She slid a frozen finger along the barely visible wound at her neck. Mackenzie apologized most sincerely, but Cameron was a different story. He was of their blood. Their clan. The council placed the blame for her kidnapping and Balfour’s death squarely on Cameron’s shoulders.
Cameron’s particular regards toward Lady Haven hadn’t leaked. He didn’t deny any of the charges and never mentioned the man in the dark cloak. Haven suspected the stranger had used magic to make Cameron do Mackenzie’s bidding, but she found no proof. Cameron did not know the man’s name, nor could he describe his face.
Cameron’s sentence was harsh.
“Banished? Are you sure?” She asked Skye Gunn, Kirk’s little sister. Haven, as well as the other women, had not attended his trial, but Skye knew things. She’d quickly shared the news.
“Kirk banished him in open court, then gave him two hours to gather his belongings and say his good-byes. Four warriors were ordered to escort him to the outskirts of our borders.”
“But, where will he go? How will he survive?” And why hadn’t he told her good-bye?
“I heard tell that an old woman stood up for after the trial. Said she had an opening for an assistant. Obedience and a strong back were her only requirements. Cameron is a big warrior, now disgraced and homeless, so he agreed to join her service. She shall not do him harm. I have a feeling his destiny lies with her. Do not worry. Good-night.”
“Good-night, Skye. And, thanks for the news. I am sure he’ll be fine.” Haven had watched Kirk’s sister scurry away with a flutter of giggles. To be around such a lovely young lady would bring a smile to any cantankerous Highlander. Skye cared for Cameron, and had faith in a strange woman to look out for her cousin.
Haven strode into the kitchen, and her stomach growled. The women smiled and shared some gossip with her. They finally kicked her out and promised the meal would soon be ready. Haven stepped inside the great room and joined the old woman from the future.
Dorcas Swann looked up from where she sat as an honored guest in Fia’s household, an oddity in itself. She seemed to enjoy the warmth of the fire as she sipped from a tankard filled with ale or cider. Dorcas had visited them several times, back in Keldunurach, usually bearing gifts such as powders and other medicinal herbs for Haven’s work as the clan’s healer. Had someone as thoughtful taken Cameron Robeson under her wing?
Dorcas warned Haven about the hooded man, who she knew was up to no good. Dorcas called him an evil, heartbroken wizard who she’d sent back to the future, but he might return. Dorcas also reminded Haven she could still return to her own time.
She’d been tempted, but knew her place was here, in this time even though certain things still weighed heavy on her conscience. She now had a chance to fix things. Forever.
“Can I trust you to deliver a special letter to a dear friend?” Even as the words left her mouth, Haven hoped Dorcas and Cameron’s new employer were the same person.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, back in the present…
Iona Mackenzie stared at the bent over old woman who cackled, “Read this and be content.”
The woman whispered a few more unintelligible words, slipped a note into Iona’s palm, then disappeared inside a weathered tent.
“How odd.” Iona met all types of people over the last few days of the Highland games. She managed to keep most at a distance. She loved her father and his odd tie to their Scottish roots, but this past week poured problems into her costumed lap including the sudden disappearance of her friend, Haven MacKay. She’d retraced Haven’s steps after the dance. When Iona discovered she hadn’t returned to her tent, she talked to Jake. He claimed he hadn’t seen her all night. She couldn’t just disappear, could she?
Of course not, which is why she traveled tent to tent to talk to the busy merchants all morning. So far, several venders remembered the raven-haired beauty dressed in the crude green day dress, but not the red gown Iona had lent her for the dance. Others remembered her visiting a particular vendor’s tent earlier in the day; the one into which the elderly crone vanished.
Iona didn’t care for the woman’s long, ragged hair blowing behind her like a silvery waterfall, but she planned to talk to every person on the mountain, if it meant finding Haven.
Shoving aside the musty tent flap, Iona caught a glimpse of the old woman’s huge, crooked nose. Piercing gold eyes under heavy brows glanced up from where the woman had slumped into an old rocker.
For a woman a head shorter then Iona, and aided by a rustic crutch, she had moved away in the flick of an eye after depositing her missive.
A pretty yellow amulet clanked inside a heavy metal setting. A sizzle slid down Iona’s back as if she had stepped through a portal between time, or space. The woman smiled, knowingly.
Could she be a witch? Like me?
Moving backwards, escaping the tent, the woman’s glare, and the odd sensations, Iona stepped into the busy alley lined with stalls and tents. Every one sold Scottish wares and clothing, but the paper in her hand called to her. She unfolded the crumbled, brittle letter and read.
Dear Iona;
The night of the dance—the night of the storm—I found myself transported to a distant land. No, I had not planned on this. I would never leave you in the lurch, but an odd man in a hooded black robe chased me and I did what I had to do. Please don’t look for me except in the history books.
I have married a handsome Highlander named Kirkwall Gunn, laird of Clan Gunn, in northern Scotland. He is a gruff sort of man. A giant, actually, who keeps me on a short leash.
Ready or not, I look forward to the birth of my child and I plan to end my days with my children, here among these harsh people. If anyone asks, please lie and say I am happy and ran off with a Scottish visitor to the games. My possessions are yours, little as they are, including an old book I ‘borrowed’ from my aunt’s store. Please see to its return, and take care. I am here because of that darn book.
Kiss Jake for me and tell him I am enjoying stew and fresh milk with my new clan. He will understand.
Be well, dear friend, but also be cautious, especially of a demented creep in a long, black robe.
I took your advice and held on tight. Now, take mine. Time is fleeting… careful what you wish for.
Love,
Haven MacKay Gunn,
21 December 1598
Haven? The author addressed her by name, and had written on paper cracked and yellowed with age. The signature made Iona’s heart skip a beat, and the words blurred as tears welled up behind her eyes. A cloud drifted overhead.
She blinked. Sunlight beamed only on the paper in the middle of the busy alleyway. Her attention wavered when a band of raucous, young, kilted men—with faces painted blue and short swords held high—barreled up the lane. She backed out of their way, and slammed against a hard chest.
“Oof! Two meaty paws clamped around her upper arms. She wriggled out of their grasp then whipped around to face her quarry. She gasped, then struggled for air. A Viking stood before her. Well, someone who resembled a Viking.
Her gaze rose up a tawny chest peeking from his clothes. She had to keep looking up to put a face to the rest of him. Sun-streaked blonde hair fluttered across chiseled cheekbones that reminded her of tanned plates of solid bronze. His brilliant eyes, as amber as sweet clover honey, locked on her face.
He straightened and she took in the rest of him. Clad in a saffron shirt, brown suede vest, with a kilt riding low on his trim waist, he stood as tall as the Auguste Rodin statues she worked near at the museum. His large hands rested on his hips just above his wide leather belt and she found she missed their warmth. When her gaze landed on a sparkling silver buckle, it momentarily blinded her.
“I beg your pardon,” she said while her hand shot up to shade her eyes.
Perspiration sprinkled his forehead as if he’d been working in the fields. Dust and mud dappled the gilt fur on his forearms as if he’d survived a battle. Iona inhaled the scent of swe
at, earth, and male.
He raised two blonde eyebrows as if he could decipher her thoughts.
“You see, I was so engrossed in reading my letter I forgot to look behind me. Sorry.”
Heat pulsed between her legs, and she changed her stance. Two swords, securely belted across his back, added to the dark look of a man so much taller and broader than her. Since she stood two inches shy of six feet, his presence made her feel small and feminine. A bone-hilted dirk hung from his side. Gray fur covered a small, unadorned sporran, which hung between his…
“Oh!” An odd need to curl into the length of him jolted her from more salacious thoughts. The urge to rest her head in the hollow of his neck, just above his collarbone, shocked her into stepping back a few feet.
She tripped.
“Be more careful, dear lady.”
His Scottish brogue washed over her as he spoke. “You’re Scottish?”
“Aye. What gave me away?” He chuckled. They stood in the midst of twenty thousand people at the largest Highland games in the northeastern United States. He wore a kilt and weaponry of a Scottish Highlander while she wore the gown and plaid of a chieftain’s daughter. What did she expect?
“Cameron Robeson!” cried a shrill voice from inside the tent. Both jumped.
“I believe my employer is in need of my services. You now know my name. Might I inquire of yours?” He grabbed her hand. The letter fluttered to the ground. She bent to pick it up, and his breath caught. She’d forgotten how easily her loose bodice flopped open. She’d just given this stranger a free show.
“Oh. My name is Iona Mackenzie.”
His face clouded then as quickly returned to normal. He smiled, bowed, and kissed her knuckles. “May we meet again.”
A statement, not a question. He disappeared inside the tent, which must belong to the woman who had sold Haven an assortment of herbs. Iona’s heart pounded and she inhaled his decadent scent of pine and spice.
He definitely smelled better than the inside of the old woman’s tent. Why was he working for an herbalist? She was pretty sure the old crone was a witch.
Is he?
Iona threaded through the rambunctious crowd and found her tent in a corner of the historical village.
“Did you find her?” Jake asked. She shook her head. No need to get his hopes up, not after reading the odd letter. Haven sounded sad, in turmoil, and admitted she was pregnant. Was her mysterious Highlander holding her against her will?
If so, what can I do to help her?
Iona fanned herself with the scrap of parchment, then carefully folded it and stuck it in her pocket. Reluctantly, she returned to her spinning wheel and the Highland games visitors. She’d talk to Jake later, but only after she figured out what to say.
When another volunteer covered for her, she ran to the genealogy center. Amid two dozen people searching for their Scottish lineage, she rifled through several books until she found the Clan Gunn family history.
With the description Haven had included of her husband’s credentials, she found mention of him dating to a period around 1610. His reported attributes caused her to fan herself. Their wedding twelve years earlier had followed the nuptials of a rival, Lord Marcas Mackenzie, who married Lady Fia of the Keith clan. Iona exhaled a whoosh of air. She closed the book with a snap as she prayed for a Highlander of her own.
“Reading something of interest, my lady?”
The lilting Scottish burr made tiny goose bumps run down her arms. Iona turned and faced the man she’d met earlier who was still clad in his ancient Highland costume. He towered over her as she sat reading.
“Sit or move along. You’re blocking the light.” How she kept her voice steady surprised her, since every part of her vibrated with desire.
“My pardon,” he said as he folded his huge frame into the fragile folding chair next to hers. His stare and smile made her jumpy until she thought of something to say; anything to make him respond in his delicious drawl.
“I was just looking up something for a friend of mine. Haven always claimed—”
“Haven? Ye know Haven?” He slid closer until his thigh brushed against hers. Her heavy, wool skirt couldn’t deflect the heat that pulsed from his body. The scent of leather and sweat wafted over her and she fumbled for something to say.
“Haven MacKay? She’s my best friend. But, she’s left the games and I don’t expect her back. Ever.” She watched as his head lowered and his shoulders slouched. The man looked sad. Perhaps Haven broke more hearts than she’d cared to share in her letter.
“I’m afraid for her. Haven wrote to me. She didn’t sound too happy with the…ah…guy she met, recently.” Had the man forced her to stay behind?
“Haven deserves the love of a good man. She deserves happiness.”
Iona smiled. If Cameron knew Haven, he could possibly help her. Of course, when she figured out how to travel through time to rescue her friend and explained her plan to him, he might call her crazy. She ought to return to her duties at the historical village to think.
“I have to go. Guess I’ll see you around,” Iona said, then forced a smile. She felt less than happy due to worrying about Haven, but the way he smiled back at her fueled a pleasant tingle in a very intimate location.
“Nothing would please me more, my lady.” They both stood and, again, he swept into a low bow then strode away.
She giggled. With the tension lifted, she hurried away in the opposite direction to go talk with her father. He wouldn’t understand all of it so she’d share the news that Haven had left the New England Highland Games. She would tell him she got married, and leave it at that. Then she’d concentrate on finding her own true love. Iona would follow Haven’s advice, while following her own advice.
When I find the man of my dreams, I’ll grab him, and hold on tight.
The End
Books by Nancy Lee Badger
MY LADY HIGHLANDER: Book #1 Kilted Athletes Through Time
DRAGON BITES: 3 Scottish dragon tales
HEART OF THE MATTER: Anthology on writing
MY RELUCTANT HIGHLANDER: Book #3 Highland Games Through Time
MY BANISHED HIGHLANDER: Book #2 Highland Games Through Time
MY HONORABLE HIGHLANDER: Book #1 Highland Games Through Time
SOUTHERN FRIED DRAGON: a Civil War paranormal
DRAGON IN THE MIST: a Loch Ness romance
DRAGON’S CURSE: a dragon shape-shifting historical
UNWRAPPING CHRIS: a military romance
DESTINY’S MOUNTAIN
LOVE TO THE RESCUE
SECRET LOVE MATCH
More About the Author
Nancy Lee Badger loves chocolate-chip shortbread, wool plaids wrapped around the trim waist of a Scottish Highlander, the clang of broadswords, and the sound of bagpipes in the air. After growing up in Huntington, New York, and raising two handsome sons in New Hampshire, Nancy moved to North Carolina where she writes full-time.
Nancy is a member of Romance Writers of America, Heart of Carolina Romance Writers, Fantasy-Futuristic & Paranormal Romance Writers, Triangle Area Freelancers, and the Celtic Heart Romance Writers. Nancy and her family volunteer each fall at the New Hampshire Highland Games. Find out more about these games at www.NHScot.org
Acknowledgements
I have wanted to write a story set at an American-based Scottish Highland Games for years and have wanted to share this story with readers for even longer. My husband, sons, and I have volunteered under the Information tent beside the parade ground at the New Hampshire Highland Games for a very long time and we look forward to returning every fall to the beautiful countryside surrounding Lincoln, New Hampshire to enjoy the flavors, sounds, and sights. Is it any wonder that this story sprung from working among kilted men, pipe bands, and meat pies? For more information about this particular Highland Games, please check out this website:
www.NHScot.org
Connect with Nancy Lee Badger
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www.nancyleebadger.blogspot.com
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http://www.nancyleebadger.com
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Goodreads
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Out Of The Blue
By
Caroline Clemmons
Copyright 2010 by Caroline Clemmons
Cover by Ramona
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Author contact information caroline @ carolineclemmons. com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales other than the fictitiously used actual Texas towns and lake mentioned is purely coincidental.
Dedication
To my sweet Hero husband and our children for love and encouragement.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Sandy Crowley for helping me plot this book that was such fun to write, and thanks to Sandy and others who helped critique it. Geri Foster, the explosions are just for you.
OUT OF THE BLUE
Prologue
Ireland, 1845
10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set Page 157