Outlaw Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance

by Dabney, Blanche

  “Aye, well, ye should be more careful next time.”

  “There’s not going to be a next time. I’m going home tomorrow.”

  “Back tae England?”

  “Yes, why? Why say it like that?”

  “Because it takes a brave soul tae travel so far north o’ the border when we’re on the verge of going tae war.”

  “War? Who with?”

  “The English of course.” He leaned toward the fire, rotating the fish on its makeshift spit.

  “Listen, there might be some grumbles between England and Scotland over soccer from time to time but this is first I’ve heard of war.”

  He lifted the fish from the fire. “Ah might be wrong. It’s been a long time since I heard news of anything. Ready to sup?”

  He sliced the fish into thick chunks, passing the first handful to her.

  She looked at it for a moment before starting to eat. “You know,” she said after swallowing, “you’ve got this hunter-gatherer thing down pat, haven’t you? What was it, corporate life got too much for you, wanted to get back to basics?”

  “Will ye just eat?”

  His stomach was glad of the fish. As he ate, he glanced at her again. She was looking into the fire, but she turned to match his gaze. He held her eyes for a second before looking away.

  The rest of the meal was eaten in silence. When he was done, he wiped the grease from his hands onto his hose.

  “You really are an animal, aren’t you?” she said, rising to her feet and walking outside.

  “Where are ye going?”

  He got his answer when he saw her neatly wiping her own hands on the grass outside. She returned to the doorway.

  “That was lovely, thank you. I’ve never eaten a meal quite like it. If you’re passing by the guesthouse, you should call in, have something cooked in an oven for once. You might like it.”

  “Ye cannae go.” He was up in under a second, striding outside and getting a hand to her shoulder, spinning her around to look at him.

  She looked down at his hand, then up at him as it lingered there. “Why can’t I go?”

  He realized, letting go a second later. “You’re English and you’re on Sinclair land. The first patrol tae see you will have you skewered like that fish.”

  “Not this again. Look, I need to get back. It’s been lovely…sorry, what was your name?”

  “Tavish.”

  “Tavish what?”

  “It was Sinclair before they booted me out on me arse. Now it’s just Tavish.”

  She frowned before smiling. He was surprised by how pretty she looked when she smiled, her eyes lighting up. “Very funny. What’s your real name?”

  “Tavish Sinclair.”

  “You’re Tavish Sinclair? As in, the Tavish Sinclair. And I suppose this is what, 1290? 1300?”

  “It were 1290 when ah were banished. I suppose it must be around 1300 now, give or take.”

  The smile faded from her lips. “You’re telling me this is the year 1300?”

  “Aye.”

  “Oh, God. You’re being serious. You really think it’s 1300, don’t you?” She started backing away from him, looking at him like he was a wild animal.

  “Where are ye going? Ah said ye cannae go.”

  “Yes, I can. You’re insane.”

  She turned and ran, sprinting into the distance.

  For a moment he was too surprised to react. Then he thought about her blabbing to the Sinclairs about where he was holed up.

  He thought about having to move again just when he was finally finding some peace. A moment later he was sprinting out of the hut and hunting her down.

  3

  Lindsey didn’t hear him coming until it was too late. All she heard was her own heavy breathing. She had to hold the tartan in place across her chest as the knot she’d tied began to come loose.

  It only needed to hold until she got back to Mrs. Campbell’s. Then she could get changed and forget about all this. Forget about insane Scotsmen who thought it was the middle ages.

  As if he was Tavish Sinclair? The very idea would be funny if she weren’t so scared. She’d realized he was serious when he looked into her eyes and told her his name. He really thought he was the outlaw Highlander who’d lived seven hundred years earlier.

  At that moment when he looked at her, she knew she’d made a mistake. She was alone with a dangerously unstable individual and she was too far from the guesthouse to summon help. Even if she’d screamed, by the time help came it would have been too late for her.

  She ran through a copse of trees and then out the other side. The hillside was familiar. This was where the taxi had brought her down the worn track to the guesthouse when she first arrived. Another corner and past that ridge and it would be right in front of her. She put on a fresh burst of speed, panicking that he might be trying to follow her.

  Scrambling up the ridge, she stumbled over the top, more falling than running down the far side. In her effort to keep her balance she stared down at her feet, trying to avoid the loose stones rolling down with her.

  She skidded to a halt at the bottom of the slope. “Back at last,” she said, looking up before falling silent. She almost fell again, this time from surprise. The hill was there just like before, the groove of the dried-up stream was still there only now water was flowing from it into the loch to her left.

  Where was the guesthouse? The hillside was there, the flat ground leading to the loch. She was definitely in the right place but there was no building, just tufts of deep green grass and occasional patches of thistles.

  “But where is it?” she said out loud, taking a step forward as if the guesthouse might appear from nowhere. “I must be in the wrong place.”

  She walked to the top of the next ridge but there was nothing but wilderness down the far side. She mashed her fingers together without noticing what she was doing, her eyes darting from left to right. “It must be here somewhere. Please don’t tell me I’m lost.”

  Spinning around, she let out a cry. On the top of the ridge, the Highlander was standing, looking every inch like Tavish Sinclair had been described in the book.

  The wind blew the tartan on his muscular chest, his hair moving too in the breeze. The black hose on his legs could barely contain his quads, they looked like they might rip through at any point. He wasn’t even breathing heavily. How had he run so fast after her without working up a sweat?

  He had his hands on his hips, staring down at her in silence. “You stay away from me,” she snapped, pointing up at him. “I’ve got enough problems without you chasing after me. Where’s the guesthouse?”

  “What guesthouse?”

  “Mrs. Campbell’s. It was right here, I swear it.”

  “Ah know this loch like the back o’ me hand. There’s nay been a building here ’til ah built ma hoose back there.”

  Something whispered to Lindsey. You’re in the past. She ignored the voice, shaking her head as she looked around again. “It has to be here. This is Loch Tay, right?”

  “Aye, lass.” He walked slowly down the hillside toward her, a strange look on his face.

  “Then where’s Mrs. Campbell’s?”

  “There’s nae building until you get tae Castle Sinclair a fair stretch o’ miles that way.” He pointed up the hillside away from the loch.

  “There’s about three villages between here and there.”

  The anger had gone from his face, his eyes wider, a flicker of a smile on his lips. “You mustae hit yon heed pretty hard when you fell out your boot.”

  “I hit my head? You think you’re Tavish Sinclair, the princess murdering Highlander.” She saw the look on his face. “Oh, yes. I know all about that.”

  The smile had gone, his eyes flaring with anger. “I didnae kill her.”

  The look sent Lindsey backward. The glare was impossible to withstand. “You’re not him. You can’t be him.”

  His voice grew quiet, far colder than before. “Ah am Tavish Sinclair. My f
ather is Fingal Sinclair and if he lives, he rots in a dungeon tae this day. I lived in Castle Sinclair until the day o’ ma trial.”

  “You really believe that, don’t you? That you’re him.”

  “Why would ah lie about such a thing?”

  “You killed Princess Margaret of Norway?”

  “Ah didnae kill her.”

  “This must be a dream. It has to be.”

  “You’re no dreaming, lass.”

  “I am. How else can I be talking to Tavish Sinclair next to a vanished guesthouse? Wait, what year did you say it was? 1290?”

  “1300.”

  She spoke more to herself than him. “I’ve gone back in time.”

  “What?”

  “If I’m not dreaming and you really are Tavish Sinclair, then I’ve gone back in time.”

  “What are ye blethering about?”

  She grabbed hold of his arms. “I’ve gone back in time. Don’t you get it? It must have been the mist. Or when I fell out of the boat. That’s why the guesthouse isn’t here. It hasn’t been built yet. Oh, my goodness. You really are Tavish Sinclair. This is insane.”

  She moved away, running her hand through her hair. “I’ve gone back in time.” A thought struck her. She fell to the ground, landing heavily on the grass.

  “How do I get back?” she said, laying on her back and staring up at the sky. “I’m stuck here forever.”

  A shadow fell across the sky. Tavish was standing blocking out the light, looking down at her. He was nothing more than a silhouette with the sun behind him. “This isnae your time, is it?”

  “You got that right.” She closed her eyes. “I’m stuck in 1300 with Tavish Sinclair. You know, it’s funny. My mom would kill to be in my place right now.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “She loves you.”

  His brow furrowed. “How does she ken me?”

  “Never mind. It’s not worth explaining.”

  “When are ye from?”

  “I’m not born until about seven hundred years from now. Which is a bit weird when you think about it like that.”

  “Ah might be able to help you get back.”

  She shot upright. “What? You can get me back to my own time?”

  “Not me. The island.”

  “How?”

  “We’ll swim across.”

  “I can’t swim.”

  “Ah.”

  “Any idea where I could get a boat?”

  He held her gaze for a moment before answering. Should he tell her about his secret? His one memorial to his mother, the boat he’d carved and hidden away and vowed never to use, ready for her journey across the river to the everlasting sea. He had no reason to share it with her.

  “Aye,” he said at last.

  * * *

  The walk seemed to take forever. By the end of it, Lindsey’s feet were sore. She feared taking her sneakers off. She felt sure there was blood down there from burst blisters. His pace had been relentless from the moment they set off up the mountainside. She was soon lost as they moved along the ridge and then down into a valley filled with lush heather.

  The entire time they walked, she saw no one. The sun was setting by the time they stopped. She had fallen far behind and was limping to try and keep up when he glanced behind him.

  “Rest,” he said, coming back to her.

  “I’m fine. I thought you said this boat wasn’t far away.”

  “It’s another mile but I dinnae ken whether it will still be there.”

  Lindsey looked behind her. All day to get from one side of the loch to the other. It would have been no more than an hour by car. She’d no idea it could take so long to walk somewhere when there were no paths to follow.

  Occasionally they came across rabbit trails but most of the time she had to push her aching legs through thick bushes of heather that hid numerous holes in the earth below.

  Twice she’d fallen, almost twisting her ankle. Both times he’d helped her up without a word. Then he was striding off again like he was a ghost, the terrain not slowing him for a moment.

  Was he a ghost? She found herself thinking as she walked. There was still the slim chance she was dreaming all this though that seemed increasingly unlikely. He had lived and died all those years ago and yet there he was in front of her, marching on without a care in the world.

  That wasn’t true. He had flashed such rage about the death of the princess that she vowed not to bring the subject up again. Instead, she focused on where she was going, trying to ignore the hunger growing inside her and the increasing pain in her feet.

  When he noticed her limping and insisted they rest, she didn’t refuse the invitation, stretching out on the grass, taking deep breaths and refusing to think about what would happen if this didn’t work.

  He sat beside her, staring into the distance and saying nothing. She took the chance to examine him better. How did he compare to what the history books had said?

  He was different from how she’d imagined him, she knew that for sure. She’d pictured a cruel murderer laughing over the corpse of his victim, arrogance, and entitlement written across his face. The reality was very different.

  There was pain behind his eyes, one she had noticed early on despite his refusal to express much in the way of emotion. His hair was long, his skin darkened by a life lived in the sun. She took in the muscles on his arms, the way he sat perfectly still, his legs still looking like they might burst out of the hose at any moment.

  “Ready?” he asked, looking across at her. “If we get a move on, we should make it by dark.” He got to his feet and held a hand down to help her up.

  “I’m ready,” she said, taking the proffered hand. He lifted her upright in a second. She took a step and then winced, pain coursing through her foot.

  “Are ye all right, lass?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He nodded before setting off. She followed, doing her best to ignore the pain.

  “What happens when we find the boat?” she called after him.

  He slowed his pace until he was beside her. “We take you to the island and see if the rumors are true.”

  “What rumors?”

  “All ah know is that the well on the island has powers beyond man’s ken. The druid knows more about it than ah do.”

  “So, it might not work?”

  He didn’t answer. She tried not to think about what she’d do if it didn’t work, if she was forever stuck in this time. Mom would lose the house and would never know what happened to her daughter. It had to work. She had to believe it would work.

  It took another hour to get down to the lochside. When they arrived, Tavish vanished into the undergrowth, dragging out a moss-covered rowing boat.

  “How long’s that been there?” she asked.

  “Ah found it the first year ah was here.”

  “Why haven’t you used it?”

  He didn’t answer, pushing the boat toward the water before stopping. “Do ye wantae eat before you go?”

  She nodded in response. “I’m starving.”

  “Get a fire going. I’ll trap us some rabbits. We passed a warren back there.”

  “Get a fire going? What with?”

  He muttered something under his breath, already turning away.

  “What?” She tried again. “What did you say?”

  “Find some kindling. Ah’ll do the rest.”

  He headed back up the hillside leaving Lindsey alone. She walked over to the boat and examined it. Would it survive a trip to the island? The last thing she wanted was to fall out and end up soaking wet for the second time in one day.

  She prodded the wooden planks which creaked in response. Don’t think about it, she told herself, turning away to search for firewood.

  By the time Tavish got back the light had almost died. She had a decent sized pile of wood ready for him when he walked down the hillside. “Two rabbits,” she said as he joined her by the woodpile. “You provide quite a feast.”
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  “We might have tae wait until morning,” he said, looking at the sky, the last of the light fading below the horizon. “To row across.” He knelt by the fire and began tearing shreds of bark to make kindling.

  “Oh. Can’t we do it in the dark?”

  “Not if we want tae find the island.” He began scraping a flint toward the kindling, sparks shooting across to the scraps of bark.

  “It can’t be that hard can it?”

  “Big loch, wee island. Eat. Sleep. Then leave.”

  She looked at the fire which was already catching, heat thawing her chilled hands. Her stomach rumbled loudly.

  She turned away as he effortlessly skinned and prepared the rabbits. She was used to her meat drizzled in oil, not scraped from the skin.

  When she looked back again, he was using a long stick from the woodpile as a spit. Soon the air was filled with the smell of roasting meat. Lindsey’s stomach growled all the louder.

  “You’re going back tae your time?” Tavish asked out of nowhere.

  Lindsey glanced up to see him looking down at the fire, poking the flames back into life.

  “Hopefully. Wait until I tell my mom I met you. She’ll never believe me.”

  “Why does she care?”

  “My mom loves you. She swears you didn’t do it.”

  “Didnae dae what?”

  “Kill the princess. She says you were innocent.”

  “What do you ken?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  His voice was still a bear’s growl but somehow seemed softer. “She’s right, you ken? Ah didnae do it.”

  4

  While Lindsey slept soundly, Tavish dreamed of the day it all went wrong for him. Lilias brought him flowers. By the end of the day he was on trial for murder.

  He was fishing in his favorite spot, sitting beside the water and staring out at the perfect stillness. The only place he could get away from giving orders and resolving disputes, dealing with all the stresses of clan life.

  The surface reflected the blue sky, a single cloud slowly drifting by, soon to vanish behind the distant mountains.