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

by Baker, Katy

  Blair turned his head from side to side, gritting his teeth against the nausea. He moved his feet, then his legs, working heat back into his frozen muscles. It was slow and exhausting but he finally began to feel some of his strength returning. Finally, he felt strong enough to try to stand.

  He called to Trouble, who dipped his head, allowed Blair to grab his mane, and cling to him as he staggered painfully to his feet. His vision swam and his knees buckled. He would have fallen had Trouble not stood patiently, allowing him to lean on him. He rested his forehead against the horse’s neck, breathing in the familiar horsey smell until some measure of strength returned to his legs.

  Only when he was certain he could stand did he push away from the horse and take two tottering steps. He was pleased when he didn’t fall. He looked around, trying to figure out how far downriver he’d been swept. If he followed the bank back upstream, he’d be able to find the spot where he and Georgie and been attacked and his way to Dun Halas from there.

  He peered at the arrow piercing his shoulder. Arrow wounds could be dangerous and if the head had gone too deep, he would have to snap off the shaft and leave the tip inside as it would tear through his muscle if he tried to remove it. But he was in luck. It had not gone in far, the tip lying just below the surface.

  Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the shaft and yanked it, pulling it out in a shower of blood. A scream escaped him, loud enough to send a flock of birds winging into the air. He tossed the shaft away and staggered, catching himself from falling by clinging onto Trouble’s neck.

  He gasped a few quick breaths, willing himself not to pass out. Then, when the pain began to recede, he clambered into Trouble’s saddle and pulled the beast around, pointing him upstream.

  He nudged him into motion, urgency boiling in his stomach.

  He had to get to Dun Halas. And fast.

  GEORGIE STARTED AWAKE. For several heartbeats she lay staring up at the ceiling, trying to cling onto the threads of her dream. In it, Blair had been alive. He’d been coming for her, striding towards her through a dark landscape and she’d felt safe in the knowledge that nothing would stop him. He would find her wherever she was.

  But it was just a dream, and it began to fade, as dreams do on waking. In its place, came the hard, cold reality. Blair was gone. Her father was a prisoner. And she...she had done the unthinkable. She had built an arch to allow Adaira Campbell to come to this time. What would Blair think of her if he knew? He would be appalled.

  She squeezed her eyes closed and tears leaked out of the corners, dripping down her face and onto the pillow. Despair twisted her insides.

  What was she going to do?

  She thumped her fists against the bed and gritted her teeth, forcing down the despair. It would get her nowhere. She would not lie here wallowing in self-pity. She would put this right. Somehow.

  She threw back the covers and placed her feet flat on the floor. The plush rug felt soft and warm under her soles. She hated it. She hated everything about this place: the lavish four-poster bed, the thick brocade curtains, the ornate paintings on the walls. It might be luxurious but it was a prison just as surely as the cell she’d been thrown in when she first arrived here.

  The woman who’d fussed over her last night—Beaumont’s housekeeper?—had left some clean clothes folded on the back of a chair. Georgie stood gingerly, crossed over to the chair and inspected them. A clean dress, a shift to go under it, along with stockings and shoes. She quickly donned the new clothes then crept over to the door and pressed her ear against it. She could hear nothing. Perhaps her guard had been called away?

  She opened the door quietly and stuck her head out. To her dismay she found two guardsmen standing outside, leaning against the wall but coming instantly alert when she appeared.

  “Can we help ye, my lady?” one of them asked. He spoke politely but Georgie noticed the daggers strapped to his sides. “If ye wish to leave yer room, then I must seek Lord Beaumont’s permission first.”

  Georgie shook her head. “No. It’s fine.” She went back inside and shut the door behind her. So. She really was a prisoner. She began pacing, trying to think of a way out of this. The window in her room was nailed shut so there would be no escape that way.

  And even if she did somehow get out of her room, how would she flee the castle? And, if by some miracle she did manage to get out of the castle, where would she go? Her only friends were Brody, Clara, Aibne and the rest of Blair’s men but they were many miles away and she had no idea how to find the fortress on her own.

  Thoughts of Brody and Clara brought thoughts of Blair and she sank onto the bed as another sharp stab of anguish went through her. What would Blair do in this situation? Think, Georgie. Think.

  An idea came to her. She grabbed the chamber pot from the stand in the corner and then lay down in the middle of the plush rug. She slammed her palm flat against the floor to make a thudding noise then screamed, lay on her back, and closed her eyes.

  Sure enough, the door opened and one of the guards looked in.

  “My lady?” he said. “Is everything all right?”

  Georgie didn’t answer.

  The guard swore under his breath and came all the way into the room, leaning low over Georgie. She sprang into motion, swinging the chamber pot against the man’s head with all her strength. It smashed into pieces, the man gave a cry of pain, and then sprawled unconscious on the floor. In a flash, Georgie grabbed the guard’s scabbard from his belt and jumped behind the door just as the other guard came in to see what all the noise was about.

  “Callum?” he asked. “What’s going—”

  Georgie leapt forward and whacked him over the head with the scabbard. He crumpled without a sound.

  She wasted no time. Hurrying to the door she paused only long enough to check the corridor was empty before running down it. She reached an intersection and pressed herself flat against the wall.

  Her heart leapt into her throat as she heard footsteps approaching and she peered around the corner to see a hooded man standing at the intersection, looking around as if deciding which route to take.

  Georgie’s pulse hammered in her ears. If he should come this way, he would see her. She sprang from her hiding place, swinging the scabbard at the back of the man’s head. He whirled at the last minute, smacked the weapon from her hand. The movement knocked down the intruder’s hood, revealing the face.

  Georgie gasped, staggering backwards until she met the wall.

  “Blair?”

  “Georgie?” he said, that familiar wry smile twisting his lips. “Well, I must say, this isnae quite the welcome I was hoping for.”

  She stood for a moment, frozen. Then she cannoned into him, throwing her arms around his chest. He grunted and stumbled back under the impact but then his arms were circling her, pressing her close against him.

  She breathed deeply, sucking in the scent of him, the feel of him, the warmth of his arms holding her.

  She was dreaming. She would wake up in a moment.

  Blair pushed her to arm’s length, looked her up and down. His hair and face were mud-spattered and his clothing soaked through and stinking, but he was alive and whole and right here.

  “Blair?” she whispered, looking up at him. “Is it really you?”

  “Aye, lass,” he replied, reaching out to flick a stray strand of hair from her face. “It’s me.” His eyes roved over her. “Are ye hurt? Has he hurt ye?”

  “No,” she shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  He let out a breath. “Thank the Lord for that. Come, we dinna have much time.”

  He made to walk off but Georgie grabbed his arm. “Wait. How can you be here? I saw you fall. I saw you go over the cliff. My God, Blair, I thought you were dead!”

  He grimaced. “So did I. Seems the Good Lord hasnae done with me just yet. We have to get out of here whilst Beaumont’s busy with the arch.”

  Georgie’s stomach twisted at that. “I did it,” she blurted. “I built him
a Great Arch. Blair, I’m so sorry! They have my dad! They threatened to hurt him if I didn’t do it!” It all came spilling out, the despair, the self-loathing, the sense of utter defeat.

  Blair placed his hands on either side of her face and looked down at her. “I know, Georgie. I know. I saw the arch. I saw what’s pouring through it right now. But it isnae yer fault. Do ye hear? None of this is yer fault. We’ll find a way to fix this together. Agreed?”

  Together. She could do that. She nodded. “Agreed.”

  He took her hand and together they stole along the corridor, moving silently. They reached a staircase and climbed.

  “Where are we going?” she whispered. “There’s no way we’ll get out of the gates without being seen. Beaumont has guards everywhere.”

  He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. “Aye, no escape from the castle that way. But we aren’t going that way. We’re going to take the more direct route.”

  Georgie didn’t much like the sound of that, nor did she feel entirely comfortable with the gleam she saw in Blair’s eyes but she didn’t argue.

  They stole up the stairs and came out on another level, this one not as ornately decorated as the one below with bare floors and only a few tapestries covering the stone walls.

  Blair set off down the passage and Georgie hurried at his side, head swiveling left and right, watching for guards. They reached the end of the corridor without incident but as they turned a corner, they came face to face with a man wearing Beaumont colors.

  The man looked startled but quickly regained his composure. “Who are ye?” he demanded. “What are ye doing up here?”

  Blair didn’t hesitate. He barrelled into the guard, taking them both sprawling to the floor then punched him twice, knocking him unconscious. He looked around, making sure nobody had heard the commotion, then nodded to a door.

  “Quickly, open it.”

  Inside was a small room which, from the stink, Georgie guessed must be a privy. Blair tore some strips from the man’s plaid, used them to tie his hands and gag him, then shut the door.

  “Come on. Hurry.”

  Half trotting, they hurried down the passage. They met two more people, both servants. When they saw Blair’s sword they didn’t put up a fight and allowed themselves to be tied and gagged and hidden in empty rooms. By the time they reached another staircase, this one narrow and dusty and clearly rarely used, Georgie wasn’t sure her nerves could take much more.

  The narrow steps ended at a small door, barely big enough to fit through. Blair kicked it open, allowing daylight to spill into the gloomy stairwell. Georgie stepped through and blinked in surprise, clutching at Blair’s arm as a sudden wave of vertigo swamped her. The landscape of the highlands spread out around them, stretching away to the horizon in every direction. The wind whipped her hair back from her face and sent it streaming out behind her.

  They were on the castle roof.

  Blair walked to the wall and peered over, his blond hair whipping around his face. “Here,” he shouted against the wind. “This is the spot.”

  Georgie moved to stand beside him. The parapet reached to her waist, and she clutched at it as she peered down. A thirty-foot drop met her gaze. There were no guards on this side of the castle—Beaumont relied on the high walls to do the job, walls that were smooth, sheer, and damnably high. As she looked down all she could see was the sheer drop and the waters of the moat sparkling below.

  She swallowed. “What are we doing up here? How are we going to get down?”

  With the wind tumbling his hair and that feral gleam in his eyes Blair looked like a force of nature, wild and untamed. “We’re going to jump.”

  She blinked, sure she must have misheard. “I beg your pardon? You can’t be serious.”

  “It’s only water below us. I know—I swam through it to get into the castle in the first place.”

  Georgie stared at the drop and then glanced at Blair. He was serious. Oh God, he was serious. “A jump of that distance will kill us!”

  He shook his head. “No, it willnae. I used to jump off the cliffs by Dun Ringill all the time. The water is deep enough to break our fall. It’s the only way out of here.” He held out a hand. “But ye have to trust me. Do ye trust me?”

  Of course she trusted him. How could she not after all they’d been through together? She reached out and grasped his hand, taking a deep, steadying breath.

  “I trust you.”

  He curled his fingers through hers and then climbed up to stand on the parapet. Gritting her teeth and trying to calm her thumping heart, she clambered up after him. The wind tried to pluck her from the parapet and her legs were shaking so hard she was sure she would fall off, but Blair’s grip on her hand was firm and strong, holding her steady.

  “When ye jump, tuck in yer chin and point yer toes,” he instructed.

  Georgie nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She scrunched her eyes closed, not daring to look. Blair’s grasp tightened.

  “I will keep ye safe. I promise. Ready? Now.”

  He jumped and Georgie gasped in terror as she felt herself beginning to slip. She bunched her muscles and leapt out into empty air. Her stomach rose into her chest and a scream ripped out of her mouth as she plummeted downwards.

  A moment later she slammed into freezing water hard enough to rip the breath from her lungs and send pain searing through her body. Light exploded across her vision and she almost blacked out. Cold seeped into her. She sank down, down, the tiny circle of light above her getting smaller and smaller.

  But then the grip on her hand began dragging her upwards, back towards the light, and her head broke the surface of the water. She came up spluttering and gasping. Blair bobbed next to her, hair plastered to his face, already looking around to check their escape hadn’t been detected.

  Georgie trod water and sucked in great, heaving breaths, looking up at the wall. Her chest tightened. Holy shit, she’d just jumped off that?

  They began swimming towards the bank and relief flooded Georgie as her feet touched the bottom and she was able to clamber up onto solid ground. They both collapsed onto their backs, gasping in air.

  Blair turned to look at her, grinning. “Now that,” he said. “Was fun.”

  “Fun?” Georgie gasped. “You really are crazy.”

  But she couldn’t help the grin that spread across her own face. His enthusiasm was infectious and tangled in with the fear was something else: exhilaration. With Blair by her side she felt like she could accomplish anything.

  He climbed to his feet then held out a hand to pull her up. He winced, a spasm of pain crossing his features. With a twinge of fear she remembered that he’d been shot. How could she have forgotten?

  “You’re hurt! Let me see!”

  “I’m fine,” he said, brushing away her concern. “Only a flesh wound. We have to get away from here before yer guards wake up. The last thing we need is Charles Beaumont on our tail.”

  They set off. The ground on this side of Dun Halas was largely flat and open with little to shield them from prying eyes and so Georgie couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder as they ran from cover to cover, expecting any minute for the alarm to go up. The windows of the castle looked like dark, staring eyes but the occupants must have been too busy at the arch because no alarm was raised.

  They reached a copse of fir trees and Georgie was relieved to find Trouble waiting for them. As he raised his head and snorted a greeting, she cried out in delight and began rubbing his nose.

  “Where did you find him?” she asked.

  Blair gave a wry smile. “He found me, actually. It’s a long story and I’ll tell it when we’re out of here but I have the uncomfortable feeling that I might owe my life to a horse.”

  Blair untied Trouble’s reins and Georgie swung up into the saddle gratefully, Blair settling behind her and taking the reins. He clucked to Trouble and sent him cantering through the copse, away from Dun Halas.

  Georgie released a long, slow bre
ath. The despair was beginning to recede, the fear starting to dissipate. Blair’s strong arms caged her once again. His reassuring presence was at her back.

  The danger wasn’t over, of course. When Beaumont discovered she’d escaped, he would be coming for her, and Lord alone knew what trouble Adaira Campbell was going to bring. And then there was her dad. Oh God, her dad!

  But right now, she focussed on the fact that Blair was alive and sitting right behind her. She could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. She could smell the scent of him. She could hear the gentle hiss of his breathing. He was alive, and they were together.

  For now, it was enough.

  BLAIR CLOSED HIS EYES, breathing deeply, trusting Trouble to find his way. He drank in the smell of Georgie’s hair, the faint trickle of sensation where his arms brushed hers, and let the terror that had filled his veins, the bone-numbing fear that had driven him way beyond normal endurance, drain away. She was alive. His Georgie. She was alive and right here, so close he could touch her. He could still hardly believe it.

  Pain was pulsing in his shoulder from where the arrow had pierced him and he could feel a hot trickle of blood running down his arm. He felt dizzy, his vision swimming in and out of focus, and little dots of light dancing in front of his eyes. It was all he could do to remain upright in the saddle.

  Just a little further, he growled to himself. Keep awake, damn ye.

  He gritted his teeth and clung onto consciousness with every ounce of strength he could muster, head beginning to droop onto his chest then jerking upright again as Dun Halas disappeared into the distance behind them and they passed into the wild, untamed country to the north. He did his best to hide their trail and kept Trouble at a steady pace that would eat up the miles without tiring him.

  They were skirting the shores of a small loch that had pine trees growing right down to the edge when it finally caught up with him. Trouble stumbled over a fallen branch and the sudden jolt sent the throbbing in his shoulder into a stab of agony. He gasped, slumping forward.