Arch Through Time: Books 1, 2 and 3: Scottish Time Travel Romances (Arch Through Time Collections)

by Katy Baker

  Ewan leaned forward, examining her ankle. There was a large swelling, and it had begun to blacken. He prodded her toes.

  "Can ye feel that?"

  "Ouch! Yes, I can, thank you!"

  "Good. That's good." With gentle fingers he began probing the injury, searching for any signs of a break. He was relieved when he found none. The skin wasn’t broken and there was no sign of infection.

  "My guess is it's a bad sprain," he said. "It'll heal on its own in a few days but it'll need to be splinted if ye wish to walk on it."

  He rose to his feet and went to the cave mouth. The rain was starting to ease and mist was rising from the forest floor. Pulling his cloak around him, Ewan darted from the cave and scouted around until he found two relatively straight branches about the length of his forearm. Then he returned to where Gretchen waited.

  "What are you going to do with those?" she asked.

  "I'm going to splint yer leg." He pulled his spare shirt from his saddlebags and tore two long strips of material from it. Then he placed the branches to either side of Gretchen's ankle.

  "This may hurt, lass," he said. "But there's nothing to be done about it. I would have given ye some whisky but I'm afraid I drank my last dram last night."

  Gretchen nodded tightly. "That's okay. You wouldn’t like me when I’m drunk anyway. I tend to sing."

  Ewan smiled at her brave attempt at humour then wrapped the first piece of material around the splint, pulling it tight. Gretchen gasped. Ewan tied the second piece of material in place, lower down, where the ankle met the foot, binding it securely so the ankle would be kept immobile. Gretchen whimpered and her fingers dug into his shoulder.

  Ewan sat back. "There, lass. It's done."

  Gretchen nodded, looking pale. "Thanks. I don't suppose you've got any paracetamol?" When he stared blankly at her, she waved a hand. "Never mind."

  Ewan watched her. This lass was a mystery and no mistake. She spoke strangely. She wore men's clothes. She seemed to think nothing of walking out in the woods alone.

  "Where are ye from, lass?" he asked as he pulled the leg of her breeches down over the splint. She wouldn't be able to wear her boot but at least her ankle was safe from further damage.

  "The US," she replied.

  Ewan shook his head at her. "I've never heard of such a place, lass."

  Gretchen stared at him incredulously. "What? You can't be serious! You know, the United States of America? On the other side of the Atlantic?"

  "America?" he said, thinking back to what he'd heard from some of the Norwegian traders he'd met. "The new world the Spanish found? Well, ye are a long way from home, lass. What brings ye to Scotland?"

  Sadness flickered over Gretchen's face and she turned to stare into the flames for a moment. "I came looking for someone. A friend. I hoped to find her here in Scotland."

  "And yer belongings? Where is yer horse? Yer supplies?"

  "I don't have any supplies."

  "Ye mean ye were robbed? Did ye run into bandits after all?"

  Gretchen opened her mouth and closed it again, seeming unsure of what to say. "Yes," she said at last. "That's right. I was robbed. That's it. They took my horse and my things."

  A wave of sympathy washed through Ewan. This wee lass, a long way from home had encountered the worst kind of men. What must she think of his countrymen? Well, he was determined to show her that not everyone was like that. He'd show her that Murray warriors were honorable and could be trusted.

  He moved away, giving her some space, and began rummaging in his saddle bags. Inside were some sausages. He took out his little metal pan and set it on the fire, dropping the sausages in where they began frying in their own fat.

  "Well, I don't know about ye lass, but I'm famished. What say we have a bite to eat?"

  Gretchen laughed, a beautiful sound, like the tinkling of bells. "You know what? That's the best thing I've heard all day!"

  The sausages were soon sizzling in the pan, sending a wonderful aroma through the cave. Ewan's stomach growled. With all the excitement of finding Gretchen, he hadn't realized how hungry he was.

  When they were ready he left one in the pan for himself and put the others on his wooden plate and held it out for Gretchen – the lass looked like she needed the food more than he did.

  Gretchen took the plate and inhaled deeply, letting her eyes slide closed. "Oh, wow. These smell amazing!"

  She skewered one of the sausages, blew on it to cool it, then munched it down greedily. "That's good. Oh, what I wouldn't give for some ketchup right now!"

  "I thank ye for the compliment, lass," Ewan replied with a smile. "Although I've no idea what this 'ketchup' is. Some tatties and gravy – and a mug or two of ale of course – that would make this meal perfect."

  Gretchen nodded. Then she looked at the pan he was eating from and frowned. "Hang on, I've got more than you!"

  Ewan shrugged. "I'm nay hungry."

  Her frown deepened. "You're a terrible liar, you know that? Here, take one of these, it's only fair."

  "Nay, lass. Ye eat. Ye've been through an ordeal and need to recover yer strength."

  "Not if that means starving you in the process. No. Take the food. We'll have equal shares or nothing. You've already done more for me than I could ask."

  Ewan held up a hand. "All right, lass. I surrender. Chuck one of them over here then."

  He caught the sausage she tossed him and they both ate in companionable silence. The only sound was the crackling of the flames and the drip of water at the cave mouth. Ewan found himself glancing at Gretchen often. Her hair was starting to dry and a flush had come into her cheeks from the warmth.

  Who was she? He felt sure there was a story there, if he could only get her to trust him. She was a puzzle. One he was determined to figure out.

  Chapter 5

  GRETCHEN WATCHED EWAN while she ate. He intrigued her. His clothing. His weaponry. How he didn’t understand half of what she said. Who was Ewan Murray?

  She glanced at her ankle. The pain had receded now it had been splinted. Ewan had been efficient and quick in his ministrations, obviously having done this before. He'd shared his supper with her, he'd found shelter, he'd built a fire and helped her through the woods—and all of this for a person he didn't know.

  Her mother would be going apoplectic if she could see Gretchen now. Here she was, sitting in a cave and eating dinner with a man she'd only just met. But for a reason she couldn't quite explain, Gretchen felt completely safe in his presence.

  "You still haven't told me what you were doing riding in the rain. I was lost. What's your excuse?"

  "My excuse?" Ewan said. "I dinna have one. I'm traveling home and needed a place to stay for the night."

  "Homeward bound, eh? Have you been away long?"

  He looked at her sharply, his leaf-green eyes seeming to pin her to the spot. Gretchen's lips parted. God above, she hadn't realized how good-looking this guy was.

  He turned away and began poking at the fire with a stick. "Aye," he mumbled. "Too long."

  "And your family live close by?"

  "Aye. The Murrays have held our lands around Loch Taye in service to King James and his ancestors since time immemorial."

  Gretchen blinked. King James? Who did he mean? There hadn't been a king in Scotland since...well, for a long time.

  With a growing sense of unease, she examined Ewan more closely, the plaid, the knee-high leather boots, the sword leaning against the wall. Slowly, everything began to come together in her mind. She'd assumed he was an eccentric Scotsman who chose to wear traditional dress or else an employee of the tourist board, paid to dress like this to impress the tourists. But what if it wasn't that? What if it was something else entirely?

  Ewan had mentioned King James but there hadn't been a King James in Scotland for hundreds of years.

  Gretchen swallowed, building up enough courage to ask a frightening question. "Ewan? Please don't think I'm crazy for asking this but can you tell me wh
at year this is?"

  Ewan's eyebrows rose and the look that crossed his face suggested he did indeed think she was crazy. "It's the year of Our Lord 1506, lass," he said gently.

  Gretchen's stomach flipped over. She was in the 16th century! Oh, God above, how had this happened?

  She pressed her hand to her stomach, trying to calm her nerves. Panic threatened to overwhelm her.

  Ewan leaned forward, a frown of concern on his face. "Are ye well, lass? Ye've gone pale."

  Gretchen closed her eyes and breathed deeply, in and out, in and out. Don’t panic. Everything is okay. You’re alive. You’re safe. You just need to figure this out.

  When her breathing steadied, she opened her eyes. "I'm fine. My ankle's hurting a little, that's all."

  Ewan nodded. "Aye, it will until the swelling goes down."

  Gretchen barely heard his words. Her thoughts were spinning. In a weird way it all made sense now. Why she couldn't find the parking lot. Why the road had disappeared. Why the cave looked so different. The question was, of course, how the hell was she going to get home?

  Think it through. Don’t panic.

  Everything had been normal when she visited Morag's Cave that afternoon. It had only been afterward, when she decided to explore the area that things turned strange.

  The arch! she thought. Things got crazy when I walked through that.

  So, logically speaking, if she walked back through the archway she should get home. She breathed a sigh of relief, her panic receding a little.

  She glanced at Ewan. He was cleaning his sword with oil and a rag. His fingers, rough and callused from hard work, moved with a surety that suggested he'd done this many times before. The thick muscles of his arms rippled in the firelight and the flames themselves danced in his striking green eyes.

  Gretchen felt an unexpected pang of regret. Why couldn’t she have met Ewan Murray in her time? She would have liked to have got to know him a little more. But it wasn’t to be.

  "I need to use the bathroom," she said. She grabbed the branch that she'd been using as a crutch, dug it into the ground and began trying to stand.

  Ewan set aside his sword. "What are ye doing, lass? Ye shouldnae be putting weight on that ankle just yet."

  "I don't have much choice, do I? Call of nature and all that."

  Ewan moved over to her and put one arm around her waist then lifted her to her feet as though she weighed no more than a doll. Gretchen found herself looking up into his eyes, her hands resting lightly against his chest.

  Her mind went blank, her heart suddenly fluttering. All she could think about was his nearness, how it would take only the smallest movements for him to bend down and kiss her.

  Then Ewan cleared his throat and stepped back, releasing her waist and supporting her lightly with a hand on her elbow.

  "At least the rain has let up," he said. "I'll help ye outside."

  "No!" Gretchen said quickly. The last thing she wanted was Ewan accompanying her to the stone archway. "A lady needs her modesty, you know."

  "Aye," Ewan said. "That she does. Just be careful, will ye? I dinna want to have to re-splint that ankle of yers."

  "Of course I'll be careful," Gretchen replied. "Scout's honor. And Ewan? Thanks for helping me out."

  She hobbled to the cave entrance. The smell of wet earth and leaf-litter assailed her as soon as she stepped outside. The rain had stopped—thankfully—and the moon peeked through a gap in the clouds. Gretchen put the flashlight on her cell and began climbing the hill. It was slow going. Pain rampaged up her leg each time she put weight on her damaged ankle and she kept having to rest every few yards. But eventually the archway loomed into view. Gretchen could see stars shining through the archway. Were they stars in this time or in her time?

  Gretchen came to a halt just beneath the arching rib of stone. Looking up at it, steeled her resolve. "Just click my heels together three times," she muttered.

  She screwed her eyes shut and limped through. Once on the other side she opened her eyes and looked around. What did she expect? That everything would somehow be different? That a jumbo jet would be flying above her or a stream of tourists would be striding down the trail towards her?

  There was none of that, just the quiet, damp landscape all around. She turned in a circle slowly, taking it in. To the east she ought to be able to see the lights of cars on the road. There was nothing. To the north should be the lights of the village she'd passed through on her way here. All was dark.

  Then a voice called out of the darkness. "Gretchen! Are ye all right, lass?"

  It was Ewan's voice.

  Gretchen whipped around, startled. She was still in the sixteenth century! The archway hadn't taken her home after all. Did that mean she was stuck here? Did that mean she wouldn't ever be able to get home?

  She leaned against the stone, fighting down a rising panic. No. She wouldn't panic. There was always a logical solution if you thought it through. This whole episode started when Irene MacAskill showed up on her doorstep. What had the old woman said to her?

  Gretchen thought back, trying to dredge up the old woman's words. Ye can go to my bonnie homeland and look for ye friend. If ye do, mayhap ye'll find yer heart's desire and help me avert a disaster in the process.

  Those had been Irene's words. Avert a disaster. Was Irene responsible for this? Had she sent Gretchen back in time for a reason? To avert this disaster she'd spoken of? And if so, surely Irene would send her back home again once she'd done what the old woman wanted?

  Yes, there is a purpose to all this, Gretchen thought. It’s not just some random accident that means I'm marooned here. But what about Darcy? I came to Scotland to find her. How can I do that if I’m in a different time?

  And yet... and yet...

  Look for yer friend, Irene had said. Why would she say that if she planned to whisk Gretchen away?

  Unless Darcy is here too, Gretchen thought suddenly.

  Excitement began to churn in her belly. It made sense. If Darcy had somehow walked under that archway and been sent back in time it would explain why Darcy hadn't been able to make contact with Gretchen. It would explain why she'd sent Irene MacAskill to tell her she was okay. It would explain why the police found no trace of Darcy.

  "Gretchen?" Ewan called. "Are ye well?"

  "I'm fine!" Gretchen shouted back. "I'm coming."

  She picked up the branch and began limping back the way she'd come. It was even slower going than before. A headache was forming behind her eyes and her legs felt weak and wobbly.

  She found Ewan waiting for her at the bottom of the hill. He leaned against a tree, arms crossed and black hair falling in waves around his face. A wave of dizziness came over her and she staggered the last few paces. Ewan darted forward and caught her.

  "Careful, lass. Ye dinna want to end up flat on yer face."

  "No," Gretchen murmured, wiping a hand across her forehead. "That would definitely put me in a bad mood."

  "Come on then, let's get ye back into the warm."

  Ewan took her elbow and guided her to the cave. In her absence Ewan had cleaned and put away the dishes and laid a set of blankets on her side of the fire. He'd placed his saddle for use as a pillow. Ewan helped her to sit and draped a blanket around her shoulders. He added some more logs to the fire and then sat cross-legged opposite her.

  "Get some sleep, lass," he said gently. "Ye have nothing to fear tonight. I promise."

  Gretchen yawned. She was suddenly exhausted. She didn’t seem to be able to get warm. She began shivering. "What about you?" she asked. "Where's your bedding?"

  Ewan shrugged. "I didnae expect to have company. Dinna worry, lass. Ye take the blankets. I have my cloak. I'll be fine."

  "No," Gretchen mumbled. Her thoughts were starting to turn foggy. She pressed a trembling hand to her cheek. It felt startlingly warm. "I can't take your blanket. It's not fair."

  Ewan cocked his head. "Are ye well, lass?"

  "Um...I feel a little...weir
d."

  He was beside her in an instant. His rough palm rested against her forehead and his fingers touched her wrist, testing her pulse.

  "Ye have a fever, lass," he said. "Ye must have caught a chill in the rain."

  "I'll...be...fine..." Gretchen mumbled through chattering teeth.

  Ewan's look of concern deepened. "I have nothing with which to treat a fever."

  "It's...just...a...headache," she stammered. "Don't...worry...about...me."

  This didn't seem to placate him. He leaned forward, staring into her eyes.

  "Ye need to get some sleep. Mayhap ye'll feel better in the morning."

  Gretchen didn't need inviting twice. She lay on her side, as close to the fire as she could safely get, and pulled the blanket tight about her. But no matter how tight she pulled it, she couldn't stop shivering. She felt as though ice was leaking through her veins.

  "This is nay good," Ewan said. "Ye need warmth." He hesitated. Then he murmured close to her ear. "I can keep ye warm but ye'll have to trust me, lass. Can ye do that?"

  She nodded.

  Ewan settled beside her. He shuffled closer and all of a sudden his weight was pressing against her back.

  "Lean against me, lass," he said. "I'll try to keep ye warm." One of his arms curled around her, pulling her against his hard chest.

  A little tingle went through Gretchen. How am I supposed to get any sleep like this? With a gorgeous man pressed against me?

  But Ewan was right. Warmth was starting to leak into Gretchen from Ewan's body. It relaxed her muscles, eased the chattering of her teeth. Before she knew it, sleep rose up and pulled her under.

  THE LASS WAS SOUND asleep. That was good. Ewan touched his palm to her forehead. It was still hot and dry but at least she’d stopped shivering.

  He shifted uncomfortably. The hard stone of the cave floor was digging into his hip but he dare not move for fear of waking the lass. She needed rest and he intended to see that she got it.

  Besides, he dare not shift too much in case he nudged her accidentally with the bulge in his groin. The last thing he wanted was for her to realize how aroused he was. Wouldn't that just convince her that all men were pigs like the ones who'd robbed her?