Courage of a Highlander

by Katy Baker

  She sighed and took a sip of wine. Do ye continue on yer lonely quest to save the world? Irene MacAskill’s words echoed in her head. That’s not what she was doing. Was it? And she wasn’t lonely! What a ridiculous thing to suggest!

  Her eyes strayed to her empty living room. There was nothing here to suggest this was a home. Nothing to suggest it belonged to Kara or who she was. It was just a place to sleep, somewhere she could leave quickly when she got a new lead, a temporary resting place before she moved on to the next city, the next town, the next story.

  But when she got that story it never really brought her peace. There was always the next bad guy to bring to justice. There was always the next corrupt corporation to expose.

  She glanced up at the only decoration in the room. Above her mantelpiece were clippings of old newspapers. They were faded and yellow with age but still readable. The biggest one showed a photograph of a smiling man in his early thirties. Above read the headline, “Journalist murdered in gangland style execution.”

  Kara closed her eyes. She had only been ten when it had happened but the memories still felt as clear and jagged as broken glass. Her mom had moved them across country after that and she remembered little of her early childhood but for that one sharp, cold January morning when the police had come knocking.

  Her mom, also a reporter, had succumbed to cancer when Kara was fifteen, leaving her to carry on their fight to bring people to justice. To carry on their legacy.

  Kara paused suddenly. That’s what Irene MacAskill had said. Was that what Kara’s crusade was? Was she trying to live up to her parent’s legacy? Had Irene MacAskill somehow known?

  “Don’t be idiotic!” Kara said, annoyed with herself for thinking such stupid thoughts. Her meeting with Devereux had unsettled her. That was the only reason she was thinking such things. She took another sip of wine and gazed up at her father’s picture.

  “What would you have done, Dad? How would you have pinned that bastard down?”

  She suddenly remembered the scrap of paper Irene had given her. Retrieving it from her coat pocket, she unrolled the scrap, smoothed it out, and then read the spidery writing scrawled on it.

  You might want to investigate why Michael Devereux is so interested in this.

  There was an address written hastily below the message.

  Kara stared at the bit of paper then reread the message several times to ensure she’d got it down right. She had no idea why Irene MacAskill had given her this or how she was connected to Devereux. Anyone with any sense would leave this well alone.

  But Kara knew she wouldn’t. That spark was burning in her belly again. That spark that wouldn’t let her rest until she had her story.

  Chapter 2

  Aiden Harris led his horse up a switch-back trail to the top of the cliff and looked out over the wild, rolling landscape of the Isle of Skye. It spread out before him like a map, a wind-blown panorama of heather-clad hills, rocky ravines and storm-lashed cliffs. One by one his brothers-in-arms reached the top and came to a halt, each one staring in silence, just as Aiden did. It had been three years since any of them had set eyes on home.

  It felt like a lifetime.

  “My, my,” breathed Fraser by Aiden’s side. “That’s a sight for sore eyes and nay mistake. Ah, there were times when I wondered if we would ever see it again.”

  Aiden nodded. “Aye, but here we are, with purses full of gold, a few months’ rest ahead and the king’s thanks to take home with us.”

  His men nodded their agreement. It had been a long, hard road from Edinburgh but they had been in good spirits for the journey. After all, they were returning home victorious, having beaten back a Danish fleet set on raiding all along the eastern coast. For that, King James had rewarded them handsomely and given them leave to return home.

  Angus, the youngest of them, pale with fiery red hair, gave a wide smile. “I’ve nay intention of ever leaving again. Besides, my Maisie will skin me if I even think of it.”

  Fraser bellowed a laugh. “Aye, that lass of yers is a fearsome one. When do ye plan on making an honest woman of her?”

  “As soon as I can find a priest, if she’ll have me. I plan on raising a few crops and some bairns besides. I’ve had enough adventure for a lifetime.”

  There were rumbles of agreement. Aiden knew the men had sorely missed their families and many of them would never leave Skye again. He envied them.

  “How about ye, lad?” Fraser asked him. “Will ye break the hearts of every lass on Skye and take a wife?”

  Fraser meant the words lightly but they cut through Aiden like glass. Aye, he’d like nothing more than to be content with a simple life. To settle down into his role as his father’s heir, to fall in love and raise a family. But it wasn’t for him. He’d always known a different path was laid out for him. A restless energy burned within him, one that would not let him settle. It was this restlessness that had driven him from his ancestral home and sent him traveling all over Europe, fighting for his king. And besides, what did he have to offer any woman? He was a warrior. He was rough, uncouth. All he knew was fighting. What woman would want that for a husband?

  “I dinna think so,” Aiden replied quietly.

  “What?” Fraser boomed. “Ye will have the pick of the ladies! The laird’s only son and a hero to boot? Captain Aiden Harris, hero of the Battle of Dun Crenin!”

  Aiden forced a smile. “Hero? Surely that title belongs to ye? What did they name ye? The Bear of Skye?”

  “Aye, because he stinks like one!” Malcolm piped up.

  “And has a temper like one too!” David added.

  Fraser scowled at them and Aiden smiled at their teasing. Nudging his horse into a walk he led his men onto the coastal road, winding their way steadily north. As they traveled Aiden’s band dwindled as each of the men peeled off to make their way to their homes on different parts of the island until finally Aiden found himself on the road alone. It was just as well. He was in no mood for company.

  It was a glorious late autumn day. The sun sparkled on the waves and the cry of seagulls echoed on the wind. The breath of winter was in the air but for the moment, held itself at bay. Aiden breathed deeply, savoring it. Aye, he’d missed this place. Perhaps he’d not realized how much until now.

  He topped a rise and found himself looking out over a headland that jutted out into the sea. Here the road split and he would turn inland and travel north towards Dun Arnwick, his childhood home and seat of the Harris clan. Aiden pulled his horse up and just sat for a moment, staring at the road that would lead him home.

  Memories assailed him. Weapons training with his father and adopted uncle, Jamie. Sitting in the Great Hall on a winter’s night listening to his mother play the fiddle and tell stories of America, her distant homeland. Picking through the rock pools at low tide with his sister and the other castle children, pouncing on crabs and crayfish.

  It seemed another life. Aiden was a different man to the one who had ridden out of Dun Arnwick all those years ago to join the king’s warriors. Could he ever settle into this life again? Did he want to?

  A great weight settled onto his shoulders. As the only son of Laird Andrew Harris, he was the heir to the lairdship. His clan looked for him to take his place among them, to lead them. But King James had offered Aiden another choice, one that, should he accept it, would take him away from this place forever.

  Aiden shook his head. Curse it all, he should be glad to be home but Aiden felt more conflicted than ever. If he chose to leave how would he tell his family, his people? If he chose to stay, how would he tell his king?

  Lord, what a mess.

  He pulled his horse off the road, dismounted, and led him down a rocky trail to the beach. Walking by the sea always helped Aiden to think. It was low tide and a wide strip of golden sand lay between the base of the cliffs and the whispering waves.

  Leading the horse, he strolled along the edge of the wet sand, feeling the cold water seep through his leather boo
ts and sting his skin.

  Up ahead, he noticed that part of the cliff had fallen away, leaving a great gouge in the cliff face. The only part of the section still standing was a spur that arched out of the cliff and down onto the beach, forming a natural archway through which Aiden could see the endless miles of ocean stretching away.

  Intrigued, Aiden walked closer. Erosion was an ever present danger when living on the islands and was one of the reasons why his father had put a stop to the building of settlements right on the cliff edge. He dropped the horse’s reins, leaving him to wander, and approached the arch. He craned his head back, examining the structure. Lines of minerals sparkled in the sunlight and water dripped slowly from its apex, gathering in a puddle below.

  A voice suddenly spoke behind him.

  “I wouldnae move any further unless ye are sure where it will take ye.”

  Aiden spun, yanking his sword from its scabbard and holding it in a two-handed grip.

  But when he saw it was an old woman standing behind him, looking calmly at the great silver blade resting against her throat, a wave of shame washed through him. He quickly sheathed his broadsword and gave her a bow.

  “My apologies, my lady,” he said formally. “Ye startled me. How may I be of service?”

  The old woman raised an eyebrow and merriment twinkled in her dark, dark eyes. She seemed old beyond measure with skin so wrinkled it was difficult to see where one ended and another began. But for all that, she radiated a kind of solidity, as though she was as strong as the roots of an old oak tree.

  “Now that, my lad, is the second dangerous thing ye have done in the last few moments. Has nobody ever told ye ye shouldnae offer yer service until ye ken what ye will be asked to do?”

  Aiden frowned. There was something about this woman. She stirred memories that were buried deep. “Have we met?”

  She smiled broadly. “Aye, lad, though I doubt ye’d remember. Ye must have only been around three when last I laid eyes on ye. I came to Dun Arnwick to help yer mother birth yer sister, just as I helped her birth ye. My name is Irene. Irene MacAskill.”

  Aiden’s eyes widened. Despite himself he took a pace backwards. Irene watched him, an unreadable look on her weathered face.

  “I can see by yer reaction that ye recognize my name.”

  “Aye,” he breathed. “That I do.”

  He had been brought up on stories of Irene MacAskill. She was a guardian of Clan Harris and it was because of her that his mother, Lucy, had been able to travel from her home in the twenty-first century to the Highlands of the sixteenth where she met his father. Without Irene, Aiden would never have been born.

  But she was also the woman spoken of with caution by his father and by Dougie, the steward of Dun Arnwick, and Mona, the old housekeeper before she died. The tales claimed this woman was of the Fae, and the Fae always had an agenda of their own, one that went far beyond the understanding of mortal men.

  He cleared his throat and pushed his unease aside. “It has been many a year since ye have been seen on Skye, my lady. What brings ye here this day?”

  Irene’s smile deepened. Her eyes roved over him, taking in his Harris clan plaid with the sash over the top bearing the king’s colors. “Ye have come far, young Aiden. Ye are a loyal warrior, like yer father before ye. But loyal to who and to what? I know of that ache inside ye, lad. The one that willnae let ye rest. The one that drove ye to leave yer family.”

  “I left to do my duty. To my country. My king.”

  “And yer duty to yer family?”

  “I know my duty,” he grated. “I dinna need to be reminded of it.”

  If she noticed the edge in his voice, she didn’t show it. Instead, she cocked her head to one side and regarded him with her dark eyes. Aiden forced himself to meet her gaze squarely. He’d faced down terrible enemies on the battlefield, men who would have killed him without a second’s thought. He’d be damned if he’d be intimidated by an old woman.

  “Ye are marked for a different path, Aiden Harris. It is time ye walked it.”

  Aiden sighed. “And how do I do that? I dinna even know what it is I want.”

  Irene smiled. “Ye will in time.”

  “Ye speak in riddles, woman.”

  “Do I? Then mayhap I’ll speak plainly.” She stepped forward. She was so tiny she barely reached Aiden’s chest but even so, it was Aiden who suddenly felt small. “I have come to ask yer help, lad. If ye accept, maybe we’ll both get what we want. I will stop something terrible from happening and ye may finally find the path ye were meant to walk.” She looked up at him. “Will ye help me?”

  “Aye,” Aiden replied without thinking. “I took a vow to help all those in need.”

  Irene patted his arm. “Ah, ye are a good one, Aiden Harris.”

  “What do ye need me to do?”

  She clasped her hands in front of her. “The secret of time-travel is known only to a few—yer family being one of them—and there is good reason why it is kept so. In the wrong hands the power of time could wreak great evil. There is a man who meddles with that which ought not to be meddled with. He searches for the Iuchair, the Key of Ages. If it falls into his hands, then all could be lost. Ye must protect the key at all costs.”

  “Very well,” Aiden nodded. “Where do I find this man? I’ll ride there anon and arrest him.”

  “It isnae that easy, lad,” Irene replied. “He doesnae reside on the Isle of Skye, nor even in this time. Ye will have to travel to the future to find him.”

  Aiden went very still. His mother was a time-traveler and so the concept was not alien to him but the idea of traveling through time himself was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

  Irene pointed and Aiden turned to see that the space beneath the archway was shimmering like heat-haze over a bonfire. He could no longer see the sky or the sea, only a blur of colors that shifted and melded and then became a view of a vast city, far bigger than anything Aiden had ever seen. Great crowds of people walked along the streets and metal boxes—cars his mother had called them—whizzed along at terrifying speeds.

  “What is this?” he murmured in awe.

  “The future, lad. None other can take this step. None other can do what must be done. Do ye accept this task?”

  He turned to look at her. “How will I know what I’m looking for?”

  Irene smiled. “Oh, ye will know, lad. Just remember: protect the Iuchair at all costs. It is yer destiny.”

  Aiden nodded. Then he pulled in a deep breath and walked through the arch.

  There was a strange sensation of falling, as though his stomach was rising into his chest and Aiden gritted his teeth. It lasted for only a heartbeat before his boots smacked into something solid, his knees buckled, and he staggered onto hard, smooth ground. His vision swam, nausea twisting his guts, and Aiden sucked in deep, heaving breaths. After a moment it passed and Aiden scrambled to his feet, hand going to the hilt of his sword.

  Irene MacAskill was gone. The beach, the sea, the stone archway were gone. Even the Isle of Skye itself had disappeared.

  Instead, he found himself standing beneath a broad, smooth archway that was made of orange stones precisely cut into rectangles—bricks he’d heard his mother call them. The archway formed a short tunnel and across the top, stretching out in either direction two sets of metal railings were set into the ground. Aiden racked his brain for any mention his mother might have made of such things. A railway?

  Stepping away from the archway into the shadows by its wall, Aiden took a moment to survey his surroundings. Ahead of him stretched a wasteland of old buildings and burned-out vehicles. A cracked road wound its way through the buildings. Weeds had grown up in those cracks, giving the area an abandoned, desolate look. The crowds of people he’d spotted through the archway were gone. It had spat him out in another part of the city and there was not another soul in sight and Aiden heard nothing but the low moan of the wind.

  Cautiously, hand still on his sword hil
t, he stepped out from his hiding place. Irene had said he would know what he was looking for when he saw it but there was nothing in this lonely place that gave him any clues. Then his eyes settled on a building to his left. It was bigger than the others and though still dilapidated, it showed signs of recent activity. Car tracks and footprints led up to the door.

  “Well, let’s get this started,” he muttered to himself.

  He stepped out from his hiding place and began a careful perimeter of the building. He moved silently, years of scouting enemy camps aiding him now. If there were enemies around he’d expect to find pickets posted around the outside but he found nothing. Whoever or whatever was inside the building, they didn’t expect company.

  He’d completed a full circuit and was approaching the doors again when the hairs rose on the back of his neck. Someone was coming. He pressed himself against the wall, relying on the shadows to hide him, and waited. Seconds passed. Stealthy footsteps approached and Aiden tensed. A figure appeared out of the darkness, moving hesitantly towards him.

  Aiden startled. It wasn’t a vagabond or ruffian—the kind of person he’d expected to find wandering this place at night.

  It was a woman.

  She looked to be around Aiden’s age and was wearing trews like a man, with long hair spilling down her back. She was moving cautiously, as though unsure of where she was going, but nevertheless, the set of her shoulders spoke of a steely determination. The woman walked past Aiden’s hiding place and moved further into the complex.

  Intrigued, he followed her.

  Chapter 3

  What are you doing? Kara asked herself as she made her way along the street. This is crazy. Go home before you get yourself into trouble!