Time of a Highlander (Arch Through Time, #12)

by Baker, Katy

  He hesitated. How could he tell them the truth? His family’s association with time travel was a closely guarded secret with only a handful of people outside of the family knowing the full truth. How could he tell these men that an army from the future was about to come pouring through that arch carrying weapons none of them could hope to withstand? He decided on something as close to the truth as he could manage.

  “He’s cut a deal with a foreign woman. A woman of great power. She’s going to bring over her mercenary army and put it at Beaumont’s disposal.”

  His words fell into a pool of silence. The men glanced at each other uneasily. Sean rubbed at his face, his hand curling into a fist.

  “How many?” Brody said.

  “I dinna know for sure. But more, many more, than we have here.”

  “We’ll face whatever the bastard throws at us,” Brody said calmly. “We always do.”

  The others looked grim yet determined. They’d faced worse odds than this before and come out of it safely.

  But those times weapons from the future weren’t involved, he thought. Or the Fae.

  “Aye,” Blair said softly. “We will.” He lifted his chin, looked around at his men. “But for now we must make this place as impregnable as possible. Aibne, draft as many men as ye need to complete repairs—as long as Brody and Sean can spare them from the watch. I want those walls as high and strong as ye can make them.”

  Aibne, the master mason, scowled at him from across the table. “It doesnae matter how many men ye give me if they dinna know one end of the chisel from another! I canna work miracles—I need skilled workers not a bunch of lads who are as likely to hammer their own fingers!”

  Blair schooled himself to patience. Aibne was older than Blair’s father and was respected throughout the clan. Blair was lucky he’d agreed to leave the comforts of Dun Ringill to come north with him.

  “Do what ye can,” he replied. “Starting with the gate. If Beaumont does manage to find us, I want to make sure we can give him a few surprises of our own.”

  Aibne nodded, stroking his beard. “Aye. I have a few tricks I can think of.”

  “And the Lady Georgina?” Brody asked. “How does she fit into this? Who is she?”

  From the curiosity on the faces of the others, Blair guessed this was a question they’d been wondering as well. Who was she? He wished he could answer that question, but he had no real idea himself.

  “A prisoner of Charles Beaumont’s,” he answered. “And any enemy of his is a friend of ours.” He looked around at them all. “Right, ye all know yer tasks. Let’s get to work.”

  GEORGIE FOLLOWED CLARA up a set of dusty steps to the floor above. Here there was more evidence of hasty repair with new boards nailed over gaps in the floor and shutters on the windows. A series of rooms led off a central corridor. Clara guided Georgie right to the end and into a room that was bigger and in far better repair than she expected.

  The floor was freshly swept and there was a washstand in the corner with a bowl and pitcher sitting on it. A cold fireplace dominated one wall and a narrow bed the other. The white-washed walls showed evidence of having once been painted with murals although the color was faded and she couldn’t make out much detail. But there were curtains at the window and a rug on the floor, as well as pillows and a thick coverlet on the bed.

  Clara hurried over to the window and opened it, letting in air and the smells of a warm summer day. From outside came the hubbub of the keep and the ringing of a hammer.

  Clara looked Georgie up and down, taking in her overalls and apron. “If ye dinna mind me saying, I havenae seen anyone dress the way ye do.”

  Georgie looked down at herself and realized she must stick out like a sore thumb.

  “I...these are my work clothes,” she said, trying to think of something that would be believable. “I didn’t have time to change before...I got here.”

  Clara cocked her head thoughtfully. “I reckon we are about the same size. Wait there.”

  She hurried out and returned a moment later carrying an armload of clothes which she laid out on the bed. There was a lovely burgundy dress, a linen shift to go under it, stockings and shoes.

  “They aren’t much,” Clara said. “But serviceable.”

  Georgie walked over to the bed and ran her finger down the material of the dress. “It’s lovely, Clara. Thank you.”

  Clara smiled. “Dinna fash. Any friend of Blair’s is a friend of mine. And besides, it’s nice to have another woman around.”

  “You’re the only woman here?”

  “Aye, but that doesnae bother me overmuch. It’s always been that way. Just my da and I—he’s Blair’s captain. Ye might have met him. He’s called Brody.”

  Georgie’s eyebrows rose. Now that she mentioned it, she could see a family resemblance between Brody and Clara.

  “You and your dad?” she said. “But not your mom?”

  “Nay, she died when I was just a bairn. My da has been a warrior in the laird’s garrison all his life. I’ve often followed him on campaign so I’m well used to dealing with a bunch of grouchy men!”

  Georgie laughed. “And no doubt having them all doing exactly as you say!”

  “Of course! Canna have them thinking they’re in charge, can we?”

  “Definitely not. That would never do.”

  “I’m afraid there’s no bathtub,” Clara continued, her tone suggesting this was an unacceptable oversight on Blair’s part. “But there’s water in the pitcher. I’ll leave ye to wash while I go and rustle up some food.”

  Clara turned to leave but Georgie caught the woman’s wrist. “Thank you, Clara,” she said. “I hope we’ll be friends.”

  A warm smile spread across Clara’s face. “Friends. Aye. I would like that.”

  After she had departed, Georgie braved the freezing cold water in the pitcher to have a wash, then peeled off her clothes and donned the ones that Clara had leant her. She had a little trouble doing up the hooks on the back but managed it without too much swearing and cursing. Clara had a good eye—the dress fitted Georgie perfectly although it felt a little strange wearing such clothing.

  What would her father say if he could see her now?

  He’d faint from the shock, she thought with a smile. A pang of homesickness went through her at the thought. What was her dad doing now? Was he missing her like she missed him?

  She folded her overall and apron and set them down on one of the chairs. A moment later the door opened and Clara backed in carrying a tray. The smell of food set Georgie’s stomach growling.

  “There’s only stew, I’m afraid,” Clara said as she set the tray down. “Cook hasnae started supper yet.”

  Georgie stared hungrily at the tray. A large bowl of a thick, hearty stew was accompanied by a great chunk of bread. She nodded her thanks and then set to, gulping down the stew so quickly she ended up burning her tongue but she didn’t care. She was ravenous.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Georgie asked Clara around a mouthful of stew.

  Clara glanced up from where she was turning down the cover on the bed. “Aye?”

  “What is this fortress? Why are you all here?” It wasn’t what she really wanted to know, but she didn’t think it wise to start asking too many questions about Blair.

  Clara shrugged. “Blair brought us here. It’s called Dun Hadraig. I dinna know how he found it or what it might once have been. We needed a place to hole up where Charles Beaumont couldnae find us. So far, it’s worked.” Her eyes lit up. “Would ye like a tour?”

  Would she like to get out of this stuffy room and get a look at her surroundings? Georgie nodded enthusiastically, finished her stew and stood. Clara took her arm and together they stepped out into the corridor then descended the stairs to the main door. They stepped outside into bright sunshine. The bailey was alive with activity: warriors patrolling the walls, horses being exercised, supplies being carried in, teams of repairmen working on the walls.

  Georg
ie’s eyes were drawn to a group over by the gates. Several men were busy shaping large blocks of stone with chisels and punch hammers. They were being closely watched by a giant of a man with a bushy beard who was glowering around as though looking for something to hit. She knew a master stonemason when she saw one.

  “Who’s that?” she asked Clara.

  “That’s Aibne,” Clara replied. “I’d steer clear of him if I were ye—everyone else does. He has a temper worse than a bear with a toothache.”

  Georgie nodded then followed Clara across the courtyard towards the stables where they were met by her father, Brody, coming the other way. He was carrying a saddle over one shoulder and had a large bruise on his forearm that looked like a bite mark.

  “What happened to ye?” Clara cried in concern.

  Brody greeted his daughter with a kiss on the cheek, nodded a greeting to Georgie, then shrugged. “It’s naught. Just that damned hell-beast of Blair’s. He’s determined to tame it. Some animals are just cracked in the head and would be best left well alone. He willnae hear a word of it, of course.” He considered Georgie. “I trust my daughter is taking good care of ye, my lady?”

  “Very good care,” Georgie replied with a smile. “And it’s Georgie, not ‘my lady’.”

  Brody smiled, wrinkles forming around his eyes. “Aye. Georgie it is then. If ye need aught, just holler.” With that, he gave his daughter a fond pat on the arm and walked into the stables.

  A sudden commotion sounded from the other side of the wall: cries of alarm and then the high, shrill whinny of a horse.

  Georgie shared a puzzled look with Clara. “What’s that?”

  “I dinna know. Let’s find out.”

  They hurried up a set of steps that led onto the parapet that spanned the fortress’s curtain wall. A crowd was beginning to gather along the parapet, all staring down at something below. Georgie leaned on the wall and looked out.

  A paddock lay beyond. Several stable hands were hurriedly picking themselves up off the ground whilst a large silver-colored horse charged around the paddock’s edge, shaking its head and whinnying as it tried to find a means of escape.

  Even from this distance, Georgie could see the tense set of the horse’s muscles and the fear in its rolling eyes. The beast looked crazed, beyond all reason as it bucked and reared, throwing up clods of mud. The stable hands fled, vaulting over the fence to safety and leaving the horse alone.

  But then a figure walked calmly out into the paddock, hands held out to either side. Georgie’s breath hitched as she recognized Blair. He was stripped to the waist and his hair was held back from his forehead by a leather band.

  The sun turned his hair to burnished gold, and she was all too aware of the way the light played across the rippling muscle of his chest. Her mouth suddenly felt a little dry. What was he doing?

  He seemed unaware of the crowd that had gathered along the parapet to watch. His attention was fixed on the horse. He moved slowly, silently across the paddock, and she could see his mouth moving as he formed words although she was too far away to hear what he said.

  The horse snorted and stamped, either terrified or furious, but Blair didn’t hesitate. He just kept edging closer, murmuring soothing words. The horse watched him with ears flat against its head but did not try to bolt. Its eyes stopped rolling quite so much and the quivering in its flanks lessened, just a little.

  Blair stepped close and reached a hand to the horse’s nose. Everyone on the parapet held their breath, expecting an explosion. After a tense moment, the horse dipped its head and sniffed at Blair’s outstretched palm. Then, in one smooth motion, Blair grabbed a fist full of the horse’s mane and vaulted onto its back.

  At this unexpected weight the horse went wild.

  With a shrill cry of rage it began bucking, desperately trying to throw the irritant off its back. Georgie’s hands flew to her mouth in horror. Surely Blair would be thrown off and trampled? But he wasn’t.

  He clung on, keeping his seat with an expertise that showed he was a master horseman and began whooping and hollering, a grin splitting his face.

  Georgie gaped. He was enjoying this? Was he out of his mind?

  “He’s crazy,” she murmured. “Completely crazy.”

  It was like watching a rodeo. The horse threw itself around the paddock, legs kicking, shaking its head, swinging around to try to bite its rider. Its efforts made no difference. Blair kept his seat, holding the horse with his knees and his hands fisted into its mane. All the while Georgie could see his lips moving, talking to the horse.

  And gradually, the horse began to calm.

  It ceased bucking and its mad careening around the paddock slowed first to a canter, then to a trot, and finally, as it accepted the rider, to a walk. The horse’s ears swiveled forward, it lifted its head and began walking as docilely as a placid old cart horse. Blair patted the beast’s shoulder and then guided it to a stop.

  There was a collective gasp from the onlookers. Blair said something to the horse, gave it one last pat, and then swung down from its back. He called to the stable hands who came running, and the horse docilely allowed them to lead it away.

  Blair leaned over, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. Only when he finally straightened did he notice the crowd watching him. He put his hands on his hips and glared up at them.

  “Havenae ye got enough work to do?” he bellowed. “I can always double yer shifts if need be!”

  The crowd dispersed back to their tasks, leaving only Georgie and Clara on the parapet. Blair turned his head and looked up at Georgie. Across the distance, his gaze met hers.

  “Da’s right,” Clara said, shaking her head. “Blair is going to get himself killed one of these days. Come on. There’s more to see.”

  Georgie hesitated. She could not seem to tear herself away from Blair’s gaze. He stared up at her, unblinking, and his mouth opened as if he would say something. Then one of his men hollered at him from the edge of the paddock, and he looked away. Georgie blinked, licked her lips then hurried after Clara.

  As Clara showed her around the fortress, Georgie began to get her bearings. The fortress was larger than it first appeared, with many outer ramparts that had been abandoned and were now overgrown with vegetation.

  It was clear to Georgie’s stonemason’s eye that there were several styles of stonework, indicating that the original structure had been expanded and added to over the course of many years, centuries even. Some of the older parts bore a type of architecture she’d never seen before and she began to wonder if the original keep predated the Norman Conquest. It might even be Pictish, that elusive people that had dwelled in Scotland for thousands of years.

  Wouldn’t that be a discovery? She thought with a tingle of excitement. It’s a pity Dad isn’t here to see this. He would love it!

  In short order Georgie had been shown the barracks, the stables, the kennels, the cellars where beer was brewed, and then finally the kitchen. This area showed the most evidence of repair, and Georgie could see why. Feeding a small army was no mean feat. Two large brick ovens had survived the fortress’s decay, and these had been brought back into use. The chimneys had been repaired and swept and now they burned merrily, making the hot room even hotter. The delicious smell of baking bread made Georgie’s stomach growl. That stew seemed like hours ago.

  Exiting the kitchen, they passed into a long, dim corridor. Here, the ceiling was lower, and the stone used in the walls was smaller and more irregularly shaped. It was one of the older parts of the fortress, of a design Georgie didn’t recognize. The corridor wound on, becoming gloomy up ahead, but Clara halted at a door that led back outside.

  “The kitchen garden is this way.”

  “What’s down there?” Georgie asked nodding down the gloomy corridor.

  Clara glanced in that direction. “Naught important. Come on.”

  But Georgie didn’t move. Before she realized it, she was walking down the corridor, her footfalls echoing in the
dim space.

  Clara hurried to catch up. “Georgie, what are ye doing? Stop.”

  Georgie halted, looking back. What had got her friend so rattled? They were standing at the top of a short flight of steps that led to a tiny vestibule with a single door. The door was made from a wood so dark it was almost black and was covered with cobwebs. A symbol was carved into the door, and again into the frame on either side. It looked like a burning torch. Georgie frowned. Something about that symbol tugged at her memory. Where had she seen it before?

  “We dinna go down there,” Clara said, darting nervous glances at the door.

  “Why not?” Georgie asked, puzzled. “What’s down there?”

  “I dinna know but Blair has decreed that the east wing is forbidden. To everyone. Even my father isnae allowed inside. Only Blair goes in there.”

  Georgie frowned. Only Blair went inside? What could be so important in such a dusty backwater? Reluctantly, she nodded and followed Clara back along the corridor but she couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder. Why did that symbol on the door look so familiar?

  Chapter 6

  Brody was wearing his usual disapproving scowl when Blair made his way out of the paddock. Wordlessly, he held out a cloth for Blair to wipe away the sweat. Blair took it and began cleaning himself up, glancing up at the parapet as he did so.

  The crowd of onlookers had gone back to their tasks, and there was no sign of Georgie. When he’d looked up and found her watching him earlier, he’d felt a little thrill go all the way through him.