Must Love Kilts

by Angela Quarles

  “Because you don’t know, or because you won’t tell me.”

  She looked him in the eyes. “Look. I can’t risk telling you. I don’t know how this time travel business works. It’s not exactly something that’s been tested out. Some believe that if history is changed, it could change enough to where I was never born, or worse, some important person isn’t born. Others think it’s all one closed loop, so that anything I do now was already done by me by the time I’m born. There are many more theories, each more confusing than the other, and it’s all just theories. I can’t take that risk, because I have no clue which time travel theories apply here.”

  He looked at her, his head cocked to the side.

  She smiled. “I know. If I think too hard about it, I feel this heavy, buzzy weight at the top of my head. It’s a freaky, weird feeling.”

  “Aye. It is.” He rubbed the crown of his head and smiled. “So, you can’t risk revealing anything in case that blinks you out of existence.”

  “Er, yes. Obviously, I’d like for that not to happen, but I know that’s not important on the big scale of things.”

  “I’d not like to see you blink out either, my wife. Though it’s a shame you cannot tell me of the Stewarts’ fate, for it would help my clan.” He frowned. “Nay. Not worth the risk. Right then.”

  “Exactly. Now you know why I have to find my sister and return to my time. Neither of us belongs here. It’s too risky.” Katy’s friend Isabelle had stayed behind for her man, but—no. This girl liked her hot showers. Besides, she knew staying here—in his presence—any longer than necessary was going to play havoc with her emotions. One-night stands with guys like him were fine, but longer than that? It made her expectations go haywire. She’d accidentally gone there on a rebound from her first serious boyfriend in college—hooked up with a gaming buddy, notorious for his love-em-and-leave-em outlook, and mortifyingly fell for him after a short while. Oops.

  Iain frowned, but when he didn’t protest their leaving, she felt an odd sense of disappointment. Just as she suspected, he wasn’t interested in more than flirtation. And neither was she!

  He crossed his arms. “We need to figure out what to do about your sister.”

  “What do you know? You didn’t answer my question earlier.”

  He stepped toward her, his face wary. “Now ’tis your turn not to be angry with me. I swear to you, I was not informed of my clan’s role until today when my uncle deigned to tell me. And that,” he said with a bitter laugh, “was only because he wanted information from you.”

  Shit. She stepped up onto the bed and sat, face in the palms of her hands. “Just tell me.”

  “That night at the inn, it was the other half of my party who took your sister. Ross meant to take you too, but you disappeared.” He barked a laugh. “Now I can guess how.”

  “What could they have possibly wanted with us?” She dragged her hands from her face.

  “To get you out of the way, mainly. You were strangers, poorly disguised as commoners, and cursed with the last name of Campbell, which they overheard when we handfasted. You might not be aware, but there is no other Highland name that could have made you more suspicious. Campbells have become too powerful, and they support the new regime. Ross thought ’twould be better to take you to the chief of the Glengarry MacDonells for safekeeping until…”

  “Until what?”

  “Now I must ask for your secrecy. I’m placing a great trust in you, and…” He broke off and spun back to the window. His hands were flexing, as was a muscle in his jaw.

  She shifted forward. “What? Iain, I swear to you, I won’t hurt your clan.”

  Iain stared out the chamber window. As far as his eye could track, he beheld only his clan’s land. Land that had been governed by successive sons. Until him.

  His heart and his mind battled with what to do next. If he trusted her—and against all logic he did—and he was wrong…

  His clan would never forgive him this time.

  They’d barely forgiven him the last time. Only his youth had tempered their judgment.

  Always, always, he let his emotions and his gut rule him, and time and again, those decisions proved defective. At the time they seemed harmless, but…

  He glanced over his shoulder at his wife. The murky daylight cast her in part shadow, but her eyes were riveted to his, and he saw only honesty and forthrightness in their depths. He felt an inexplicable pull to her, as if her truth were his.

  He shook his head. It made no sense.

  Och, God. Could he do it? Put his clan at risk. On a decision he made on his own?

  He sifted through everything she’d told him, taking care to measure each statement, each inflection she gave her words.

  And—piss on a goat—he couldn’t find any falseness in her manner or her words. This “time travel” was the only explanation, not only for her sudden appearance, but also for the magical items she’d shown him. Those renderings on the small contraption…

  He closed his eyes and tilted his head upward. Everything about this felt right to him.

  He opened his eyes and contemplated her beautiful face, the air between them weighted with significance. Hell, if he were wrong, could any hot-blooded male blame him? Maybe he was the idiot his uncle believed of him. But she was his woman now, and he’d be damned if he didn’t do all he could to protect and aid her.

  Lord help him, he’d side with his gut. He’d side with her.

  He took a long breath and stepped forward. “They took her—and tasked me with keeping you distracted—because we’re in the midst of crucial plans to return the rightful king to his throne.”

  “King James,” she whispered.

  “Aye. Dundee has been gathering men to test our might against the Williamites, led by Mackay.”

  “And your chieftain thought we were sent by the…by the Williamites to learn what your plans are?”

  “You have the right of it there.”

  “So my sister is with the MacDonells of…of Glengarry?”

  He swallowed hard. “Aye.”

  She gasped and shoved off the bed. “I have to get her,” she said in a rush. “I have to help her.” She dashed to her sack and stuffed her belongings inside. She straightened. “Wait. If your clan knew where she was, what was all this about sending out a party to look for her?”

  He refused to look away from her. He wasn’t the guilty party here, though he felt like it. It was his chieftain. “We had to maintain appearances. And it gave us the cover to send some men to Dundee.”

  “Your chieftain lied to me about helping search for Fiona.”

  Shame washed through him. Aye, they’d needed to keep their movements secret from newcomers, but he hated that it was at her expense and that his chieftain had not told her that her sister was safe. “Aye. He did.”

  “I don’t know that I care for your chieftain.” She stopped, gripping her sack in her fist. Her stare ripped through him. “Did you know this was their plan? You told me yourself they were sent to look for my sister, and I…I believed you.”

  “I swear to you, I knew not. I learned of this directly before I found you today.”

  She nodded and tightened the string, which closed up the opening of her sack. Inexplicably, his chest tightened at how easily she took him at his word. It made him proud and scared at the same time.

  “I need to go to her. I don’t care if you or anyone else comes, and I won’t let any of you stop me this time. I’m the only hope she has of returning to our time. She needs me.”

  She rushed past him for the door, and he grabbed her arm, swinging her back around to face him, bumping her against the bed frame.

  “Don’t be so bloody hasty. I’m coming with ye,” he said fiercely. “But let’s do this right. I need to convince the chieftain of your innocence and get permission to retrieve her. It will do us no good to make an enemy of him.”

  She plopped onto the edge of the bed and blew at a strand of hair that had fallen in he
r face. Her shoulders slumped. “Okay. You’re right. But you can’t tell your chieftain our secret.”

  “Aye, I ken.”

  “If you can’t convince him, I’m sneaking out of here. You can’t stop me, Iain.”

  “I will not try. Have no fear.” Hell, he’d aid her in her escape. “If all goes well, we can leave soon. Invergarry castle is not far, and we can be there before dusk.”

  She took a deep breath, and he’d swear her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She dropped her bag, which hit the rug with a dull thunk. “We have to get her, Iain,” she whispered.

  His heart cracked open a little wider. In an instant, he closed the distance between them and enfolded her in his arms. He placed a comforting hand atop her head and rested his chin there. “We’ll get her, my wife. We’ll get her. Dinnae fash yourself. And take comfort in knowing she is safe for now. We know where she is.”

  The weight of his decision, and its implications for his clan if he were wrong, hung heavy in the air. He could almost taste it.

  There was no going back now.

  No going back on his trust of her.

  And more than anything, he couldn’t escape the fact that this felt right.

  Chapter Twelve

  Yet friendship sincere, and loyalty true,

  And for courage so bold that no foe can subdue,

  Unmatch'd is our country, unrivall'd our swains,

  And lovely and true are the nymphs of our plains,

  Where rises the thistle, the thistle so green.

  “The Thistle of Scotland,” Jacobite Reliques

  Iain stepped around the men playing dice in the great hall and rubbed his belly. He’d detoured to the kitchen, for they were leaving for Invergarry before the hour was out, and procured two flagons of deoch-maidne. The afternoon was late, but as the distance was not great, they should reach their destination before dusk.

  A strange energy suffused him, and he couldn’t quite pinpoint its source. All he knew was that he was eager to begin their journey. Perhaps it was the prospect of Traci being forced into closer proximity, but he felt it was more than that. Perhaps it was only a sense of accomplishment—he’d managed to allay his uncle’s suspicions after all. No small feat, that.

  A little niggle crept inside that it had been a little too easy, given his uncle’s suspicions.

  As he approached the double doors which led outside, a shadow darted from the side, and a hand closed around his arm, halting him. He looked down into the dark eyes of his chieftain.

  “Don’t botch this up, lad.”

  Iain stiffened at his uncle’s words, as well as the tone. However, he forced one of his trademark smiles onto his face, though the darkness enclosing the large space probably made it difficult to discern. “How can I? Seems a straightforward business to me. One that even a donnart such as myself would be hard-pressed to botch.” He added a self-deprecating laugh.

  His uncle narrowed his eyes. “You are leading this party. Please take it seriously. I only pray you’re right about these women. Retrieve the sister and bring her here. ’Tis better to have them together in case you’re wrong. Here is the letter for Glengarry with my thoughts on the matter so your way will be clear.”

  In that moment, Iain pinpointed the source of his unusual energy—’twas the prospect of leading this party. Which was a puzzle. Iain had never taken himself for a leader of men. Hell, he’d been glad when his uncle had stepped in as chieftain after Iain’s brother died while fighting Campbells. Better to have no one dependent on him, he’d reasoned—less chance of him messing up anyone else’s life.

  This time it was harder to hide his annoyance, his tone hard-edged. Especially in light of the gossip he’d overheard from the kitchen maids—more evidence that his uncle was stingy. Good chieftains looked after all under their care and did not hoard the clan’s wealth. “I believe I shall manage, uncle.”

  “I pray that you do. It was fortunate for our clan that you had no taste for leadership. Some have the taste, but not the skill. And their clans suffer for it.”

  Iain’s lips thinned, and he gave a stiff nod. “I shall see you anon.” He’d been eighteen when his brother died, and there had been a coalition who would have supported him, if he’d had a mind to put himself forward. But his uncle had been someone he’d looked up to all his life. Even Iain would rather have him as their leader. Unlike the English, succession wasn’t by primogeniture. If Iain had somehow convinced the leading men to back him over his more experienced kinsman and botched it—a most likely outcome—his people would have given their allegiance elsewhere.

  He pushed past his uncle, threw open one of the doors, and quick-stepped down the stairs, breathing in the early afternoon air and trying to recapture his enthusiasm. He’d wished to succeed in this mission for his wife’s sake. Now he also wanted to succeed for his own.

  What had been a clear day had turned to a drizzle as Traci stepped off the ferry and headed for the stables. She shivered and pulled the wool plaid tighter around her shoulders. Her hand wandered to the pouch secured to her belt, assuring herself it was there. She’d hastily sewn her phone and her time-traveling case into it. She’d be damned if she took the chance of having it separated from her. The rest of her belongings were in a sack she’d attach to her saddle.

  Having Iain a member of the party had her insides all messed up. On the one hand, it was comforting, because he was someone she trusted, however much she could trust her own instincts there. Which wasn’t much.

  But on the other hand, he threw off her equilibrium. Especially after today. Up until now, it had been easy to dismiss him as a big flirt like her gaming friend Johnny who’d showed her the ropes in the art of the hookup senior year of college. She’d established some kind of mutual banter agreement with Iain—each knowing the other’s flirtation was just that. And flirtation was easy when it meant nothing and kept him, and others like him, at an emotional distance.

  But this morning…this morning she’d glimpsed a little more under his shell. And she was simultaneously pulled by that possibility of more and scared of exploring it. Opening herself up hadn’t gone too well in the past.

  She could not get close to anyone here. And God, wouldn’t she end up looking like an idiot if she dropped their pretense, looking for more from him, and he didn’t drop his. Or worse, decided her feelings were just on the smidge side of too much and pushed her away as no more fun to “play” with.

  She’d lose her only ally. Like she had with Johnny.

  She swallowed a lump in her throat and took a shaky breath. And then laughed. What the hell was she even doing whining about this? She needed to get to her sister and get them the hell out of Dodge. No bypassing for smooching or—God—sex.

  She couldn’t wait to get her sister and zap back to her old life. Her old life where she could bury herself in her work and not analyze, or even fucking care, about what some guy thought about her. Work was the only place where she had any control in her life. At work, she was successful, her instincts were true, and she was respected. And if she overworked, she blew off steam by losing herself in testing their latest RPG.

  Ha. Well, first she’d have to talk them into letting her cut her vacation short. They’d insisted she take these three weeks, worried that she’d burn out.

  Yes. She couldn’t wait to get back to where she felt the most herself.

  She stamped her feet as she strode toward the stables, trying to jiggle a little warmth and sense into her veins. She joined the rest of the party, who were busy saddling up the ponies or securing their supplies.

  Iain lumbered up then, his stride loose and self-assured. And sexy as hell. Her breath caught in her throat. His features seemed transformed in the diffused, afternoon light. He was more animated than she’d ever seen him, a new confidence affecting the air around him. Almost a defiance. And it changed his features. Before, his features seemed tailor-made for laughing, a smile ever ready, lighting up his face and making him approachable. No
w, those same features delineated a sharp, angular jaw that looked as if it’d take no prisoners. No bullshit. He’d been adorable before. Now he was a dark, fierce, handsome Highland warrior.

  Chills pockmarked her skin.

  He caught sight of her, winked, and the illusion broke. He handed her a cup and downed the contents of the other he held.

  She sniffed it. “What is it?”

  “We call it Old Man’s Milk. ’Tis milk mixed with a raw egg and a dram of whisky.”

  “Oh God, no.” She handed it back.

  He laughed and drank hers, then clapped his hands together, facing the others. “Listen up, lads. We leave as soon as you’re finished dithering.”

  “It wasn’t one of us who strolled up just now,” joked a red-haired, thickly built man to her left.

  “I’m here now, aren’t I, Gavin?” He grinned and crossed his arms.

  It struck her then what was different about Iain—he was excited about leading this party. And from the curious stares he drew from the others, him leading wasn’t normal. They were coming around though, as his natural humor won them over. Though Gavin and Lochloinn didn’t seem surprised.

  “Unless anyone objects overmuch,” Iain continued, “let’s away.”

  Everyone nodded and swung up onto their mounts. A stable boy nudged her, and he held out the reins for Glenfiddich.

  “Thank you.” She searched for a place to step on to mount when warm hands clasped her waist.

  “I have ye,” rumbled Iain’s melodic voice near her ear. His heat warmed her back. With no difficulty whatsoever, he hoisted her up, and she arranged her leg around the side-saddle.

  On her arrival, much had been made over her odd saddle, so different from their side-saddles, but she’d told them it was a new style in Cornwall, and they’d accepted it without question.

  “What about Duncan? Isn’t he coming?” she asked, low enough for only Iain to hear.

  “Nay. He did not wish to accompany us, which is strange considering he believes we’re…”