The Highlander Series 7-Book Bundle

by Karen Marie Moning

  * * *

  Lisa sat in the window of her room in Circenn’s chambers, gazing out at the afternoon. Behind a thick bank of clouds, the sun had passed midpoint and begun its slow descent toward the ocean. She instinctively glanced at her wrist to see what time it was and realized she didn’t have her watch on. She tried to recall if she’d had it on at the museum but wasn’t certain. She often took it off and put it in her coat pocket when she cleaned, so it wouldn’t get wet or dirty. She imagined she must have done so two nights ago and, caught up in her current mess, simply hadn’t thought about it since then.

  She inhaled deeply, enjoying the crisp, salt air. I’m at Dunnottar, she thought, her amazement in no way diminished by twenty-four consecutive hours in the keep. She’d seen pictures of it, and one in particular had been etched into her memory, a black-and-white shot in which the enormous bluff towered up from the misty sea. It had looked a gothic, romantic place, and more than once Lisa had dreamed of someday going to Scotland to see it. She knew from the photo that the bluff was surrounded by ocean on three sides, connected to the mainland by a land bridge that she surmised was behind the keep. She knew also that Dunnottar had been taken by the English repeatedly, then reclaimed by the Scots, and that the Bruce had developed the habit of burning down every Scottish castle he reclaimed to prevent the English from taking it again.

  Lisa had studied this period of history, snatching time to read on the shuttle bus, and had mourned the loss of so many glorious castles, but she conceded that the Bruce had been smart to do what he’d done. The Scots had built cleverly defensible castles; when the English took them, their men became nearly invincible. By destroying the stone keeps, the Bruce forced the battles led by Edward II to build their own fortresses, which were not nearly as defensible. While the English wasted an immense amount of time and resources building their own strongholds in Scotland, the Bruce gained time to replenish his forces and rouse the country.

  This is 1314 Scotland! Lisa marveled. There would be a decisive battle at Bannockburn only a few months away, in which the Bruce resoundingly defeated England, finally turning the war in Scotland’s favor.

  A sharp knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Rising quickly, she tripped over the hem of her gown. At least this one fit her, she thought, but it certainly was uncomfortable. She suspected that part of Circenn’s desire to see her properly attired was because she wouldn’t be able to climb walls in such clothing. “Coming,” she said, snatching a wad of the fabric in her hand. She raised it from the floor, crossed the room, and opened the door.

  A man clad in a plaid of gray and cobalt stood in the doorway. His muscular arms were brown and bare, and he had the highly developed musculature of a dancer. There wasn’t one ounce of flesh on his body that wasn’t necessary. His dark hair was loose around his face and brushed his shoulders. He wore a braid at each temple, and when he grinned he flashed straight white teeth, although his nose looked as if it had been broken a time or two. His alert, mischievous dark eyes studied her, and his sensual mouth curved appreciatively.

  “I am Duncan Douglas, lass. Circenn asked me to teach you a bit about our time so you might fit in.” His gaze traveled the length of her body. “I see they found a gown that fits you. You look lovely, lass.”

  “Come in,” Lisa said, feeling a bit short of breath. While Duncan didn’t compare to Circenn Brodie, she knew a dozen women in her time who would have gone absolutely nuts over him.

  Duncan entered and glanced about the room. “By Dagda, it’s as tidy as all his chambers.” He snorted. “Doona you wish to mess things up in here a bit? Maybe nudge the tapestry so it hangs crooked? Invite spiders in, to weave great drooping cobwebs in the corners and collect dust? Assuming, of course, dust possessed the effrontery to gather in the laird of Brodie’s chambers. At times I suspect even the elements dare not cross him.” He walked to the perfectly covered bed with the neatly folded throws. Plunging his arms beneath the covers, he pushed them into a ball. “Wouldn’t you like to just rumple the bed a bit and defy his sense of order?”

  Lisa begrudged a smile. It was reassuring to hear someone poke fun at the disciplined laird of Brodie. The neatness of the room had annoyed her. The bed had been so tightly tucked that she’d had to peel the blankets down to sleep in it last night. She’d left them in a tangle, but when she’d returned from descending the wall, it had been perfectly remade, daring her to sleep so wantonly again. “Yes,” she agreed.

  “Aye,” he corrected. “Aye and nay and tup and doona.”

  “I hardly think I will be using the word tup,” she said, embarrassed.

  He looked her up and down. “Well, you should. You are a lovely lass, and if ever I met a man who needed to tup, it is Circenn Brodie.”

  Lisa quickly masked her surprise. She’d perceived the laird as a man who would tup with great frequency. “It almost sounds as if you’re encouraging me. Don’t you wish to kill me too?”

  Duncan snorted and, pushing the blankets into a comfortable pillow, dropped himself onto the bed. “Unlike Circenn and my brothers, I doona see everything in terms of plots and counterplots. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. I consider people innocent, unless proven guilty. Your appearance with the flask does not necessarily signify guilt. Besides, he said you handed the flask over to him when he asked for it.” He eyed her thoughtfully. “He said you stumbled upon it in a place that displays artifacts. You must be quite shocked by all of this.”

  “Thank you,” Lisa exclaimed. “You’re the only person who has given any thought to how I must feel.”

  “I always consider how a woman feels,” he replied smoothly.

  Lisa had no doubt of that, but she sensed that entering a flirtatious conversation with Duncan Douglas might be a street with no U-turns permitted. So she guided the conversation back to Circenn. “He would realize I’m an innocent victim if he ever stopped growling at me and stomping about. All I want is to return home. I didn’t choose to come here. I need to be back home.”

  “Why? Have you a lover there for whom your heart pines?”

  “Hardly. But I have responsibilities—”

  “Och!” Duncan interrupted, waving a hand. “Doona say that word to me. I loathe that word, I detest that word. It is a foul-tasting word.”

  “And a very important word,” Lisa said. “There are things that I must take care of back in my time. Duncan, you must persuade him to send me back.”

  “Lass, Circenn cannot send you back. He cannot sift time. He may have some unusual qualities, but sending people through time is not counted among them.”

  “Would the flask send me back?” she asked quickly, studying Duncan carefully for his reaction. The man’s face grew as shuttered as Circenn’s had when she’d mentioned it to him.

  “Nay,” he said succinctly. “And I would not recommend bringing that up to Circenn. He is damned prickly about that flask and you will only succeed in inciting his suspicions should you inquire after it. A large part of what proclaims your innocence to him is that you relinquished it so easily.”

  Lisa sighed inwardly. Great; so when she went searching for it, if she was caught it would only make her look guilty. “You know of no way I can return home?” she pressed.

  Duncan eyed her curiously. “Why do wish to go back so badly? Is it so distasteful here? When I saw you gazing out the window earlier, you were watching the sea with an expression of pleasure. It seemed you found this country beautiful. Was I wrong?”

  “No, I mean nay, you weren’t wrong, but that’s not the point.”

  “If you will not tell me what it is you are so desperate to return to, I am afraid I cannot feel much sympathy for you,” Duncan said.

  Lisa expelled a breath and glanced away. She might cry if she started talking about Catherine. “Someone who loves me very much needs me right now, Duncan. I can’t fail her.”

  “Her,” he repeated, seeming pleased. “Who?”

  Lisa glared at him. “Isn’t that enough
? Someone is depending on me. I can’t let her down!”

  Duncan studied her, measuring her. Finally he spread his hands in the air. “It grieves me, lass, but I cannot help you. I know of no way for you to return to your time. I suggest you confide whatever your plight is in Circenn—”

  “But you said he couldn’t return me,” Lisa said quickly.

  “Nay, but he is a fine listener.”

  “Ha! A turnip would listen better,” she said and rolled her eyes.

  “Judge not the man you see on the surface, lass. There are depths and there are depths to Circenn Brodie. Think you he will kill you?”

  Lisa saw in his dark eyes the assurance that Circenn Brodie would not. “He can’t bring himself to do it, can he?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think he abhors the thought of it. Although he stomps and glowers, I think he’s more angry at himself than me most of the time.”

  “Clever lass,” Duncan said. “He is indeed angry because he’s torn between oaths. I doona believe he truly thinks you are a spy, or guilty of something. If anything, he’s angry at himself for swearing the oath in the first place. Circenn has never broken his word before, and it does not sit well with him. It will take him time to accept what he perceives as a failure. Once he does so, he will not hold any oath above your life, consequences be damned.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Lisa said. It occurred to her that perhaps Circenn and his friend were merely playing “good cop, bad cop” but she didn’t think so. She regarded Duncan curiously. “Don’t you have questions about what my time is like? I would if I were you.”

  Duncan’s expression turned serious. “I am a man who is content with his lot in life, lass. I have no wish to know the future, no desire to meddle. A small slice of a small life is good enough for me. Such things are best left alone. The less I know about your time, the more we can work to help you adapt to my time. Speaking of your century would only keep it alive for you, and, lass, since I know of no way to return you, I would advise against clinging to any memories.”

  Lisa took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “Then teach me, Duncan,” she said sadly. “But I will be honest with you: I have no intention of giving up. If there is a way home for me, I will find it.”

  * * *

  Circenn paced the courtyard, kicking irritably at the loose stones. The terrace needed to be repaired, he noted, as did the keep itself. He was tired of living in half-burned-out castles, not because of the lack of amenities—that scarcely bothered him—but because the general chaos and disrepair of Dunnottar too accurately mirrored his own condition.

  He eyed the cornerstone of the keep. During the last siege, the great stone that supported the tower had been pushed off center, causing the wall above it to list dangerously. And he felt just like that—his cornerstone was askew and his entire fortress dangerously weakened.

  No more, he thought. He had uttered his last lie, broken his last rule.

  He had given matters serious consideration and decided that Duncan’s loophole indeed protected him from actually breaking his oath. He would accept that slight bending of his rules. Should Adam someday show up, he would simply point out to him that he hadn’t killed her yet.

  But lying about who she was, and entertaining the notion of becoming physically intimate with her … ah, those were unacceptable. He would not utter one more lie, nor would he permit himself to be tempted by her.

  Sighing, he headed for the outer courtyard, resolved to take one of the feistiest stallions out for a punishing ride. As he loped down the rocky slope, he noted a cloud of dust spiraling beyond the land bridge behind the keep, at the same moment as his guard cried a warning.

  Narrowing his eyes, he studied the approaching dust cloud. His body tensed, eager for a battle. It would do good to fight right now, to conquer, to reaffirm his identity as a warrior. As the first riders crested the ridge, the adrenaline flooding his body altered swiftly to dismay, and then to something akin to desperation.

  The banner of Robert the Bruce was splayed between his standard bearers, announcing his arrival to relieve Circenn’s men and send them home to Brodie.

  And as for his last lie having been told, he thought sardonically, Hmph! Here came the lass’s “cousin” himself.

  CIRCENN RODE LIKE A MAN POSSESSED—OR PERHAPS, HE thought, aggrieved, more accurately obsessed with a long-legged, unpredictable woman—to intercept the Bruce before he could reach the keep. As he rode, he marveled over how his one wee decision not to kill her yet had created dozens of problems. Each time he tried to address one of those problems, he succeeded only in creating a new set of problems. Committed thus far, he could not turn back. He dared not stop perpetuating the lies he’d begun without exposing her to risk.

  Robert raised his hand in greeting and quickly broke off from his troops, his personal guard falling back a few paces, but not leaving his side. Directing the bulk of his men toward the keep, he kicked his horse into a gallop.

  Circenn’s gaze swept over the king’s guard. Instinctively, he dropped his chin, looking up from beneath his brows. No hint of a smile touched his face. In warrior’s language, the look—head lowered, eyes unwaveringly fixed—was a challenge. Circenn assumed the posture subconsciously, his blood responding to the two men flanking his king. It was the simple and timeless instinct of a wolf when confronted by another mighty wolf stalking the same territory. Nothing personal, just a need to assert his masculinity and superiority, he thought with an inward grin.

  When Circenn had last seen Robert, the king had not had these two men with him. Their presence meant that the deepest Highland clans were now fully in the forefront of the war. Circenn was pleased that his king merited two of the legendary warriors to protect him. They were massive men with eyes of preternatural blue marking them as what they were—Berserkers.

  “Circenn.” Robert greeted him with a smile. “It has been too long since last we met. I see Dunnottar is still the ruin I left last fall.” His gaze played across the overgrown landscape, the piles of rocks, the blackened stones of the keep.

  “Welcome, milord. I hope you have come to tell us it is time to join forces with your men,” Circenn said pointedly. “Since Jacques de Molay was burned a fortnight past, my Templars are seething with the need to do battle. I doona know how much longer I can placate them with minor missions.”

  Robert shook his head, a wry smile curving his mouth. “You are as impatient as ever, Circenn. I’m certain you’ll manage to rein in their tempers, as you always do. Your Templars serve me better in their stealthy, circumspect missions than on the front for the now. The dozen I’ve slipped into my troops have done remarkable things. I trust you will keep the rest ready for my command.” He gestured to his guard. “I believe you know Niall and Lulach McIllioch.”

  Circenn inclined his head. As his gaze moved over the McIllioch brothers, he smiled with anticipation. One move from either of them and he would be off his mount and at their throats. Admittedly the brawl would end in laughter, but every time he saw these two men he reacted the same way. They were the strongest warriors he’d ever trained with, and fighting with them was as exhilarating as it was futile. He could no more take a Berserker than a Berserker could take him. Their fights ended in a draw every time. Of course, that was one on one. Circenn had no doubt that if ever both of them combined forces they would bring him down with little effort unless he used magic.

  “Brodie,” Lulach said with a nod.

  “Perhaps we’ll have time for swordplay before you ride to Brodie,” Niall offered. “I think you could use another lesson,” he provoked.

  “And you think you can teach me one?” He’d love nothing more than to channel his frustration into a challenging fight, but his mind was consumed with the problem at hand. “Perhaps later.” He dismissed them from his thoughts and turned to Robert. “May we speak in private, milord?”

  The Bruce nodded to Niall and Lulach. “Go on with you. I am well guarded wit
h Brodie. I will join you shortly.”

  Circenn kneed his horse around and he and Robert rode in silence to the edge of the cliff. Robert looked out to the sea, breathing deeply of the chill, salty air. The waves crashed against the rocks below, sending silver plumes of foam spraying up the cliffs.

  “I love this place. It is wild and full of power. Each time I visit Dunnottar I feel it seeping into my veins and leave renewed.”

  “This bluff does have that effect,” Circenn agreed.

  “But perhaps what I sense is nothing more than the ghostly courage of the many men who have died defending this coveted rock.” Robert was silent for a moment, and Circenn knew he was brooding over the numbers of Scotsmen who had fallen and would continue to fall before their country was free.

  Circenn waited until Robert roused himself from his thoughts. “Yet it does not compare with Castle Brodie, does it? You must be eager to return.”

  “More eager to join the battle,” Circenn said quickly. Weary of holding critical sites, tired of protecting and running messages, he needed to bury his frustration in the all-consuming heat of battle.

  “You know I need you in other places, Circenn. You also know the Templars are hunted for the price on their heads. Although I have given them sanctuary, parading them out in force would invite an attack before I’m ready. Mine have shaved their beards and doffed their tunics, masquerading as Scots. Do yours still cling to their ways?”

  “Aye, they have a hard time breaking any of their rules. But I might be able to persuade them, if they thought they would be permitted to wage war. We could help take back some of the castles,” Circenn pointed out irritably.

  “You help me best precisely where I have you. I will summon your private forces to battle when I am ready and no sooner. But I doona wish to argue, Circenn. Tell me what is weighing upon your mind so heavily that you rode out to greet me with unusually grim countenance, even for you.”