“Look, there’s your cousin.”
Rae Wilson strode from the small group of competitors, and onto the grassy field. His green and navy kilt fluttered side to side as he strutted, and a broad smile brightened his robust good looks. With his arms raised, even brandishing a pitchfork, he looked nothing like a farmer.
***
The moment his gaze landed on Jenny Morgan and her friend, Rae relaxed. He had promised Gavin he would watch over her, and keep her from harm. When he had taken on the task, he had not realized the effort needed to keep her in sight. If anything happened to her, Gavin would slice off his head, and skewer it upon a pike.
He would not want to see her injured, or worse. With the cunning brownie on the loose, such a threat was at hand. She was a lovely creature, and if she wanted to watch him win the event, he had best gather his wits.
“Wilson! You’re up!”
Rae nodded to the man dressed in the pink shirt, proclaiming him a judge. Judges in his time were the lairds that ruled the clans. Their word was law. These judges smiled and wrote on slabs, and told him where to stand. He strode to the base of the bar. It hovered over his head between two tall posts that pierced the sky. They measured about three times his height. A series of pulleys and chains would raise the bar higher, should his attempt, and that of at least one other competitor, succeed.
A volunteer pointed to a sack that had tumbled up against the base of one of the posts. Bending over, he shoved the tines of the pitchfork into its burlap outer layer. Hefting it, he checked its weight, and made sure he securely fixed it upon his unusual weapon. Several women whistled behind him.
I must take care I doono’ bend over too far.
He had observed several athletes wrap their knees with stretchy pieces of linen. Colorful undergarments peeked from beneath their modern pleated plaids. During a quick practice, he fought to keep from spinning too fast so his own plaid did not rise and share his naked bollocks with the spectators.
With the speared sack, and accompanied by the hoots and whistles from the crowd, he stepped directly beneath the pole. He would mimic the men that he had practiced with earlier. With a gentle swing up, then down, he released the sack with a deep-throated growl. As the heavy sack sailed safely over the bar, the crowd cheered, and a sense of satisfaction filled his chest.
Gazing over the crowd, he sought out the only person whose opinion mattered. Jenny smiled at him, from her seat on the great stand of benches. She waved, then blew him a kiss. A few of the other competitors must have witnessed her response, because they patted him on the back, and a couple shared lewd suggestions. He smiled.
Maybe I shall come to enjoy living here.
The moment the thought swept through him, he sensed terror and fear. Flicking his gaze at Jenny, all he witnessed was her smile, as she talked with her friend. Her brown eyes sparkled. Tossed by an invisible breeze, she smoothed her hair from her eyes. Denise laughed so loud he could not help the smile that tugged at his mouth.
Grinning like a fool when danger lurked, was not smart. Evil was near. He felt it, and Dorcas had warned him to stay aware, and be ready for danger from any direction. Still hefting the pitchfork, he turned and plunged its sharp points into the grass.
Time to retrieve my dirk.
***
“Rae did really well, don’t you think? I should have bought a program and familiarized myself with the rules.” Jenny stood to get a better view.
Denise tugged her back down onto the seat of the aluminum bleacher. “I’m sure he’d love to explain it to you over a beer. Like, when it gets dark.”
“What? No, when this is over, I have to go back and help Dorcas.”
Denise made a sound that came out like something between an irritated sigh, and a growl. “If a hunky guy in a kilt wants to spend time with you, be bold.”
“You’re talking in riddles.”
“Grab tight, and hold on. I bet you’ll enjoy the ride.” Denise laughed, then her voice sobered. “Don’t look now, but our space is about to be invaded.”
Jenny stole a last glance at Rae, then turned to see what Denise was talking about. “Oh, you noticed Randy Hay, staring at us?”
“Randy? Cute, but he’s staring at you. Not me,” Denise said.
“No. Well, maybe. When you left to buy the water, he blindsided me. He was kind of insistent, but I already told him I was busy.”
“Busy? So, you do plan to have a beer with Rae?”
Jenny laughed. “You have a one-track mind, but his train’s not leaving the station anytime soon. Men are complications, and Randy Hay is one eerie-aura-carrying, bad smelling obstacle in muck-covered boots.”
An image of a dark-haired Highlander dressed in a kilt, wearing glossy boots, and smelling like rainwater and the Highland moors, swept her attention away from Rae, Denise, and the fast-approaching dirty cowboy.
***
Rae was happy. Life was good, and his muscles had awakened after an hour of vigorous practice, and competition. He had proved his worth in the sheaf toss event. Many of the other participants could not believe it was his first time competing in the event. He did not care to explain that he lifted bales of hay, chopped firewood, and performed other mundane chores on a farm. His muscles were well earned, and he accepted the congratulations from the other competitors, and judges.
Glancing toward the raised seating, where he had last spotted Jenny, his gaze settled on her face. Where was her smile?
Why does she no’ look at me?
Her attention seemed pinned to a man who climbed the benches, heading in her direction. Others slid aside to allow him access, and many held their noses. When he stopped and stood in front of Jenny, stealing her view of the athletic field, Rae ignored everything, and concentrated on Jenny’s visitor who, from her expression, was unwanted.
From the back, Rae suspected he was the younger owner of the injured Highland cow. One of the Hay clan.
Jenny jumped to her feet, while her friend pulled her arm, as if attempting to return her to her seated position. Though Rae was too far away to hear their conversation, from Jenny’s raised brows, he suspected he had threatened her.
Why? Has his orange beastie taken a turn for the worse?
His gestures grew wild, and unfriendly. Jenny stood like a tall Highland warrior with a faerie’s courage, a hand on her chest, and her face twisted with concern. Wide-open eyes, and cheeks glowing beneath an anger-fueled blush, signaled the heralding of bad news. Whatever the man said, he had caused her pain. She wore her emotions on her beautiful face.
‘Twill be her downfall, I fear.
When the young man cupped her elbow, and forced her to accompany him down the many levels of the seating area, Rae’s first thought was straightforward. He must be demanding she return with him to the fenced animals.
Reaching the base, Jenny tripped. When the man slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her in the opposite direction of the pens, Rae’s entire body tensed. Reaching for a phantom dirk, he groaned. No one wore weapons while competing. Not even a sgian dubh tucked in their boot. He missed the small sword and tiny dagger, especially now.
He was running from the field, before he realized his feet had moved. Shoving aside people who watched the other competitors, he lost sight of Jenny and her abductor. When finally free of the crowd, a sweet-smelling blur collided with him, and his arms came around his attacker. He staggered, but managed to slide to a stop.
Denise struggled in his grip, then grabbed him by the arm. “Jenny. That man…”
“Catch yer breath, lass. What did that man say? She looked upset.”
“First he told her the cow was worse. When she didn’t immediately get up to follow him, he started blaming her for its pain and suffering. My Lord, Jenny would never cause an animal to--”
“I believe ye, but why did she go with him?”
Denise inhaled another deep breath, and broke into tears. Never comfortable around a bawling female, he dragged her farther from the crowds, and in
the direction Jenny headed.
“He threatened to sue her and the clinic for malpractice if she didn’t fix the cow right away. Jenny would never want anything bad to happen to our clinic. She prides herself on her care of animals. I watched her. She did nothing wrong!”
“They dinno’ head for the pens.”
Denise grabbed his forearms, her grip hard as steel. “I know! When I saw him drag her behind the building, I ran to get you. Hurry!”
Rae raced to the rear of the ski lodge, leaving a bawling Denise behind. He expected to find the couple not far ahead, and readied his fist to lay the bastard out cold. He deserved to spend the rest of the day on the ground, unconscious.
There was no need to force a lass to go with him, unless he meant her harm. If the brownie had sent the young bastard to hurt Jenny, he would kill the little imp with his bare hands. Racing as fast as his odd white footgear would allow him, he turned the corner.
The entire area was empty.
CHAPTER 9
Wick, North Sea
Scotland 1603
“Laird Mackenzie! Pirates!” Young Reid MacRob, a lad only a couple of years past twenty summers, raced to where Marcus Mackenzie stood on the battlements of Castle Ruadh with Gavin. Gavin and the laird had discussed the searches planned for the following day. Although the two men faced the western meadows, Gavin had already indicated that he would continue the search he had started, along the southerly coast, a journey interrupted before it had started. Jenny had screamed, which caused him to fall off the cliff’s crumbling edge.
He turned his attention back to the spry young lad sporting bright red hair, pale skin, and freckles. Reid slid to a stop at their feet, then bent over, breathless. Marcus patted the boy’s shoulder, but Gavin got his attention.
“What ‘tis this? Pirates, ye say?” Gavin asked.
Reid straightened, and his stern expression was without fear or terror. He was more than the coltish lad Gavin had met the day he and Jenny found sanctuary, here. Reid was a Highland warrior on a mission.
“Stop blathering, and tell us. What pirate?” Marcus said.
“The pirate of the North Sea, The MacIan! His ship was spotted north, not far off our coast.”
Gavin turned from the young man to his host. “Is this pirate a threat?”
Marcus’ gray eyes flashed with anger, and he growled. His dark hair and pointed beard gave him a devilish persona. Nodding to Gavin, he turned the boy around, and shoved him toward the stairs. “Warn the guards, then send word to our fishing fleet. Go!”
Gavin bit his cheek to keep from laughing. The young lad’s long legs took him across the battlements in a heartbeat, until he disappeared down the great stone steps, into the castle proper. “He reminds me of a new-born colt, flying across a field.”
“He’s a good lad, but his message is troubling. We’ve no time for pirates, if we mean to continue our search for your brother. I will no’ put my people in harm’s way, for the likes of Niall Sinclair.”
Although Gavin understood why Marcus had misgivings about helping him locate Niall, the search by sea required the laird’s vessels. “My brother is out there, somewhere. I can feel it in my bones.”
Marcus nodded, but was quiet.
Locating Niall was imperative. Niall must return to take their sire’s place as laird of their clan, which would ultimately leave Gavin to…what? What would his future hold, if his people were no longer his concern?
“The look upon yer face amuses me, but ‘tis not the time for levity.”
“My pardon, Marcus. I was thinking of my future. I must find Niall.”
“Not enjoying being Laird Sinclair?”
Without waiting for his response, Marcus strode toward the seaward side of the battlements, and Gavin followed. Standing silently near the wall, Gavin set his gloved hands on the battlement wall, and gazed out at the gray surface of the sea. It gleamed like a great wet shard of slate. The water was calm, and an early morning fog rolled toward shore, limiting visibility.
Seeing no sign of ships in either direction, he turned to Marcus. “Could the pirate’s ship hide in this eerie mist?”
“Aye, but he would no’ wish to chance hitting the rocks along our shore. He shall wait it out, in the distance, if he be smart. Unfortunately, our ships are vulnerable as well. Several fishermen headed out at dawn, before this unnatural fog descended.”
The news was not what Gavin wished to hear. Looking for Niall had taken weeks of manhunts, both by land and sea. No sign of him, nor his body, had surfaced. The eeriness of the mist worsened, as it rolled closer to the beach and the castle.
“We best get inside. We shall continue our search, after we can be assured no pirates lurk near our shore, and only after the way is clear.”
Gavin bowed. “My thanks. I will notify my men searching the shore, to be wary of the pirate’s vessel.”
As he traversed the many steps down toward the entrance hall, his thoughts turned to Jenny. Was she safe? Would Rae ensure her safety? His gut churned the more he thought about her. She lived far in the future. To her, he was long dead. Would she care? Shrugging off such thoughts, he headed toward the Castle’s main door.
“A mug of ale to soothe the worry from yer brow?”
Gavin stopped.
Cinnie, the servant girl, held out a metal tankard, and winked. She was even smaller than he recalled. In fact, she reminded him of the brownie, except for the golden braid. She was a pretty little thing, yet he was not moved by her beauty. Over the passing weeks, since he had returned from the future, and had met Jenny Morgan, he realized he judged every woman against Jenny’s attributes.
“My thanks, but I am off. No time to tarry.”
Cinnie frowned, then dipped low, revealing the swells of her breasts. When she rose, her nipples strained against the blue linen blouse. When she straightened her back and tossed back her braid, a momentary blaze of fury filled her gaze.
She tries too hard to catch my eye.
If he had adequate time to waste, he would question her reasons, because she was hiding something. He thought of Jenny. His gut churned. Something had happened to her, or was going to happen. A strange sensation took hold, as if it shook him and forced him to take action. He felt her terror. His skin crawled, and the eerie mist seeped through the door to the bailey, like a suffocating fireless smoke.
I love ye, Niall, but I must save Jenny.
Decision made, and with his mind set on traveling to the future, he made a mental note of the herbs and potions he would need. Dabbling in sorcery had aided him before, when he crossed the centuries to hunt for his betrothed. Returning to the future was necessary, if he was to save Jenny. Too many rumors had reached his ears. Too much hatred had poisoned his sire’s heart and soul. Wherever he hid, Angus Sinclair planned his revenge on everyone.
Including me.
Needing a place of secrecy with which to create the potions required to work his magic, he headed to the stable. Falcon would carry him to the home of the young witch, Lana. He prayed she was not in residence.
He ordered his animal readied, and slipped his great sword into the leather scabbard that he had secured to Falcon’s saddle. He wore a fresh linen shirt as gray as the fog-shrouded sea. He had tied it loosely at the neck, and left his black cloak in his guest bedchamber. His plaid lifted, as a stinking breeze swept around him, sending hay and dust into the air. Swirling in a menacing vortex, the air itself seemed to taunt him.
A leather satchel, tied to his saddle, carried a dozen different herbs wrapped in cloth, as well as a selection of gemstones. He needed the proper tools to conjure his already conceived magic for traveling through time, but they were at home, in Tulac Castle. Unfortunately, time was short.
His gut twisted, as if telling him to hurry. Jenny was in danger. From whom, or what, he had no way to know. Angus Sinclair had hired more mercenaries, no doubt. Gavin had not seen the brownie, Jaden-Tog, either. Jenny had accompanied a powerful witch and a farmer, but
whatever his father planned, it was meant to hurt Gavin and Niall. The man had spies everywhere.
Someone knew Jenny and the old witch had traveled together. His sire despised the witch, who was someone who could not be bought for a handful of their clan’s gold. Had someone spied on him and Jenny the night they had hidden at Izzy’s farm? Is that why she was a rumored target of Angus Sinclair’s revenge?
A single memory rose, teasing him. He had kissed her beneath an apple tree, and that kiss had started something of which he was both ashamed, and enchanted. How could he have put her aside, in his attempt to woo Izzy back? He had hurt Jenny’s feelings, or at least her pride. She deserved neither.
She deserves someone better.
Riding beneath the portcullis, he headed Falcon toward the north, and hugged the trail along the top edge of the sandstone cliffs. A light breeze tossed his hair. The wool plaid kept him warm, and he could easily roll it up into a hood. Leather gloves kept his hands warm and protected.
As Falcon trotted northward, Gavin glanced over his shoulder, toward the southerly edge of the cliffs. He had planned to search for Niall in that direction.
Niall will have to wait.
Turning toward the sea, he sharpened his gaze. He would not wish to miss his brother, if his body bobbed in the waves. He also scouted for sails. A pirate would attack anything. Would they kill Niall on sight, if they found him drowning in the North Sea?
“I must believe he is alive and well, but unable to get home.”
Falcon’s snort, as if in reply to his master’s statement, made Gavin laugh. It felt good to open up to someone about Niall, even his mount. Although his blond-haired, larger-than-life brother was a fierce leader, and an expert archer, Niall had spent many an hour ridiculing his younger brother.
“I miss his jests.”
The trail grew rocky, and the wind off the sea whipped his hair across his face. The eerie mist lingered, and the chilled tang of salty sea air promised a cruel winter ahead. If he was to save Jenny from whatever threat his gut insisted drew closer to her, he needed to make haste.
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