgh, to make a permanent residence here. They forced me to swim down to the Burgh and wedge it open with an iron bar.” He shivered, his eyes flicking down to his arm. “I don’t have to tell you what iron does to faeries.”

  “That’s awful,” Helen said softly. “It won’t heal?”

  “Not from iron. Not even Maggie could do anything… though she did try, for which I’ll always be grateful to her. Once I’d crippled myself and done this thing for the group, I thought I’d be a member of honor. Quite the opposite was the case. They left me for dead… and that’s when Nancy saved my life.”

  Helen’s eyes widened. Nancy had mentioned something about run-ins with goblins, but she hadn’t thought it was this extensive. “Nancy? From the Keep?”

  “Oh, aye. She saved us all — dove to the bottom of the Loch with her strange device from the future, removed the iron bar from the Burgh to seal the Unseelie goblins out, and fought off the last of them, too. Once the fighting was over, Maggie offered me a home here, in exchange for helping around the place. Keeping things tidy,” he said drily, his eyes flicking aro
und the unbelievably cluttered little cottage.

  “That must beat serving someone who doesn’t value you,” Niall said softly.

  “Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes. I’m happier now than I’ve ever been. Even if I have to hide inside during the day for fear of starting a witch hunt among the townspeople,” he added with a chuckle.

  “Who’s in my house talking about witches?” came a cheerful cry from outside. “Should I be worried?”

  “Maggie’s home,” Darter said, grinning at them.

  Sure enough, the door soon swung open and Maggie came bustling in. God, she was barely taller than Darter — Helen grinned as she rose to her feet to greet the woman. Maggie had an armful of plants and strange herbs, which she happily dumped on a nearby side table before turning to greet her guests, her eyes twinkling brightly as she took them both in.

  “You’re looking much closer to this side of death’s door, Helen,” she said approvingly, giving Helen a once-over with her sharp little eyes. “You’re mended?”

  “Completely better, Maggie, thanks to you,” Helen said, smiling broadly. “I wanted to know if there was anything I could do to thank you. I definitely owe you one.”

  Niall cleared his throat — Maggie was cackling laughter, and Darter had that glint in his eye he’d had when he was talking about taking her name.

  Helen turned to look at the three of them, narrowing her eyes. “What?”

  “Oh, dear,” Maggie chuckled, fanning herself as her hysterical laughter faded, “I do love modern humans. So utterly oblivious to the power their words have. Never admit to a debt to a faerie, girl,” she chided her. “If you’re talking to the wrong one, you can wind up losing your soul not long after.”

  “My soul? Because I thanked you for your help?”

  Maggie chortled. “Relax, dearie, I’m not that kind of Fae. Your soul’s your own, and you owe me nothing.”

  An oddly formal ring to those words — she could see Darter listening closely, as though words of power were being spoken. Maybe they were. A shiver ran down her spine — she realized she had a lot to learn about magic and faeries.