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

by Baker, Katy

  “Get behind me,” he instructed. He pulled his sword free of its scabbard, the metallic rasp sounding unnaturally loud in the sudden stillness.

  Georgie looked around, heart thumping, but could detect nothing untoward.

  Holding the naked sword in a two-handed grip, Blair’s eyes narrowed on the trees. There was the rustle of movement and then a line of men stepped out. Georgie gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth. She counted twelve, all heavily armed. They walked forward carefully and halted a good way from Georgie and Blair.

  Blair’s lips curled into a snarl and a dangerous expression lit his face. “Who are ye?” he growled. “What do ye want?”

  One of the men, obviously the leader, stepped forward. He spread his hands wide, giving a friendly smile. “Blair MacAuley. Lord Beaumont sends his greetings. I could have hoped for a warmer welcome.”

  Blair edged backwards, pushing Georgie behind him. His gazed flicked over the assembled men and she could see him assessing the odds. He grinned savagely.

  “Why dinna ye step closer and I’ll show ye a warm welcome.”

  The man tutted. “Ah! I get it. Ye are annoyed because we’ve interrupted ye and yer lady friend here. Well, that canna be helped. Now, if ye just come with us, we can be on our way and nobody need get hurt.”

  “I’ll ask ye again,” Blair growled. “What do ye want?”

  The man raised a finger and pointed right at Georgie. “Her of course. My lord has taken quite an interest in that woman of yers. Dinna worry, we willnae harm her.” He grinned at Georgie. “How about it, my lady? Do ye fancy coming on a little ride with us?”

  Georgie lifted her chin, glared at the man, despite the fear coursing through her veins. “Go to hell.”

  The man’s grin faltered. Irritation flared across his face. “Let’s look at the facts, shall we? There are twelve of us. Even the fabled Blair MacAuley canna take on so many. Do ye wish to die? Is she worth yer life? Hand her over. Now.”

  “Never,” Blair snapped. “If ye want her, ye will have to come through me.”

  The man’s shoulders slumped. He sighed as if Blair’s words pained him. “Fine. Have it yer way.” He waved at his men. “Take them.”

  Before any of the men even took a step, Blair was moving. He whipped a dagger from his belt and threw it. It flashed through the air and buried itself in a man’s eye. He toppled backwards without a sound. Blair grabbed a stone from the bank and hurled it at another man. It struck him flush on the temple and he crashed to his knees, legs suddenly weak.

  But that still left ten. Georgie stifled a scream as the rest of them rushed Blair. He ducked under the swing of the first man’s sword, sliced his blade across the attacker’s stomach, head-butted one coming in behind, and kicked a third in the knee so hard Georgie heard the snapping of bones. She had never seen anyone move so fast. Blair was like a whirlwind, flowing like water, sword a blur as he cut into his enemies.

  Georgie’s heart was thumping so fast she could barely breathe. Cold fear clutched at her heart. There were so many. So many.

  Just as she’d seen Blair do, she scooped up a rock and hurled it. It caught a man a glancing blow on the shoulder, not hard, but enough to deflect his swing. She grabbed another, and another, some missing their mark, other’s hitting, doing little damage but distracting them enough that Blair managed to cut down two more.

  Then she heard a ‘twang’ and something slammed into Blair, sending him staggering backwards with a grunt. In horror she saw an arrow sticking out of his shoulder. She whirled to see the leader holding a bow in one hand. He nocked another arrow, aiming it at Blair.

  A jolt of pure terror went through her and she threw herself between them.

  “Stop!” she cried. “Don’t you dare touch him!”

  With a hiss of annoyance, the leader pulled up his bow, wary of hitting her.

  “Didnae I tell ye to get behind me, woman?” Blair growled in annoyance. There was blood running from where the arrow pierced his shoulder and his face had gone pale, but his eyes blazed with fierce determination. “I willnae let them take ye.”

  “I would rather go with them than watch you die! You can’t defeat so many. They’ll kill you!”

  He grinned wildly, that reckless fire in his eyes. “Then maybe today is a good day to die. I’ll hold them off. Get to Trouble and run!”

  “I won’t leave you!”

  “Do as I say, damn it! If ye are caught, this is all for naught!”

  He turned back to face their attackers, sword tip resting on the ground as he glared at the men. “Well?” he snapped at them. “What are ye waiting for?”

  Then, before they could rush him, he charged with a howl of rage, swinging the sword low, hamstringing one and sending another flying with a well-timed kick to the ribs. The attack was so sudden that the men faltered, backing off a few steps.

  But Blair couldn’t keep this up forever. Already his left arm was starting to hang uselessly and his steps were slowing as he weakened from blood loss.

  If she could get to the horse, maybe they had a chance to escape.

  She sprang away from the melee and cut across the bank to where Trouble was tethered. The stallion was rolling his eyes and snorting, alarmed by the sudden violence. She grabbed the reins where they were tied to a branch but in his fear the horse had managed to get them tightly wrapped around the wood, and they wouldn’t come free. Cursing, she tore at the knot with clumsy fingers.

  Suddenly she heard the crash of footsteps through the brush and she spun just in time to see the leader bearing down on her. He smacked her across the face with the edge of his bow hard enough to send blood flooding into her mouth. Her vision swam and she staggered, would have fallen if the man hadn’t grabbed her arm and hauled her up.

  “I didnae want to do that,” the man said in a tone that suggested this was all Georgie’s fault. “But ye will force me to hurt ye if ye willnae behave yerself.”

  A sudden howl of rage sounded and Georgie looked up to see Blair desperately fighting his way towards her. Around him men lay scattered, dead or injured, Georgie couldn’t tell. Blair’s eyes were wild, desperate.

  He cut down another attacker and, for one elated instant, she thought he would break through, but then three men mobbed him, coming from all sides and he was forced back a step, then another. He grunted as a red line opened up across his bicep, then another on his chest. His torso was almost entirely sheeted in red as he bled from the arrow wound and a hundred smaller cuts.

  Georgie’s chest tightened. She could barely breathe for the terror that sliced through her like cold steel.

  “Leave him alone,” she said, turning to the leader. “Call your men off and I’ll come with you. I give you my word.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “It’s a little too late for that, dinna ye think?”

  She stared at him. Then she sprang towards Blair.

  But she’d not gone more than three steps when the bow slammed into the back of her head and she went sprawling face-first on the ground. She came up spitting pine needles.

  Desperately, she looked up. Blair had been driven back, right to the edge of the lake, and now he was fighting three men above the waterfall. His movements were a fraction slower, but he was holding his own, even driving his three opponents backwards a few steps.

  Then the leader whistled. The three men broke off and backed away, leaving Blair exposed. There was a dull ‘thwap’ as the leader released the bowstring and an arrow sped through the air—straight at Blair.

  Georgie screamed, Blair glanced her way, saw the arrow at the very last minute and managed to throw himself from its path. But this took him too close to the cliff edge. He staggered, realizing the danger as he stumbled back, unable to stop his momentum. He looked up, met Georgie’s gaze across the distance.

  Then he fell, and was gone.

  “No!” Georgie screamed. “No!”

  She scrambled over to the water’s edge and peered over the lip of the waterfall. The g
ushing torrent plunged twenty feet or more into the river below before speeding east in a maelstrom of white froth.

  She scanned the churning cataract desperately but there was no sign of Blair.

  “Oh God,” she breathed. “No.”

  Someone grabbed her arm, wrenched her around, and she found herself staring into the leader’s face.

  “Come on, lass. We have a long way to go.”

  She punched him. “I’m not going anywhere with you, you bastard!”

  The blow took him by surprise, snapping his head to the side. A thin trickle of blood dripped from his nose. He wiped it away slowly, fury burning in his gaze.

  “Ye know something?” he said conversationally. “Ye are really starting to get on my nerves.”

  She didn’t see it coming. His bow slammed into her temple, there was a flare of pain, and everything went black.

  Chapter 12

  Georgie slowly opened her eyes. They felt gummy, as though she’d been asleep for a very long time. She had a dull headache, and a faint trace of nausea made her stomach churn.

  Above her, the ceiling was painted with an ornate mural. It looked like some kind of church scene with angels and things, but she felt too groggy to figure it out.

  She blinked, trying to remember what had happened. Out riding with Blair. The quarry. The kiss—oh God the kiss! And then...and then...

  She gasped as terror ripped through her. Oh no. Blair! She lurched upright.

  “Easy, my dear,” said a voice. “My physician tells me you will be fine but you must rest and avoid excitement.”

  Georgie turned her head to see a man sitting by her bed. Her bed? Hang on. Hadn’t she been by a lake just a moment ago? Now she was in a lavishly appointed chamber. Tapestries decorated the wood-paneled walls, and thick rugs covered the floor. The bed she was lying in was a four-poster with thick brocade curtains and soft pillows. What the hell?

  The man sitting by her bed had short gray hair and sharp features. Where had she seen him before?

  “Who are you?” she demanded. “Where am I? Where’s Blair?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “My, you are quite the arrogant one, demanding so many answers. Maybe Roger really did have to knock you out to bring you here. I’ve had him flogged all the same, of course. I can’t have my merchandise damaged. That’s no way to conduct business.”

  She narrowed her eyes. Her thoughts were jumbled, but something about this man tugged at her memory. The harsh features, the arrogant tilt to his head.

  She inhaled sharply. “You’re Charles Beaumont.”

  He smiled. “I’m honored that you remember me. I’m afraid our first encounter was a little...strained. For that I must apologize. I should never have had you thrown into the dungeon. If I had known what you were, I wouldn’t have made that mistake. I’ve learned the error of my ways since then.”

  Georgie said nothing. She glanced around the room, assessing. There was only one door, and that was directly behind Beaumont.

  “Where is Blair?”

  His gaze sharpened, and she thought she could detect a hint of anger in his otherwise emotionless facade. “Blair MacAuley is dead. You will put him out of your mind. Your association with him is over. You belong to me now.”

  Those words slammed against her with the force of a speeding truck.

  Blair MacAuley is dead.

  Her vision went black. If she hadn’t already been sitting, she would have collapsed. A deep, dark hole seemed to have opened up beneath her and she was falling, falling, falling into darkness. There was no sound, no light. Only a cold, hard emptiness in the pit of her stomach.

  Blair MacAuley is dead.

  She remembered her last vision of him. The way he’d met her gaze over the distance between them, the way his eyes had said so much without him having to utter a word. And then the way he’d disappeared over the cliff, into a maelstrom of churning white water. Nobody could survive that. Could they?

  A sob clawed its way up her throat. She wanted to curl up and scream into her pillow. But she did not have that luxury. Charles Beaumont was watching her and she would be damned if she would show any kind of weakness in front of him.

  She blinked rapidly, swallowed a few times and then, when she was sure her voice wouldn’t crack, she said, “What do you want? Why have you kidnapped me?”

  “I want only what you want,” he replied, his voice as pleasant as if they were chatting about the weather. “To open a portal to your time. Isn’t that what you’ve wished for ever since you arrived here? We want the same thing. Does that not make us allies? Work with me, and you will get your wish. You will go home.”

  “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, crossing her arms. “I don’t know anything about any ‘portals’ and I certainly don’t know how to open one. My coming here has all been one big mistake.”

  He watched her for a second before giving a sardonic laugh. “My, you are good. But I’ve had a lifetime of learning to spot liars.” He leaned forward, and all the humor vanished from his expression. His eyes were hard and cold. “I know what you are. I know what you can do. And you will use your skills to do exactly what I tell you.”

  She remained silent, forcing herself to meet his gaze. Everything about Charles Beaumont spoke of the aristocrat: his fine clothes, his neatly trimmed hair, the way he lounged on the chair with hands resting in his lap. But that didn’t make him soft. There was something dangerous about him. He was like a sharp blade in a velvet scabbard.

  And yet she wasn’t afraid of him. She felt nothing. After seeing Blair fall like that, she felt...numb. Empty.

  “I’ll never work for you.”

  At this, Beaumont tapped his lips thoughtfully. “She said you would say that. I had hoped otherwise.” He gave a huge sigh. “Oh, well. It looks as though we’re going to have to do it the hard way after all.”

  He rose to his feet, opened the door, and spoke to somebody outside. Two guardsmen filed in.

  “Bring her.”

  The guards marched over to the bed and unceremoniously dragged Georgie out of it. She was still wearing Clara’s dress, but now it was mud-spattered and blood-stained with a tear down the side.

  She struggled in the guards’ grip but didn’t have the strength to put up much of a fight. She was marched along behind Beaumont down elegantly appointed corridors and then through a set of high, wide doors and into a large bailey.

  Georgie blinked in the sudden light and craned her neck to look around. Above and behind reared a massive castle, all high walls and turrets, towers and battlements, and she realized that this was Dun Halas, the seat of Charles Beaumont’s power, and the place where she’d originally come to this time.

  The place where she’d first met Blair. Her stomach twisted at that thought.

  Beaumont hurried down the steps into the bailey. Georgie was dragged after him across the cobblestones and round to a second, smaller courtyard that seemed to have way too many guards than needed. They parted to let Beaumont and his party through, and as they stepped aside, Georgie realized what they were guarding.

  An arch.

  It looked to be the remains of the high window of a chapel. The rest of the building had collapsed, leaving only the foundations and a few piles of rubble behind, but the window remained, arching into the air like the remnants of some whale’s ribcage.

  Georgie gaped at it. This was the arch that had brought her here—and therefore could take her home.

  She was dragged to stand in front of it. Beaumont peered at the arch, a strange expression on his face, a mixture of awe and frustration.

  “Quite unassuming, isn’t it?” he said, turning to Georgie. “Who would have thought the power this thing holds? Certainly not me. When I came north, I wanted only to take back my ancestral homelands. I had no idea of the secrets that I would find here.”

  “These aren’t your ancestral homelands,” Georgie growled. “These lands belong to the MacGregor. You’ve stolen them.”
>
  “Stolen?” Beaumont said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s a strong word. I’ve merely returned them to their rightful owner. Who’s to say they weren’t stolen from my ancestors all those years ago?”

  “Whatever. Keep telling yourself that.”

  He smiled, amused at her defiance. “Do you wish to go home?”

  The question caught her completely off guard. “What?”

  “If I told you that you could walk through this arch right now and end up back in the twenty-first century, would you take the opportunity?” He watched her intently, gaging her response.

  Georgie didn’t answer but turned to gaze up at the arch. It didn’t appear to be active. There was none of the shimmering heat-haze she’d seen when she’d come through it. It was just a stone arch, nothing more. Yet she sensed a trap. There was no way Beaumont would bring her here only to let her go home.

  Despite this, she couldn’t stop a surge of hope springing to life inside her. Could she go back to the life she’d left behind? Could she see her father again?

  Then hot on the heels of this question sprang up another, one wholly unexpected.

  Did she even want to? Could she bear to live in a time where Blair MacAuley didn’t exist?

  She shook her head. “I’m not going to play your games, Beaumont. Why have you brought me here? If that arch really does work, then you wouldn’t need me. You’d have already enacted whatever it is that you’re planning.”

  He watched her for a minute and then nodded. “Quite right. Neither I nor my...associate... can use this arch safely. Although, as you will see, we’ve had some small success in activating it.”

  Beaumont gestured to one of his men. The guard opened a leather satchel, pulled out some papers and handed them to Beaumont, who took them, perused them for a second, and then held them out to Georgie.

  “Do you know what these are?”

  Georgie took the papers suspiciously. Unrolling them, she saw that they contained the same map, and the same design for the concentric arch as the one underneath Blair’s fortress. She tried to hide her surprise, even though her heart began to beat a little faster. She looked up at Beaumont, trying to appear nonchalant.