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

by Katy Baker

  Andrew surged to his feet and marched across the hall. "Jamie! Stop this nonsense this instant!”

  He grabbed Jamie by the scruff of his neck and pulled him to his feet. The lad glared defiantly at the other boy, one of Garrick’s entourage at a guess.

  “Is this how ye treat guests, Harris?" Garrick snapped, stepping up beside Andrew. "Are my servants not safe in yer own hall!"

  "Apologize, Jamie!” Andrew thundered.

  “I won't!" Jamie squealed. “He called ye names! He said ye were a murderer!”

  Andrew went very still. “Ye will apologize,” he snapped. “Now!”

  “Never!” Jamie cried. He twisted in Andrew's grip and managed to break free. Sobbing, he ran from the hall.

  Callum Garrick fixed Andrew with a smug smile. "Would ye like me to teach ye how to discipline yer servants, Harris? It seems that discipline in this household is sadly lacking."

  Andrew glared at him. His muscles quivered with the effort of suppressing his rage. "Get out."

  “Oh dear," Callum said, putting on a mock-sympathetic expression. "Did the lad upset ye? I'm sure he didnae mean it did ye, Robert? I'm sure he was just repeating what he's heard—that ye are a murderer. Ye know what lads are like, they believe every rumor.” Then he leaned forward and whispered, “Especially those rumors that are true."

  “Get out!” Andrew roared. "All of ye! Out! Now!"

  Then, before he lost control of himself completely, he stalked from the hall and stormed across the bailey towards the practice grounds.

  He really needed to hit something.

  LUCY COULDN’T SLEEP. She’d lain in bed for a while tossing and turning, before throwing back the covers and sinking into a chair by the window to think. The evening’s events had left her a little rattled. It had left everyone rattled although Mona had been glad Harris had thrown out those ‘good-for-nothing’ Garricks.

  She peered through the window. The moon shone full and covered the countryside with a dusting of silver as though somebody had poured icing sugar over the landscape. Movement caught her eye. A figure was crossing the bailey. Lucy’s breath caught as she realized it was Harris on his nightly jaunt.

  Lucy leaned forward, intrigued. What did he do each night? Where did he go?

  On impulse she rose from her chair, pulled the door open, and padded along the corridor. The big main doors were locked but it didn’t take much effort for her to lift the bar and push them open.

  Moving more quickly now, she hurried down the steps, across the bailey and then skirted up the steps that Harris had taken. She wasn't sure what she was doing. Why was she following him? She ought to return to her room. But she didn’t.

  The full moon was strong enough to light the way as she padded silently along the parapet in the direction Harris had gone. At length, she came to another set of steps leading downwards. At the bottom of these she found a tiny gate not much higher than her waist set into the thick curtain wall.

  It stood open and the crash of waves came from the other side. Lucy paused long enough to check left and right to make sure she wasn't seen then ducked through the tiny gate and onto the winding path beyond. She found herself on the cliff top. The sea was calm and the waves made soothing shushing noises as they moved in and out.

  There was no sign of Andrew Harris.

  She followed the trail down the cliff side to a secluded inlet. There was no movement except the waves and the only sound was the sighing of the sea.

  No, wait. What was that? A sound carried to her on the soft night breeze. The sound rose and fell and followed a melody. It took a moment for Lucy to recognize it.

  Someone was singing.

  Lucy crept closer. She reached the end of the trail and crouched behind a rock to look out over the inlet. A figure sat cross-legged on the shore.

  Andrew Harris.

  The song he sang sounded sad, almost mournful, and yet hauntingly beautiful. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she listened. Harris had an excellent voice and the song he sang was full of sadness and memory. Lucy felt like an intruder, like she witnessed something she shouldn't and yet she couldn't tear herself away.

  She shifted to get a better view but a washed-up branch snapped beneath her feet. Harris's head whipped around.

  "Who’s there? Show yerself!"

  He was on his feet in an instant. The glitter of a knife appeared in his hand. Lucy slowly stood.

  His eyes narrowed. "What are ye doing here?"

  "I...I couldn't sleep so came to take some night air."

  He crossed the beach in just a few quick strides and grabbed her arms in a tight grip.

  "Why were ye spying on me?" His handsome features were white with fury. "How dare ye follow me! Ye have no right to be here. No right!"

  Lucy was frightened now. "I... I'm sorry! You're hurting me!"

  "Get out of here!" he roared. "Get out!"

  He released her and Lucy staggered back, desperate to get away. She spun on her heel and fled back up the path.

  This had been a mistake. A terrible mistake.

  ANDREW WATCHED LUCY flee as though he was some kind of monster and his fury leaked away. Shame replaced it. He had lost control again. He let his anger get the better of him. He hated himself for how he'd spoken to her. He hated himself for causing the fear in her eyes

  But she'd seen what he never wanted anyone to see. She'd seen him at his most vulnerable. Andrew often struggled to sleep and when he did he came down here to the water's edge. It was the only way he was able to find peace and solitude, without the demands of the clan nagging at him.

  And Lucy had violated that. What right did she have to follow him? What right did she have to see what no one—no one—was allowed to see?

  He sighed and then squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose until he regained control of himself. It didn't matter what she'd done. No man should speak to a woman that way, especially not a laird.

  He owed her an apology.

  He started up the trail after her.

  LUCY HELD UP THE HEM of her dress and ran. She couldn't stay one more minute in this place. Whether she'd made a promise or not, she was leaving. She would not remain near that damned man any longer! As soon as she got back to the castle, she would collect her things and then she was out of here! And if that asshole tried to stop her he'd have a rude awakening!

  Her fear had quickly turned to anger. Sure, she shouldn't have sneaked up on him like that, but who the hell did he think he was speaking to her like that? Lucy had never let a man yell at her as though she was a naughty child and she wasn't about to start now!

  She was so consumed by a turmoil of emotions, anger foremost amongst them, that she barely saw the path under her feet. Clouds now hid the moon and the night was much darker but Lucy didn't slow her pace.

  Then her foot came down on a patch of loose stones and they went rolling out from beneath her. With a strangled yelp, she slipped sideways. She threw her arms out to grab something but found nothing. She pitched over the edge of the cliff and suddenly there was nothing below her but empty air.

  She screamed and her gut wrenched as she plummeted downwards. It lasted only a second before she smacked into the ocean. Freezing cold darkness enveloped her as she sank under the waves. She kicked desperately for the surface but the dress became entangled with her feet, becoming heavy and sodden. It was so dark she couldn't tell up from down and panic shot through her, sending a cascade of bubbles from her mouth.

  And then she sank down, down, down into darkness.

  A SHOT OF FEAR SLICED through Andrew as Lucy's screamed shattered the night. He surged up the path at breakneck speed. He looked around as he ran, searching for any sign of her. Up ahead he noticed a skid mark on the trail where earth and stones had rolled away.

  “Lucy!” he bellowed, panic surging through his body. “Where are ye?”

  Leaning over the cliff edge, he peered down at the black sea below.

  He paused o
nly long enough to snatch off his boots and then he threw himself off the cliff, arcing into a dive just as he'd done so many times in his youth.

  He hit the water like an arrow and was enveloped in cold and darkness. Frantically, he searched for any sign of Lucy but the water was so dark he could see nothing. With powerful strokes he dived further, desperately searching for the tell-tale line of bubbles or a hint of her pale skin.

  Then the moon came out from behind the clouds and he saw her below him, eyes closed, a string of bubbles escaping her lips. He kicked downwards, batting aside the tendrils of seaweed that grabbed at him, threw his arms around her waist and kicked for the surface, throwing all his strength into his strokes, desperate to get her to the shore, desperate to not be too late.

  Lord, he prayed. Please don’t let me be too late.

  LUCY FLOATED IN BEAUTIFUL warmth. In the back of her mind a voice screamed a warning. This was not good. Not good at all. Yet she couldn't bring herself to care. Her limbs felt as heavy as lead and her thoughts were becoming foggy and distant.

  Then something yanked her roughly upwards. Her face broke the surface and she coughed involuntarily, spraying water and sucking in great deep breaths of air.

  She was dragged through the water, onto the beach and rolled onto her side whilst something pounded her back until she coughed the last remaining water into the sand.

  Her senses cleared and she rolled onto her back to see Andrew Harris leaning over her. He was so close that his hair brushed her face. His eyes shone with concern.

  "Can ye hear me, lass?"

  "Yes," Lucy croaked. Her throat burned from the saltwater and she felt suddenly exhausted. “My God. It’s cold.”

  Harris scooped her into his arms. “Let’s get ye back to yer room before ye catch yer death of cold.”

  Lucy didn't protest. His arms felt reassuringly strong. She leant against his chest, as wonderful warmth seeped into her from his body. Reflexively she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him, burying her face against his neck. As he carried her back to the keep she felt something she’d not felt in a long time.

  She felt safe.

  THE LASS FELT GOOD in his arms. She felt right, like she belonged there. She’d draped her arms around him and now her forehead pressed against his shoulder and it felt wonderful.

  He barely noticed the cold of his sodden clothing or the ache of his muscles as he carried her up the trail, through the gate and back into the keep. She was all he could think of. Of getting her warm. Of getting her to safety. Of taking care of her.

  He'd never been so terrified as when he'd seen her sinking into the darkness of the water. And he’d never experienced such euphoria as when she’d woken on the beach.

  Who was this lass who sent his thoughts into turmoil? Whenever she was near his emotions became a twisted knot he struggled to untangle. She did strange things to him, things that he'd never experienced before with any lass.

  And if he’d lost her tonight...

  A cold wave of fear drenched him. I will let nothing hurt her, he vowed to himself. Nothing at all.

  They reached the door to her room and he backed through it and laid her down gently on the bed. She curled into a ball, shivering. He crouched by the fireplace and stirred the embers to life until the flames roared then rooted around in the dresser until he found some cloths.

  “We need to get ye out of those wet clothes,” he said. “I’ll turn my back while ye undress, lass. Use these to dry yerself.”

  “Sure,” she muttered.

  He dutifully turned his back and heard her struggling to undo the laces on her nightdress.

  “I can’t do it,” she said. “My fingers are too cold. You’re gonna have to help me.”

  He glanced over his shoulder to see her looking at him expectantly. She was shivering and her skin was pale. He knew it wasn’t proper for him to help her undress. By rights he should wake Mona and let her do this but worry for the lass consumed him. She needed to get warm and he didn’t have time to go rousing the household.

  And besides, he liked being here with her, be it proper or not.

  She lifted her hair to allow him access to the laces on the back of her nightdress. He tried to be as gentle as he could as he untied them but his large hands weren’t made for such delicate work and he ripped the dress more than he intended. Once finished, he helped Lucy to stand and peel the wet material away from her skin. At last she got the dress off and stood in her shift.

  This was sodden too and it clung to her in a way that was hardly decent. It highlighted every luscious curve of her body. Andrew swallowed and turned his back again. No, this definitely was not proper.

  He crossed to the dresser and took out a thick night robe. He handed this to her without turning.

  After a moment she muttered, “It’s okay. I’m decent.”

  She was busily rubbing down her hair. Her skin was still pale though and her teeth chattered.

  "Ye need to get into bed, lass," he said. "But the sheets are wet from yer dunking."

  He had no idea where the spare bed linen was kept. He left that sort of thing to Mona. Perhaps he would have to rouse the housekeeper after all.

  "I'll go wake Mona," he said. "She'll bring some spare bedding."

  "No," Lucy said, catching his wrist as he headed to the door, “Don’t wake her."

  "But ye need fresh blankets, lass. Otherwise how will ye get warm?"

  "I'll be fine. I've got a fire haven't I?"

  She seated herself by the fire, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. She looked up at him.

  "You're soaked. You must be freezing. Come and get warm."

  He noticed his wet clothes for the first time. His plaid clung to his body in a wet tangle and drops of water kept dripping from his hair and trailing down his back. He ought to return to his own chamber and get changed. But Lucy was looking at him in a way that made his mouth go dry. He suddenly seemed unable to move.

  She patted the rug beside her. "Please? I...." she hesitated. "I...don't want to be alone."

  The vulnerability in her voice wrenched his heart. He grabbed one of the cloths and wrapped it around his shoulders then sat cross-legged on the rug by her side. He was careful not to get too close. He knew his physical size could be intimidating and she'd already had quite enough of that tonight, what with him shouting at her.

  "How are ye feeling now?" he asked gruffly.

  "Cold. But it will pass."

  She was still shivering despite the warmth from the fire. He reached out tentatively and rubbed her back.

  "That's nice," she murmured.

  She scooted closer and leaned against him. Andrew went rigid, not sure what to do. Her eyes slid closed and her breathing was beginning to even out as though she was falling asleep. Experimentally he curled his arm around her, holding her against him. She snuggled closer, her cheek pressed against his collarbone.

  "By the way," she murmured sleepily. "Thanks for saving my life."

  He looked down and found her gazing up at him. Her eyes were the deepest blue he'd ever seen. Bluer than the ocean. For a second his voice left him.

  "Ye are welcome."

  Her eyes slid closed again. Her breathing deepened. When he was sure she was asleep Andrew gently laid her down on the rug. Her eyelids fluttered but she didn't wake. He paused, gazing down at her.

  She was beautiful, like a delicate flower, but also strong like an oak tree. He'd never met anyone quite like her. He climbed to his feet and then quietly left the room. He hurried up to his own chamber, dragged off the bed sheets and returned to Lucy's room. She still slept by the fire. Moving quickly and quietly he stripped her bed of its damp linen and replaced it with the clean sheets of his own.

  When everything was ready he gently lifted Lucy into his arms and laid her on the bed. She shifted in her sleep and muttered something about ‘orchestra’, and ‘home’ and ‘crazy’ before falling quiet once more. Andrew tucked the covers under her
chin and watched her for a moment.

  Something strange was unfolding inside him. An emotion he thought long dead. It took a while for him to recognize it. Hope. How long since he’d felt that? How long since he looked forward to a new day rather than battling through it then spending another restless night alone?

  Irene MacAskill had said somebody would come who might be able to save him. Was Lucy that person?

  He pushed such thoughts away. They were dangerous. He’d learned not to open his heart. Not to let in the hope for something better. Life was what it was and to cling to anything else invited disaster. He stood and gathered the bedding into his arms then turned towards the door, pausing for a second to look back at Lucy, before leaving to let her sleep.

  Chapter 11

  ANDREW PACED UP AND down in his solar. It was a sparse room with only a chair, a small table and a bookcase. Mona had often badgered him about making his audience chamber more befitting to a laird but he’d always refused. What need had he of finery? Would that make him any more fit to rule? Would it make his clan any better off?

  He paused and glanced out of the window again. Where were they? They should have been here over an hour ago!

  There was a knock on the door. Andrew yanked it open so fast the person on the other side startled, fist raised for another knock.

  “My laird,” said the man. It was Ian, one of Andrew’s most trusted guardsman. He wouldn’t have entrusted this task to just anyone.

  “Well?” Andrew demanded, more harshly than he intended. “Did ye find them?”

  “Aye, laird.”

  Ian stepped aside to reveal a man and a woman behind him. They wore common crofter’s clothing and looked tired from long days of travel. They also appeared extremely nervous.