Held by the Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance

by Blanche Dabney

  “Help me get her to the top of the tower,” Derek said. “She’ll not escape there.”

  “But that part’s not finished. If she should escape…”

  “If she plans to escape that way, it’ll be by growing wings.”

  Beth tried once more to break free but more men appeared. She could only struggle as they dragged her kicking and screaming across the courtyard and into the keep. She fought them all the way up the stairs but it was no use. They went past the room she’d been in before and still they were going up.

  At last they reached the top. She was pushed through a doorway into a half built room that was open to the elements, the wind blowing into it from two open sides. It was barely a room at all, lacking a roof and most of the walls. As Derek pulled the door closed, she hammered her fists upon it, demanding to be let out.

  She was trapped once more and she no longer even had the comfort of thinking it was a game. It was real. She was really in 1190 and, like he’d said, unless she learned to fly, there was nothing she could do until someone came and let her out.

  Once they did, she vowed never to let any of them near her again. She would run out of the castle gates and back to the hall. She held onto that idea like her mom would grip the locket when she was afraid.

  If coming out of the hall had brought her back in time then it stood to reason that going back inside would return her to the present. She’d get back to her mom and have the chance to tell her just what Andrew MacIntyre was really like. He was a brute and she wanted nothing at all to do with him.

  His smoldering eyes, his taut muscles, those broad shoulders that would make her feel so safe if he wrapped her in his arms. No, she didn’t want anything to do with any of those things at all. Definitely not.

  Chapter Five

  Andrew rode out at the front of his men, the wind on their backs as they headed north. He’d brought half a dozen of his best out with him, leaving the rest to guard the castle. And her.

  He could not be sure the MacLeishes wouldn’t try to attack while he was on the way to their parley. If they did, he’d make sure he took MacLeish castle, truce or no truce.

  Each of the warriors by his side was worth four of any other clan. That gave him good odds if they came upon anything up to two dozen on their journey. More than that? Any more than that and the heather would be nourished with MacIntyre blood and there was little he could do about it but die with honor like all MacIntyres when their time came.

  From the castle they rode out through the rolling hills beyond, the road rising slowly to the first peak before he stopped. They looked back at the castle. It was covered in scaffolding. Would it ever be finished? The masons seemed to work slower and slower each day and unless he was there to watch them, little got done by the time night came.

  Would the walls be done in time for winter? He hoped so. Needing to leave the mortar covered with great gaps during the long cold months was asking for trouble but what choice did he have? He needed a mason he could leave in charge while he was on the move, get them working faster. It was for their safety as well as his own. In a siege, none were safe.

  He glanced up at the keep, faintly visible in the hazy distance. She was in there.

  “Yon wee lassie will give you a kiss and a cuddle when we get back,” Clyde shouted from the back of the group, as if reading his mind. “Dinnae think we can’t see you staring back at her tower.”

  “Aye, he’s got her locked in where she cannae escape his attempts at wooing,” Wallace added.

  “Dinnae joke about such things,” Gillis spoke over their laughter. “Would any of you want to see your laird bed a MacLeish?”

  “She’s not a MacLeish,” Andrew said, speaking for the first time since they left the castle.

  “Och, who told you that?” Lorne asked. “Her by any chance?”

  “Aye, she did.”

  “And you believe her? She’s batted her eyelids at you and you go and fall for her charms without a moment’s pause. Are you that desperate for a woman? There are plenty out there easier to conquer.”

  “I’d like to conquer her, I’ll tell you that,” Wallace shouted to more laughter. “Conquer her and her charms.”

  “Of course she’s a MacLeish,” Lorne continued, ignoring the interruption. “And I think we have a right to know what you’re planning to do with her.”

  Andrew turned and gave him a firm look. “And since when do I have to explain myself to you?”

  “You’re asking us to ride out with you to meet Duff MacLeish. We might not live to ride back. Do you not think we should know what your plan is?”

  A grumble of agreement.

  Andrew sighed, too tired to argue. “We ride to the old hall. Duff MacLeish is meeting us there with no more than half a dozen of his men to parley. We’ll see what he has to say about all this. He tells us why he felt the need to provoke war by burning the hall and then I decide what we do next. Anyone has any issue with that, I say we step off our horses and let our swords resolve the point.”

  Silence. No one mentioned Beth. Good, he didn’t want to have to think about her. He needed to focus.

  He pointed forward and they began to move again. Behind him the light was beginning to fade. They would be returning in the dark. A chill wind began blowing across the hill top. It would be a cold night. Would she be all right? Rory would hopefully arrange for her fire to be lit. Stop thinking about her, he told himself. He managed it eventually though he couldn’t stop wishing he’d given her some furs to keep her warm while he was gone.

  They descended slowly into the valley until the castle was out of sight behind them. Another hour or so and they would be at Ramshorn. Then a few miles after that they would reach Pluscarden, or what was left of it.

  Ramshorn itself was on the edge of the wild moor. It was a single dwelling hidden from all those who passed by on the road. Only Andrew knew its exact location. He wanted it to always remain that way. He never intended to share it with anyone.

  The sky had begun to turn shades of orange and red by the time they again stopped. “Hold here,” he said, climbing down from his horse. “Keep a sharp eye out for an ambush. We are too close to the MacLeish border to relax. I shall not be long.”

  He left his men and headed off the road, walking at first through long grass and then into thicker undergrowth. Ahead of him was the tall slopes of a mountain, the top dusted with snow. It was a deceptive view for when he got closer, a hidden dip emerged at the base of the mountain. Trees shielded the dip from view and he had to push through the undergrowth between them in order to reach it.

  There in the bottom of the valley was Ramshorn. Smoke was curling up through the thatch. That meant Fenella was home.

  She was often abroad. There had been times he had gone to see her for advice only to find the house empty. When it mattered most though, she was always there as she had been since he was no more than a wee bairn. As long as he could remember he’d been brought to see her for advice.

  He had no idea how old she was. For all he knew, she had been there forever, hidden from the clan feuds and boundary disputes, out of sight of the wars and battles, living out her quiet solitary life among the deer and the rabbits, advising one laird after another.

  He was about to knock on her door when a voice called from inside, “Come on in, Andy.”

  He pushed open the door and waited for his eyes to adjust. She was sitting by the fire, two horn cups on the table in front of her. “Won’t you join me for a drink?” she asked, sliding one toward him. “Fresh nettle tea.”

  He took the chair opposite hers, her cat immediately leaping onto his lap and curling up into a ball. He smiled, stroking its soft fur. “You know I don’t let anyone else call me Andy.”

  “You want me to call you my laird? Bow and scrape to you? I didn’t think you were one for such nonsense.”

  “You could at least pretend to have respect for my office.”

  “Och, I cleaned enough things from your tiny wee
body when your father first brought you here to call you what I want. Or should I call you stinky drawers like your mother used to?”

  He smiled. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Is it? You do not look as if you’re happy to be here. What brings the mighty clan chief out to the home of a dotty old witch anyway?”

  “You’re no witch.” He took a sip of the tea. “Although I sometimes wonder how you always know when I’m coming.”

  “You’re as noisy as a herd of cattle coming down that hillside. Now you didn’t come here just to drink my tea and stroke old Podgorny. What’s on your mind?”

  Andrew drained his cup before answering. “Did you hear about what happened at the old hall?”

  “Aye. Was a tragic business that and no mistake.”

  “I’m on my way to speak to Duff MacLeish about it.”

  “Oh. Why him?”

  “Because it was his men who lit the fire.”

  “Was it indeed? Well, if you’re so sure, off you go then and good luck to you.”

  “What do you mean?” He sat up straight in the chair. “Do you know something I don’t?”

  “All I know is the stars are aligning above us all and things are coming to a head for more than just you. Did you see the shooting star last night, flaming red as it fell?”

  “No, was there one?”

  “You should try looking up above your head sometime, Andy. It might do you some good.”

  She had a strange expression on her face. He was still trying to work out what she meant when she spoke again. “The omens are all there for those who know how to read them.” She pointed to the ash that had fallen from the hearth. From his perspective it looked very much like it had formed the letter B. B for Beth.

  “You know, don’t you?” he said, leaning toward her. “You know about Beth. Who is she? Is she really from the future?”

  “Time is not my concern, Andy. I only know that a wee lassie has taken hold of your heart and whoever she is, I hope she’s worth the trouble that’s come along with her.”

  “Trouble? What trouble?”

  “I’m no oracle, Andy. I’m only a dotty old witch who needs her sleep. Your men will be waiting for you and I’m away to my bed. Off you go.”

  Podgorny jumped down from his lap and disappeared out the single window as if he’d been prodded with a stick. “Hunting mice,” Fenella said by way of explanation. “Whatever happens, don’t let the lassie go.” She squeezed Andrew’s hand so tightly he thought the bones would break.

  How could one so small be so strong? “I thank you for your hospitality as always,” he said, hovering on the threshold for a moment. “I never know what to make of the things you tell me.”

  “That’s because I don’t tell you anything you don’t already know and you don’t trust yourself as much as you should. Good night, my laird and remember, look up sometime.”

  “Good night, Fenella.”

  Dusk was approaching fast when he got back to his men. “What did she say?” Lorne asked, chewing on an oatcake as he spoke. “Are the omens good?”

  “She thinks the blaze may not be the work of Duff MacLeish after all. She also thinks I should hold onto the lassie.”

  “If not MacLeish, who else would set the blaze?”

  “I dinnae have a clue. Hush your talk for a wee spell. I need to think.”

  They rode on in silence. Another hour and they’d be at the remains of the old hall. What would he do if Duff MacLeish denied having any part in the fire?

  He’d need to make a decision. Believe Duff and accept that he was no longer master of his own lands, open to attack whenever any stranger felt like it. Or start a clan war he didn’t want. Neither option felt great. Trust your own feelings,” she’d said. He glanced up at the darkening sky over his head. And look up sometime.

  It was times like this he wished his father were still around. The burden of being laird weighed heaviest in these most difficult moments. Make the wrong choice and many of his people would suffer needlessly.

  They rode in silence, the only sound that of hooves upon the damp ground. Behind them the sun dipped slowly out of sight below the horizon. In the last of the light Andrew caught sight of the remains of the old hall in front of them.

  Duff MacLeish was already there, waiting with six of his men, all on horseback, none smiling. Andrew rode steadily toward him. It was time to get some answers.

  Chapter Six

  Beth watched them go from the top of the half built tower. She hated herself for even thinking about him. He’d ignored her perfectly reasonable request to get back to her own time and her mother who was no doubt waiting for her. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about his hand slipping into hers outside the infirmary?

  She didn’t belong in the past. It was different when she’d thought it was maybe a re-enactment or a live action game. The reality meant being away from home, from finishing her course, from maybe one day becoming an architect like she’d always dreamed.

  Far below her, he was riding out with six of his men. People moved out of the way so he could ride through the gate and then beyond the walls. Her eyes moved onto the surrounding countryside.

  The riders headed slowly up a slope, pausing for a spell at the top to look back. They were no more than dots from this distance but she could have sworn he was looking right at her in that moment. Then they vanished over the crest and she felt more alone than she had in her entire life.

  She hated herself for thinking about him after he’d gone. He didn’t deserve her thoughts. He was rough, ignorant, rude, and…and impossibly handsome.

  She sighed, moving away from the jagged edge of the tower wall into the safer space near the door.

  It looked as if work had been stopped for some time. The floor was made of rough boards with inch thick gaps between them, revealing the floor below. She tried to lift them but they were nailed solidly in place. The walls were unplastered.

  On two sides the stonework was complete, presumably where they connected to the interior space of the keep. The remaining two sides faced out into the open.

  There were the remains of stumps that held the scaffolding in place but the thought of using them to climb down was enough to make her feel queasy. It was too high up and what if she fell? Her mother would never know what happened to her. She would just be one of the countless people who went missing each year, never to be heard from again.

  The roof had yet to be built. The gap allowed the chill evening wind to blow through without anything there to prevent it. Had he told them to lock her in this awful prison?

  She wanted to stop thinking about him. She wanted to think about getting home. She wanted to be at home in her armchair, her mother there but without the diagnosis looming over her. The two of them would sit together in silence, both reading. Mom would read about genealogy or Scotland and she’d have her architecture books.

  That was a safe place. No blood spurting from dying people, no blazing infernos, and definitely no brutish giants in baldrics and hose locking her away to freeze to death.

  She curled up in the corner by the door, wrapping her arms around her, trying and failing to keep warm.

  With her eyes shut, his face came unbidden into her mind. What was it about him? She realized that despite everything that had happened to her, she’d felt safe around him. Until she was trapped in an unfinished tower at the top of the keep.

  She opened her eyes to shake away the image of him wrapping her in his arms, an image she wanted to ignore. Her keen eyes ran over the jagged unfinished walls in front of her. Unable to stop herself, she started seeing it from an architectural point of view and what she saw scared her. It wasn’t strong enough. The mortar had not set properly and was already crumbling. That meant the top layers of stones were weighing too heavily on the lower courses.

  A closer look and she was proved right. The mortar had been pressed out by her feet, stone touching stone. That gave it no flexibility. If the winds were strong enou
gh that section of wall would give way almost at once. If the rest of the keep had been built the same way then Andrew might not need a siege to bring down his castle. The winter weather might be enough to send it crashing down to the courtyard below.

  She jumped up when a key rattled in the lock. The door opened a moment later and Derek walked in, a smirk on his face. “How are you enjoying your accommodation?”

  “If that’s a joke, I don’t find it very funny. Have you come to let me out?”

  “I’m to keep a close eye on you while you’re here. I wondered if perhaps you might prefer to join me in my own chamber?”

  “You have a room of your own?”

  Beth didn’t know a huge amount about medieval history but she knew that only the lord’s family had private rooms in castles in this era. Everyone else slept together, usually in the great hall. The thought of the hall was enough to make her nose wrinkle in disgust.

  “I am the son of a laird. Do you not think I warrant a chamber of my own? Lovely warm fire in there. Do you want to join me or not?”

  “I’d rather stay here.”

  “Suit yourself,” he snapped, pulling the door closed once more.

  Beth sank once more to the ground, curling up and shivering uncontrollably. She thought about the fire she’d been offered and could almost feel the warmth sinking into her frozen bones. Then she thought of Derek, the curl of his lips when he looked at her, the way he kept glancing at her chest, how his hands had tried to touch her before. She knew she’d made the right decision.

  An hour or so after sunset, the steward she’d seen talking to Andrew appeared in the doorway holding a tray of food. “I was told you were up here,” he said, passing her the tray. “But I did not believe it. I am most sorry you are being treated this way, lass.”

  She grabbed a hunk of bread from the tray, surprised by how hungry she suddenly felt. “Thank you,” she said, shoving a piece into her mouth. It tasted gritty. She found it hard to grip the rest in her frozen hands and her teeth chattered as she ate, making it hard to swallow.