Held by the Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance

by Blanche Dabney

  “That’s mom,” she replied, shaking her head. “We better go after her before she starts redecorating the entire place for you.” She looked up at Andrew. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Because I thought I had lost you forever and instead you just agreed to marry me. Am I not allowed to look at you?”

  “Come on you two lovebirds,” Janet called back to them. “Lots to do.”

  “Coming,” they said in unison, heading out of the infirmary and following her across the courtyard.

  Andrew’s hand slipped into Beth’s as they walked. She looked down at it briefly. It felt exactly right, as if that was what she’d always been missing without even knowing it, the hold of the highlander.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The baldric had been specially made for the occasion. Andrew looked down at it and was once again struck by the vibrancy of the colors.

  His boots weren’t spotless but it was still winter after all. The mud had frozen under the snow but each day it was churned up afresh by the residents of the castle coming and going across the courtyard, making preparations for the wedding.

  Andrew stood outside the chapel, Gillis beside him. “Are you ready for this?” Gillis asked.

  “It’ll be your turn next,” Andrew replied.

  Gillis slapped him on the back. “Then I will look as nervous as you.”

  “Och, I’m not nervous man.”

  “Then why do you look so pale?”

  “Quit your blathering at me. I’m in no mood for it.”

  “Then you better get inside. They’re all waiting.”

  He headed through the doorway. The chapel was crammed with people. He couldn’t help comparing it to last time it had been this full. On that day the ceiling had collapsed and several people had died. He glanced up at the falsework, as if afraid it might have been removed once again.

  It was all safe. The abbot of Melrose was standing at the front of the chapel. Next to him was the bishop. The two of them nodded as Andrew walked toward them. He stopped when he reached them.

  “Good to see you again Andrew,” the bishop said. “Are you well?”

  “Quite well, your Grace,” he replied. “And Walter. I am glad you could come.”

  “I would not have missed it,” the abbot replied. “Nor would she, I’m sure.” He nodded toward the back of the church as the crowd fell silent.

  Andrew turned in time to see Beth appear. She was holding a bouquet of flowers. How had they even found them in the depths of winter? Her dress was whiter than the snow outside and her face hidden behind a veil as she made her way slowly down the aisle, the people smiling as she passed them by.

  Her mother stood next to her, looking far better than on the day she’d returned to them. She still hadn’t explained what happened to her while they were apart, insisting that they focus instead on the wedding preparations. “All in good time,” was all she would say when they asked.

  Andrew was beginning to think she would never tell them. Not that it mattered. What mattered was standing facing him as the abbot began to speak to the crowd. “Under the sight of God we come together today to bless the union of Beth Dagless and Andrew MacIntyre. I stand before you as a humble servant of God and ask you all to pray for them and for all of us.”

  The crowd murmured an amen. The bishop took over. “We all of us here and across the world have the power within us for both forgiveness and vengeance. I was grievously injured when the ceiling of this very chapel collapsed. Many died that day and vengeance was talked about in hushed voices that I could not help but overhear.”

  He paused, allowing a smile to spread across his face. “Anger would tear apart the clans of the highlands. Compassion would bring them together. The MacLeishes are here today as are the MacIntyres. That is the power of forgiveness and it is a force far mightier than the sinful that would attempt to tear our people asunder. Andrew MacIntyre is a good man and I do not say that lightly. If he wishes to marry this woman I give them both my eternal blessing. Amen.”

  The abbot nodded, stepping forward as the bishop retreated. “A great building such as this glories God and brings His light to shine upon those of his subjects who worship Him with pure heart and spirit. A great union is a stronger sign still that love is in our hearts and God in the souls of all those present here today.”

  “Och, will you not get on with it?” Duff MacLeish shouted from the back of the church. “We’re freezing our arses off back here.”

  Andrew tried not to laugh as the abbot turned pink, losing the thread of what he was saying.

  “The vows,” Andrew whispered.

  “Oh yes. Would you, Andrew MacIntyre, take this woman to be your wife from this day until the end of your life, to hold and keep in safety and love, to worship and honor with your obedient spirit and all the blood of the clan that is in your body.”

  “Aye,” Andrew replied, not taking his eyes from Beth.

  “And would you, Beth Dagless, take this man to be your husband from this day until the end of your life, to hold and worship, to obey and honor with your spirit, your soul, and your heart?”

  “Aye.” There was just a hint of a Scottish accent to her voice.

  “Then I declare these two husband and wife and to you all I ask you to give good cheer to Laird and Lady MacIntyre.”

  A resounding shout went up around the chapel as Beth lifted her veil, revealing those sparkling eyes that he swore grew brighter with every passing day.

  “You may kiss,” the abbot said over the noise.

  Andrew leaned toward his bride, embracing her firmly as the noise around him died away. All he felt was her and nothing else. Nothing else would ever matter as much as she did.

  “Now onto the hall before we starve,” Duff shouted above the cheers. “I hear yon lass has prepared a feast.”

  “If by yon lass,” Janet said, “you mean me, you better address me more politely.” She glared at him as Beth rolled her eyes at Andrew.

  “They seem to hate each other,” he said. “This should be fun.”

  “I’m sure it will,” Beth replied with a twinkle in her eyes. “Though I get the feeling they might end up sitting together by the end of the day.

  The feast went on for many hours. The bishop making the first speech when the time came.

  “I want to say a few words,” he said, waving his arms to silence the revelers. “As a token of the church’s thanks for the glorious chapel you have built here, and for the abbey you have founded, Andrew, I have been authorized by the council of the north to give you the rights to the quarry by the water.”

  Andrew was speechless. In one fell swoop his financial problems were over. The quarry by the water was one of the richest quarries in all the highlands. He could not only finish rebuilding the castle at almost no cost, he would be able sell the extra stone to finance all the other work.

  “It’s not a free gift,” Gillis whispered in his ear. “He knows that way you’ll get Pluscarden abbey built faster.”

  “Aye,” Andrew whispered back. “But what’s the harm in that?”

  Duff stood up next. “I consider Andrew MacIntyre the reason my son is alive, not dead and the reason I am enjoying this delicious meal. I thank you too bishop whatever your name is. This man today has lived up to the name of MacIntyre and I am proud to be in a union with him. May we bring hell itself down onto the English’s sorry arses. Sorry, bishop.”

  The bishop nodded benevolently before tucking back into his chicken leg.

  The abbot stood up. “I want you all to know that I love this man and this woman who have married here today. Even the noisy oaf at the back has my love.

  Duff, you’ll be pleased to know that Derek is settling in well at Melrose. He confessed his sins and repents them all in fear of the everlasting fires of hell that come to all sinners. He is the perfect novice and perhaps one day you will forgive him his sins as God has.

  “Perhaps,” Duff shouted back. “We’ll see. Now
enough with the bloody speeches. Let’s get back to eating.”

  A cheer went up. Andrew looked at Beth and smiled. It had finally happened. For so long he thought he would lose her and now she was his wife. He could not have been happier.

  Beth’s prediction came true. By the time she tiptoed out with Andrew her mother was sitting almost on the lap of Duff MacLeish, feeding him one morsel after another.

  “How does it feel to be married?” Andrew asked, slipping his hand into hers as they made their way up to his bed chamber.

  “I’ve had worse days,” she replied with a grin.

  He pushed open the door, stepping aside to let her enter. Once they were both in, he locked the door, and then poked the fire to bring it back to life.

  “Are you glad you stayed here?” he asked. “Don’t miss anything about your own time?”

  She shook her head. “Not a thing. Where else would I get to help build a whole new castle?”

  “The bishop thinks you were sent by God.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think I’m glad we’re alone at last and I’m glad you decided to stay.”

  “I had to stay. You need me to help you build a castle strong enough to defend against English invasion. Don’t you mind though?”

  “Mind what?”

  “That I’m English.”

  “Perhaps I’ll let just one English invade my castle.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  He took hold of her, lifting her onto the bed. In the great hall the feast continued with laughter and song. In the laird’s bed chamber the fire died down as the laird and his new bride lay together in the darkness.

  Outside the snow continued to fall, carpeting the entire castle and all the surrounding land in a white blanket. By the morning it would be a foot deep. Neither Andrew nor Beth would notice a thing. They were far too busy making up for lost time.

  Epilogue

  Derek was praying in the chapel when they came in. He was on his knees, head bowed before the altar. Whispering quietly, he had just glanced up at the cross, thanking the Lord for this second chance at life. Then the door opened and the strangers began talking.

  He was back at the chapel where his whole life had changed. The abbot had come to him a week earlier and told him to make the pilgrimage back to MacIntyre castle.

  He didn't want to go back. In the year since he'd been sworn in as a novice he'd grown used to the monastic life. It had a simplicity and purity to it that he respected. He heard little about life back at the castle. When news reached the abbey of the birth of Andrew and Beth's child, he rejoiced silently, praising God for His mercy and His wisdom. During his sleep he was plagued by dreams of what he'd done in the past, glad when they rose for matins each night. He would walk with the others into the small wooden abbey church, unable to shake the guilt until the singing began. Only then could he rejoice in this second chance he'd been given to prove his repentance and to pray for all those he'd hurt in the past.

  He never expected to leave the abbey again but he could no more disobey the order of the abbot than he could float over the mountains on the wing of a cloud.

  “It has been a year since you arrived here," the abbot said. “In that time two dozen have joined your ranks and yet you remain the most pious of all.”

  He nodded in response, saying nothing out loud.

  “I want you to travel to the chapel where God blessed Andrew and Beth. Do you know why?”

  He shook his head. “No, brother.”

  “You will know when you arrive.”

  It had rained for the entire duration of his journey. He had worn only the habit and it was soaked through, rubbing harshly on his skin as he slogged along mile after mile. His feet were bare, bleeding in places from the sharp stones he had encountered on the road. As time passed, he limped more and more, his hunger growing, gnawing at his insides.

  He was glad of the pain, glad of the hunger, glad of the appalling weather. All those things tried his body but brought his soul closer to God, showing the Lord that he truly repented of his sins and could take any punishment that might be meted out.

  For a month before he set out on his pilgrimage, his body had been troubled by a great ague. He had been in agony for days, his skin stretched thin, his insides churning and knotting over and over. To be taken to the latrine, the brothers had to carry him on a sheet, his limbs rigid and unmoving.

  He was still recovering when he set off, his limbs too weak to travel more than five miles a day. It took nearly a week to reach the castle and by the time he made it, he was almost dead on his feet.

  They had been given notice of his arrival. He was admitted and Rory met him in the courtyard, bringing him into the chapel where Andrew and Beth were waiting, a baby laid asleep on the altar behind them.

  “My laird,” he said, prostrating himself on the cold tiles before him. “My lady,” he added without looking up. “Forgive me, I beg you.” Tears ran from his eyes, dripping onto the floor as he remained in place, refusing to stand, unable to shake the crushing guilt that threatened to consume him. That child was alive because he had failed. If he had succeeded in what he'd attempted to do, they would not be there, they would be in heaven, assured of their place by the Lord's side. Where would he be when his end came? The thought was terrifying. “Forgive me,” he said again. “I am truly sorry for my crimes.”

  “Stand,” Andrew said, holding an arm out toward him.

  Derek took the offered hand, getting slowly to his feet, refusing to look the laird in the eye.

  “How are you both?" he managed to ask, his toes curling under him.

  “We are well and our bairn is well,” Andrew said, stroking the forehead of the little one. “Our union was blessed.”

  ““I prayed for you both.”

  “Thank you. And if I might ask of my father.”

  “The clans remain united and though he can be...difficult, he has an advisor who has made a difference to our parley.”

  Derek wondered who the advisor might be but thought better of asking. “He is well then.”

  “Aye, and our borders are strengthened. Gillis is over there now planning for his wedding and for possible English invasion.”

  “I will pray for him also.”

  Beth nodded. “Thank you." She paused, examining him closely. “We asked the abbot to send you here.”

  “If it is to punish me, so be it.”

  “We wish you to bless our child," Andrew replied. “Will you do as we bid?”

  “Of course," Derek said, almost falling as he staggered forward. He leaned on the altar, looking down at the wee bairn wrapped in the purest white linen. “What name have you given your heir?”

  “Janet," Beth said. “After my mother.”

  A wave of dizziness washed over Derek. He felt the truth of God's word take over him and it gave him strength. He stood tall, the ache in his limbs fading as he began the ceremony. “We ask you, our Lord, to give strength, faith, and love to this child today. May she prove herself worthy of all that you ask and may we be grateful for your grace and protection now and always.”

  “Amen,” Andrew and Beth said in unison as Derek placed the tip of his forefinger on Janet's chest.

  “Amen,” he echoed.

  The strength that had entered him ebbed away. Andrew squeezed him on the shoulder once before walking away. Beth did not follow at once. She looked at Derek closely. “You truly are sorry, aren't you?"

  He nodded. “There is not a day that goes by that I do not regret what I did. I will take my guilt to the grave with me and beyond. Can I do anything else for you, my lady? Name it and it will be done.”

  “You like the chapel?”

  “I think it is perfect.”

  “Then you may remain in it for as long as you wish. God forgive you, Derek.”

  She walked away then, leaving him to his thoughts. He was in awe of their ability to forgive. He had burned a hall, killing a number of the clan. He had
personally brought down the ceiling of the chapel, killing more. They would have been perfectly within their rights to have had him executed and what did they do instead? They allowed him to bless their child.

  It felt jarring to think of the person he used to be. He looked up at the ceiling, seeing it in all its glory. Was he the same person who had tried to bring that ceiling down on the heads of the laird and lady?

  He knelt before the altar, giving thanks to God that he had been caught. He had a chance at salvation through repentance for his sins. He would not waste it.

  The sun cast a light through the window, a break appearing in the clouds outside. A single shaft of golden glow struck the cross on the altar. Derek began to pray.

  For many hours he begged for mercy. He had no idea how long he'd been there but it was dark when the door opened and they came in.

  It wasn't Andrew and Beth, he knew that by the sound of their heavy feet. Two men, both strangers. He didn't look at them. He continued to pray as they talked loudly in the darkness.

  “How do you know it was that doorway? ” one asked. “The stones could have ended up anywhere.”

  “We're here now, aren't we?”

  “I don't know. Are we? I can't see a thing in this goddamned darkness.”

  “Did you bring a flashlight?”

  “I didn't know it would be night time, did I?”

  “Christ, you're an idiot.”

  Derek was shocked by such casual blasphemy. “You are in a house of God,” he said before he could stop himself. “Have some respect if you care for your souls.”

  “Look, there. What is he, a monk?”

  “You, ” said one of the voices, now addressing Derek. “What year is this?” He walked over and Derek caught a glimpse of the most bizarre clothing. It was like nothing he'd ever seen before.

  “It is the year of our Lord 1191. Come, pray with me, brothers.”

  The sound of the door closing and then nothing. No sound other than the rain falling outside. Derek tried to resist temptation but he could not do it. He turned his head. There was no one there. He stood up and walked to the door, looking out into the darkness. No one there either. The only footprints in the moonlit mud were his own. Where had the blasphemers gone?