Highland Tides

by Anna Markland

  The tavern keeper lingered, wiping a sleeve across her runny nose, eyeing the couple with a scowl on her face, and it dawned on him the Earl had left without paying for the chamber for another night.

  They needed coin. He had only two things of value, the ring he’d loaned to Callum, and Charlotte’s amber. He had no intention of parting with the ancient stone. Mayhap his doublet? It was April; his trusty plaid should be enough to keep him warm.

  He drew the wench aside. “Mistress Ainslie, what say ye to a trade?”

  Her frown deepened, but her eyes lit with interest as she thrust out her copious breasts. “What did ye hae in mind?”

  “Not that kind of trade,” he replied quickly lest she get the wrong idea. “We need chambers and food for three days.”

  She pouted, digging her fingers into his bicep. “’Tis a pity. For a tumble with the likes o’ ye, I’d offer lodging for a sennight.”

  He kept the smile pasted on his face, though his gut tightened. “I’m a married man, Mistress,” he said. “What I had in mind was my doublet in exchange for the rooms.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Tek it off then. Lemme see.”

  He lay aside his plaid and removed the doublet. She seemed more interested in watching him than in the garment, so he didn’t cover his shirt with the plaid. “As ye see, ’tis a fine doublet. Ye can easily sell it for a goodly amount.”

  She tore her eyes away from his chest and carefully inspected every seam and embellishment, sniffling all the while. “This is unusual tailorin’,” she remarked. “Where’d ye get it?”

  He chuckled. “Ye wouldna believe me if I told ye. Do we hae a bargain?”

  She sucked on her rotten teeth. “Two days.”

  “Three, and a horse when we leave.”

  She laughed out loud, elbowing him in the ribs. “Saucy ye are, I’ll grant. Two days and a donkey.”

  “Done.”

  “Yon newly weds can stay in the lass’s chamber and ye can tek t’other upstairs.”

  “Any chance of a wee spread for luncheon?” he asked politely.

  “Lunchun? Sounds swanky. Aye, there’ll be broth shortly.” She sped off, cackling like a witch, the doublet clutched to her bosom.

  Braden returned to the happy couple. “I’ve secured our lodgings. Ye both can stay in the chamber Alexandra occupied. I’ll be next door. Mistress Ainslie will provide victuals soon.”

  They stared at him.

  “We only have the chambers for two nights. Best get on with it,” he quipped with a wink at his brother.

  Callum blushed, but he made a courtly bow to his wife and offered his arm. “My lady,” he said.

  To Braden’s surprise, Alexandra held out his ring to him. “I believe this is yours. It’s too big for me, but I thank you.”

  He suspected she was grateful for more than the ring, but seemed to have difficulty telling him.

  He slipped the ring on his finger, savoring the memory of his wedding ceremony and wondering if his cautious brother had any idea what to do with a woman in bed.

  Bollocks! Of course he did. Braden had boasted of his own prowess often enough, Callum had to have listened to some of it.

  AN INCREDIBLE TALE

  Callum’s bride squealed with surprise when he scooped her up, kicked open the door of their chamber and carried her inside. She didn’t smile, but it was enough she clung to his neck, holding her breath.

  Finding no chair, he set her down on the edge of the bed. She fidgeted with her hair then smoothed out her skirts, but avoided his gaze. He bent the knee and took hold of her hands. “Alexandra, I swear to ye I dinna ken how I came to be in yer bed. Ye must believe me.”

  She tried to pull away, but he held fast.

  “And I suppose your brother just happened to come by on the same day,” she sneered.

  The sneer marred her beauty. “I prefer to see ye smile,” he quipped, then hurried on when her expression threatened to turn to fury. “Braden didna have a chance to explain everything to me, but I’m certain when we go down for our meal, he’ll clarify the situation.”

  He wished he was as confident as he sounded.

  She scoffed. “I suppose you want to claim your husbandly rights before we descend,” she replied sarcastically.

  Callum was a virgin, but that didn’t mean he’d never been tempted. Remaining chaste hadn’t been easy, especially with a brother like Braden. It was fortuitous young Donal was something of a religious zealot who everyone in the family expected would become a priest, much to their mother’s delight. He’d kept Callum on the straight and narrow.

  Alexandra’s skin had warmed in his grasp. He had a suspicion she’d be more willing than she seemed if he pressed her. She was a desirable woman who aroused him, but her reluctance stuck in his throat. He let go of her hands and came to his feet. “I ken ye willna believe when I tell ye I’ve striven to save myself for my wedding day, but I’m nay interested in taking ye against yer will.”

  Her mouth fell open. Her bottom lip quivered. “You’re right. I don’t believe you,” she murmured.

  The notion of spending the afternoon coaxing the frown from her face appealed momentarily, but Braden’s incredible tale picked at him. Mayhap with more of the story he’d have a better chance with his new bride. “I’m hungry,” he said truthfully, taking her hand. “Let’s away downstairs. The broth smells good.”

  Indecision flickered in her eyes, but then he supposed hunger won out and she allowed him to lead her from the chamber.

  ~~~

  Braden was tucking into the tasty broth when Callum and Alexandra appeared. She didn’t look like a woman who’d been well bedded, or bedded at all. It saddened him they obviously hadn’t consummated their marriage. True they’d had scant time, but when a man and woman were consumed with need for each other—

  His thoughts turned once more to his beloved Charlotte. Did she miss him? Was she waiting, or had she moved on? He’d wager John Reade would be ready to step into the role of protector. Reluctantly, he admitted that might be a good thing. Reade was an honorable man who would look after her. But what if they’d conceived a bairn in their brief time together? He closed his eyes conjuring a vision of a miniature replica of Charlotte; the wayward hair, the bright smile—

  “Your brother looks like he’s miles away,” Alexandra remarked, jolting him back to the tavern.

  Not miles, centuries.

  “I was reminiscing,” he explained, his heart still swelling with the notion he might have sired a bairn.

  Ainslie shuffled out of the kitchen carrying bowls for Callum and his bride. Alexandra picked up her wooden spoon and slowly stirred the steaming broth. He pitied her. She was the niece of an earl, a noblewoman. This was not a fitting wedding banquet. “It’s good,” he said lamely.

  Callum shoved his bowl to one side. “Now, brother, we’re in need of an explanation. Ye claim to have one.”

  Braden finished his broth and dabbed his mouth with the rag that apparently served as a napkin in Mistress Ainslie’s tavern. It was a far cry from the eighteenth century elegance of the Duke’s table. The tale had to be told, but he was reluctant to tell it. Chances were Callum’s bride wouldn’t believe a word of what he had to say.

  “Alexandra,” he began.

  She scowled. “Nobody calls me Alexandra, except my uncle.”

  Braden was perplexed. What did she expect him to call her if he wasn’t permitted to use her given name? He was her brother-by-marriage.

  “Lexi, if you please,” she said haughtily.

  This was obviously a nickname and he was relieved her anger had abated enough to allow them the use of it. Callum reached for his bowl, eyes wide as he silently mouthed his bride’s name.

  Braden pressed on. “Lexi, the tale I’ll tell ye is an incredible one.”

  He paused while she digested the notion along with the broth she sipped.

  “It begins in the year of Our Lord Fourteen Hundred and Thirty-Six.”

  As h
e’d hoped, his words captured her attention. She looked up from her bowl.

  Callum’s spoon clattered to the planked floor. “That’s the year we—”

  Braden glared his brother into silence.

  Callum retrieved the spoon, but gripped the handle in his fist like a pikestaff, his eyes still on Braden.

  “Three brothers were sailing home to Oban by way of the strait between Jura and Scarba. There’s a whirlpool, Corryvreckan, one of the most dangerous in all the seven seas, but the older brother had navigated it before. He didna listen to the warnings of the others about the flood tide running too high. He was in a rush to get home to—”

  Callum’s deep frown made him pause.

  “What does this have to do with here and now?” Lexi asked impatiently.

  He cleared his throat. Fact was he had no recollection of why he’d been in such a hurry. “Well, doesna matter now.” He looked into Callum’s eyes. “The truth is the three drowned because of the older brother’s conviction he knew best.”

  “I still don’t understand—”

  “I was the captain of that vessel, Lexi, and I caused the deaths of my brothers, Callum and Donal.”

  It was as if a weight lifted from his shoulders. He’d been given the chance to seek his brother’s forgiveness.

  Lexi’s broth-laden spoon hovered halfway to her mouth, her eyes darting from Braden to Callum and back again. “But you said this took place more than a hundred years ago.”

  “Aye,” he said sadly. “The three of us were sucked into Corryvreckan. As far as our family was concerned we drowned. But the whirlpool was a sort of portal.”

  “Portal?” she parroted.

  “A gateway, if ye like.”

  “To where?” she scoffed.

  “To the future.”

  Lexi calmly put the spoon into the bowl, brushed off her skirts then tried to rise from the bench. “I’ve heard enough of this nonsense. You’re a pair of swindling liars.”

  Braden placed a hand on her arm. “I’ve seen the future, Lexi. Do ye want to hear what it has in store for yer uncle and yer Queen?”

  She sat down, scanning the room cautiously. “I’ll not be involved in treasonous plots,” she whispered.

  Braden turned his attention to Callum who gazed into nothingness as if he’d received a blow to the head. “I ken this is hard to believe, brother, but ye must have realized by now that this is indeed the year Fifteen Hundred and Sixty-Seven, and Mary, Queen of Scots sits on the throne.”

  “Aye,” Callum croaked.

  “And would ye say ye’re still alive?” Braden asked.

  “Very much so,” his brother replied, staring at Lexi.

  For the first time hope flickered in Braden’s heart. His brother’s marriage might not be a total disaster. He’d been sent to Charlotte’s time because she was his destiny. Perhaps Lexi and Callum were meant to be.

  He noted her face had reddened considerably under Callum’s gaze. “Now, Lexi, if ’tis difficult to credit ye are wed to a man from the last century, how do ye suppose I felt when I found myself in the year Seventeen Hundred and Forty-Six?”

  She fisted both hands on the table and glared at him. “Oh, please. You must think I’m an imbecile.”

  He took off his wedding ring and placed it in front of her. “Take a good look and tell me what ye see.”

  “I know naught of gold and such,” she said, folding her arms across her chest.

  “Read the inscription,” he insisted softly.

  She stared at the ceiling. Callum picked up the ring and squinted at the inside. “Braden and Charlotte,” he read. “1746. One forever.”

  He gaped at Braden. “Ye truly are wed.”

  “Aye,” he confirmed, “and I intend to do everything I can to get back to her, but first I’ll do what I must to aid ye both.”

  Lexi drummed her fingers on the table, eyeing him suspiciously. “If you have a wife, why are you here now and not with her?” she asked.

  “That’s another long, incredible tale,” he replied.

  ~~~

  Lexi listened to the tale of Braden appearing to his sister, Margaret. Like every Scot, she was aware of the assassination of King James Stewart but had never paid attention to the details. It wasn’t the first time a Scottish monarch had been murdered, and likely wouldn’t be the last.

  What struck her as odd, though, was that this was obviously the first time Callum had heard the story. He asked question after question, coming close to tears when he learned of Margaret’s peril.

  “And in the end she married happily, and sired healthy bairns with this Rheade Robertson fellow?” he asked Braden.

  “Wait,” Lexi exclaimed. “How can he know if the last time he saw her was in a nunnery?”

  Braden pointed to his wedding ring, still in Callum’s grasp. “My wife has a friend, John Reade. He’s a direct descendant. He changed his name from Robertson in honor of Rheade.”

  “This is such a convoluted story,” she retorted, yet Braden seemed certain of his sister’s fate. Wait! Was she starting to believe he had actually risen from the dead and appeared to his sister? More than one hundred years ago?

  Braden put a reassuring hand on Callum’s shoulder. “Aye. Despite having no brothers to take care of her, Margaret fared well. But it appears our parents died not soon after we drowned.”

  Callum put his elbows on the table and buried his head in his hands. “They died of grief,” he rasped.

  Sitting thigh to thigh on the narrow bench she felt the tremor shuddering through him. His distress was real.

  Braden let out a heavy sigh. “Naught we can do to change that now, but you and I have been granted a second chance at life. I dinna ken yet where Donal is, but my place is with Charlotte.” He looked directly at her. “Mayhap your place is here, Callum, with Lexi.”

  Saints preserve her, she was starting to believe it might be true. A strange urge to console Callum’s grief took hold. Then she recalled something else Braden had mentioned. “But you said you can say what the future holds for my Queen?”

  He retrieved his ring and slid it back onto his finger. “Are ye prepared for dire tidings?”

  Lexi had long been bothered by a premonition that her uncle’s thirst for power would lead to disaster. But did she truly want to know? Crivvens! Had Braden Ogilvie seen the future?

  He took her hand in his. “If I tell ye, and I must, ye hafta understand we can do naught to change the course o’ Scotland’s history.”

  “I understand,” she whispered.

  As if sensing her agitation, Callum put his arm round her waist, and drew her against him. “Tell us,” he said.

  To her surprise, she drew strength from the closeness of his big body and the warmth of his protective embrace.

  “Aye,” she agreed. “I’m ready.”

  THE BIGGEST SCOUNDREL IN CHRISTENDOM

  Callum struggled to understand the predicament in which he and his new bride found themselves. He sensed her distress and was pleased she didn’t pulled away when he put his arm around her. He liked having her nestled against him, one hand on his chest. She smelled sweet. Mayhap hers was the lavender scent he’d savored on the bed linens.

  Incredible as this tale was, he trusted his brother, but Lexi didn’t know his sibling. How could she be expected to believe the story? “Braden has many faults,” he told her with a wry grin, “but he’s nay a liar. Tell me first about yer uncle, then I can mayhap better grasp what he has to tell us.”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose. “He’s my late father’s brother and my guardian.”

  The way she muttered the word guardian gave him pause. “It was plain ye dinna care for him. He struck me as a stern fellow.”

  She clenched both fists. “There are things I’ve never understood surrounding my parents’ deaths, but that’s not important now. Uncle James was recently acquitted of involvement in the murder of Lord Darnley.”

  Callum frowned. This was unexpected and co
nfusing.

  Braden came to his aid. “Queen Mary’s husband, and the father of her son,” he explained. “He died in mysterious circumstances earlier in the year after an explosion.”

  “Aye,” Lexi confirmed. “And I’m ashamed to say I believe my uncle was complicit in the plot, and I’m not alone. However, nothing was proven and now he is free.”

  “And a mere sennight after his acquittal he comes here, to this tavern,” Braden said. “Is this the kind of place he normally chooses for his lodging?”

  She shook her head. “Nay. He likes comfort and fine things. Indeed, ’twas out of the way of our destination. He was taking me to the nunnery.”

  Callum’s heart lurched. “He intended to shut ye up in a convent?”

  “Nay, ’twas my wish. I must atone for my parent’s deaths. If I’d spoken up earlier—”

  She choked on her words, and Callum had an insight into her distress at their unexpected wedding. “I’m sorry. I didna ken.”

  She hunched her shoulders. “’Tis of no consequence now. Explain to me the presence of the men who met with him here.”

  It seemed to Callum she was starting to believe Braden’s story and the slight easing of his brother’s frown showed he sensed it too.

  “An agreement was signed and sealed. I canna recall the names of all the nobles and bishops who were here. Charlotte had my head spinning with the amount of history she crammed into it. She loves history. She writes books, ye ken?”

  “Aye,” Callum said impatiently, growing tired of hearing about Braden’s perfect wife. “Tell us of this agreement.”

  “It’s known as the Ainslie Tavern Bond. The signatories have guaranteed to support yer uncle’s plan to wed Queen Mary.”

  Lexi shook her head vehemently. “It canna be true. He has a wife.”

  “He’ll divorce her in the next few days, if he hasna already. While we sit here, Queen Mary is travelling to visit her infant son in Stirling. On the return journey to Edinburgh, Bothwell will abduct her.”