A Scot's Devotion (The MacLomain Series: End of an Era, #2)

by Purington, Sky

  “The past,” she said softly, again certain she was right. Certain she hadn’t dreamt about Julie at that foreign Stonehenge but had lived it somehow. “We need to return to...” She gazed at her ring and understood at least a small bit. “Medieval Scotland.” Then she understood more when she met his eyes again. “Specifically, thirteen thirty-two.”

  “Aye,” he replied. “’Tis the year to which we must travel.”

  “’Tis,” she whispered, noting how he sounded more medieval by the moment. “Rather than it is.” She cocked her head, curious instead of terrified. She needed to fill in the blanks. To understand what was just out of her reach. “Tell me everything, Aidan. Help me to understand.”

  “I will,” he replied. “After—”

  “No.” She shook her head, standing her ground. In a rush though clueless why. “Not until you tell me everything.” While she sort of knew already, she needed to hear him say it. Then she needed him to tell her so much more. “Tell me where Julie is. Who Tiernan really is. What our role is in all this.”

  Because they had a role.

  Him and her.

  She had never been so sure of anything.

  His gaze lingered on her eyes for a moment before he nodded once and shared so much more than she could have anticipated. He urged her to walk with him further into the Stonehenge and spun a fantastical tale beyond her wildest imagination. Everything faded away as she listened. The darkening sky and gusty wind. The snow covered stones and creaking trees.

  He spoke of six Stonehenges, including this one. An ancient Irish brotherhood determined to end his lineage and perhaps even Scotland itself. He talked of witches, wizards and dragon shifters. Of fated love and Claddagh rings.

  How it all tied in with the history of Scotland.

  Normally she would have found this nonsensical, yet, she didn’t doubt it, just believed. His words spun a faerytale that was as real to her as here and now, and she had no idea why. All she knew was that he told the truth.

  Scotland was in trouble, and it lay in their hands to save it.

  She leaned against a tree, letting everything sink in. From Robert the Bruce’s son, King David needing her help to Balliol’s disinherited nobles being possessed by evil monks. Monsters that were not only determined to kill little David but wanted to end Clan MacLomain before their conception. If all that weren't enough, Julie was a Guardian Witch who saw helpful ley-lines, and not just the Stone of Destiny was aiding in their cause but an actual unicorn.

  “Yet it all comes down to this somehow,” she said softly, eyeing her Claddagh ring. More so, the colorless stone at its heart’s center. She forced herself to meet Aidan's eyes. Forced herself to see the love he felt for Maeve. “It all comes down to the stone in my ring shining the color of your eyes when...” Just say it no matter how crazy it sounds. Because you know it’s true. “When you and I connect the way destiny says we’re supposed to.”

  “Fate,” he corrected. “But aye, only true love can ignite the power of the Claddagh ring.”

  “Right,” she whispered. “And I'll know I'm with the right person because it’ll eventually shine the color of the wizard’s eyes I'm meant for.”

  “Aye,” he said so softly the words nearly vanished on the wind. Though his eyes remained with hers, she got the sense he wasn’t really looking at her. That he was seeing someone else. A ghost from the past.

  Maeve.

  “How is this ever going to happen if,” she started to say but trailed off before finishing her sentence. Whatever was destined to happen between them, she wasn’t interested in trying to push aside or overcome the love he felt for Maeve. She certainly wasn’t in the market for a man anyway. So perhaps there was a way around the Claddagh ring.

  Either way, right now, she was more worried about what he'd shared in regards to King David. What a sad life the eight-year old had lived. No kid, let alone one with his backstory, deserved everything coming at him.

  So she pushed the words past her lips no matter how strange they sounded.

  “You’re right, Aidan, we do need to go back.” She set aside fear even as it bubbled up. “We need to—”

  That’s all she got out before fog swept in out of nowhere, and everything shifted.

  Changed.

  Morphed around her.

  Yet she was only aware of one thing.

  Aidan had pulled her into his arms.

  Chapter Four

  Edinburgh, Scotland

  1332

  THOUGH INITIALLY HE fought it, he ended up pulling Chloe safely into his arms when time shifted around them. Just as it had when his eyes first connected with hers, having her against him changed everything.

  One reality became another.

  Not just in the literal sense when the Stonehenge faded to be replaced with his chambers at Edinburgh Castle, but everything within him seemed to morph. Even his very soul. Her flowery scent filled him from head to toe. Her warmth and vitality blew over him like sunshine breaking through cold, dark clouds. A blast of light that sought to find a crack in his armor.

  Temptation that threatened his undying devotion to Maeve.

  Alarmed, he stepped back, ashamed he hadn’t made sure Chloe was steady first. But he could not keep her close. He could not sink further into her. Because that was exactly what this felt like.

  As though he were losing himself. The better part of who he was. Who he had always been.

  It felt like he was losing Maeve all over again.

  While clearly tempted to stare at her surroundings, Chloe appeared stunned by what blossomed so swiftly between them. Her wide eyes stayed locked on his, and she trembled ever-so-slightly.

  When she finally spoke, she said the last thing he expected.

  “She’s here,” she whispered. “Or at least she once was.”

  He knew exactly to whom she referred.

  Almost as if for a fleeting moment, he caught her thoughts.

  “Aye,” he whispered. “Maeve was once here...”

  Right in this very chamber when they had visited.

  He'd thought it would be the best day of his life but turned out to be the worst. He tried not to think about it, but for a moment, it seemed as if Maeve stood there once more. As if she shared her heartbreaking news all over again.

  “I didnae mean for it to happen,” she had said softly, tears filling her eyes. “Nor did yer cousin. Ye must believe me.”

  “I dinnae ken.” Yet he knew before she told him. Mayhap had known for some time. “Do ye no longer love me then?”

  “Och, nay, I do,” she’d said hoarsely, her heart in her eyes. “But, I love Cray too.”

  “Ye cannae love us both.” He had shaken his head, trying to come to grips with it. Enraged at his cousin. “‘Tis not possible.”

  But it was as he soon discovered.

  “My, God,” Chloe whispered, tearing him from his sad thoughts.

  She finally took notice of her surroundings. First, she eyed his attire, which, as luck would have it, he’d reverted back to fourteenth century clothing. Then she took in the chamber.

  “Where are we?” While most would be fearful, curiosity lit her eyes, making them sparkle more gold than amber. “Have we...is this...”

  “Aye.” He confirmed what she clearly suspected. “We have traveled back in time. You are in medieval Scotland.”

  “I am, aren’t I?” she whispered, still not frightened, just taking everything in. “Where in Scotland exactly?” She peered out the window at a reality far different than the one she just left. The sun was rising, and people were out and about. “Oh, wow, look at this...”

  “You are at Edinburgh Castle.” He sheathed the Viking sword that had not been in his chambers when he went to sleep the night before. A gift from their ancestors, Tiernan had carried it on his and Julie’s adventure. Now the blade had found its way to Aidan confirming it was indeed his turn to protect King David.

  “This is unbelievable.” Chloe glanced from him to t
he courtyard. “Can we go down? I’d love to soak it all up and investigate—”

  “Nay,” he said a little sharper than intended. But she needed to understand. “You cannae go about investigating things as if you have never been here. As if you are unfamiliar with this time period.” He murmured a chant, dismayed when he was unable to dress her appropriately. “I need to get you suitable clothing, then I’ll figure out our next step.” He joined her and frowned when he spied what was missing below. “Bloody hell, they are already gone.”

  “Who?”

  “King David’s retinue,” he replied. “I need to figure out what day it is and where they are heading.” He forced himself to meet her eyes and spoke with the stern tone of a chieftain, hoping she understood how serious he was. “You must stay here whilst I look into things and find you appropriate clothing for this era. Do you ken?”

  She cocked her head. “Ken?”

  “Understand.”

  “Ah.” She glanced outside again, the curious excitement in her eyes not reassuring. “Of course, I’ll stay put.” Her gaze returned to him, and she nodded once, not nearly as convincing as she thought she was. “You have my word.”

  Somehow, he suspected that could mean a variety of things.

  “’Tis verra dangerous here, lass,” he warned. “You must stay put until I return.”

  “And I will.” Yet her curiosity only seemed to grow. “Or,” a charming little gleam lit her eyes, one he imagined worked on most hot-blooded men, “maybe you could use your magic to change my clothes, and I could join you?”

  “I already tried. It didnae work.”

  “You already tried?” Her brows swept up. Though she hadn't seen him do any of the following, she theorized. “How does that work, anyway? Do you wave a wand? Recite an incantation?” She snapped her fingers. “Or do you merely think it and poof, I’m wearing something else?”

  She tilted her head in question, her imagination creative indeed. “Does that mean the clothes I was wearing before literally restitched into something else?” Her eyes rounded. She eyed him as if he should be ashamed of himself for looking when this was all hypothetical. “Because I’d think there’d be a second or two where I wore nothing.”

  Ballocks, that was the last thing he needed to envision right now.

  But lo and behold despite her bulky clothing, he visualized away.

  “There isnae a moment when you are without clothing,” he muttered, trying not to be charmed by her. Trying to think of Maeve and only Maeve. But hell if images of Chloe's yet-to-be-exposed-flesh didn't keep taunting him.

  “Well, that’s good.” Her gaze flickered over him, and she blushed. “I suppose.”

  “You suppose?” he said before he could stop himself.

  He should have, too, because it suddenly occurred to him what that look was about.

  She had been envisioning him without clothing as well.

  What sort of lass was this? A curious one to a fault, he surmised. Bolder than most in this day and age. But then she was from the twenty-first century. It would serve him well to remember that.

  “Yes, I suppose,” Chloe repeated, evidently realizing how forward she might have sounded. “I didn’t mean anything by it...not really.” She blushed even more. “I mean not at all.” She sighed and gestured at their surroundings, thankfully avoiding further talk of nudity between magical stitches. “Never mind. As you can imagine, I’m off my game right now.” She gestured at the door. “Go do what you need to do. I won’t go anywhere. Promise.”

  “I beg of you not to,” he reiterated, frustrated with their circumstances. More so, his magic fluctuating once more. “I will be back in little time.” He shook his head. “Open the door for no one.”

  His gut told him it was unwise to leave her to her own devices, but he needed to find out what was happening. So though he suspected it wouldn’t stop her if she were determined, he locked the door behind him and headed down the hallway. He tried reaching out to his kin telepathically but had no luck. Just when he thought things were improving, it seemed they were taking a turn for the worse again.

  When he stopped and chatted with some countrymen, he learned the king had been escorted north earlier that morning en route to Perth. Not surprising considering that was where Donald, Earl of Mar, the future Regent of Scotland, would be.

  “Now, how do I go about getting Chloe a change of clothing?” he muttered, wondering where to begin.

  “I dinnae think ye need worry about that, lad,” came a welcome voice moments before his great-granda Grant appeared. He had passed away peacefully in his sleep years ago but often visited from the afterlife. This time he appeared as a young man, quite chipper considering current circumstances.

  After greeting Grant, always glad to see him, he narrowed his eyes. “What do ye mean I need not worry about clothing for Chloe?”

  “Must ye ask?” Amused, Grant gestured out a window. “Even if the lass wasnae resourceful enough to find her way out of yer chamber in record time, remember she has other methods at her disposal.”

  “What other methods could she...” he began, trailing off when it occurred to him. The Claddagh ring. “Bloody hell, I didnae even think of that.”

  It should have occurred to him the magic of the Claddagh ring might help her. Moreover, she was a Broun. That meant she was a witch, whether she knew it or not. So it was only a matter of time before her powers revealed themselves.

  Perhaps by unlocking his chamber door.

  “The lass has my mind going in circles,” he muttered. “I’m not thinking clearly.”

  He joined Grant at the window and cursed under his breath when he spied her. She strolled through the courtyard in attire that was correct for the era but certainly not these parts. More specifically, around so many fighting men.

  “’Tis a lovely gown,” Grant remarked, far too amused. “On a verra fetching lass.”

  She was indeed. With or without the stunning crème colored gown accentuating her curves. Designed to incite men's lust, it had a new, never before seen, scoop neck that showed more than dresses usually did. Her breasts were round and full, plumped up for all to see, and her skin luminescent.

  Not surprisingly, she drew far too many eyes.

  “Ah, and she isnae alone.” Grant pointed out who she strolled arm in arm with. Someone she appeared far too familiar with far too soon. “’Tis none other than King Robert the Bruce’s illegitimate firstborn son, Robert Bruce.”

  Chapter Five

  “WHAT THE HELL?” she muttered when she heard Aidan lock the door. “I would’ve stayed put.” She eyed the courtyard, just dying to go explore. “Or maybe I wouldn’t have.”

  She knew she should be afraid but instead only felt excitement and maybe a smidge of trepidation. Which was, unquestionably, because of Aidan himself. Something had most definitely sparked between them when he whisked her back in time. Something she had never felt before.

  “That’s what you’re all about, isn’t it?” she whispered, staring at her ring, not sure what to make of all this. “And you’re probably why I’m not freaking out right now too.”

  Because what twenty-first century woman who suddenly found herself in the medieval period wouldn't?

  “Then again, I’m not your average woman, am I?” She glanced out the window, pondering everything Aidan had shared back in New Hampshire. What her Broun lineage apparently made her. “I’m a witch.” She shook her head. “Yeah, right. I'll believe it when I see it.”

  She eyed her ring again. Before she put this on, she never would have believed such things were real. She dealt in cold, hard facts. Not tabloid worthy, made-up stuff.

  Yet now she was starting to wonder.

  If time travel were possible, never mind the various things Aidan had shared, what else was possible? More importantly, her curious mind prompted, what might she be capable of?

  “Maybe I can unlock a door,” she muttered under her breath, back to eyeing the courtyard with longing.
“So I can go investigate.” She considered the door. “He didn’t trust me anyway, so I might as well see what I can do.” Perplexed, she frowned, having no idea how to go about using magic. She chuckled that she even pondered this. “What am I thinking? Magic! Me?” She rolled her eyes. “Doubtful.”

  “Why is that?” a soft, feminine voice murmured. “If others possess it, why not you?”

  A chill went through her. She eyed the room, but as far as she could tell, it was empty.

  “Who’s there?” she called out.

  “A friend,” came the soft reply, closer now. All around her, it seemed.

  Then directly in front of her.

  As if caught in the streams of sunlight cutting through the window.

  Enthralled, she ran her hand through a ray only for it to warm. Half a breath later, the warmth expanded, blossoming within her. It filled her with peace. Welcomed her. As though she belonged there. As if she always had.

  Regrettably, when clouds blocked the sun, and the rays vanished, so did the warmth.

  Yet something had appeared.

  “Oh, wow,” she whispered, fingering the gorgeous gown she suddenly wore. “Way to have a Cinderella moment.”

  Though tempted to thank the ‘faery godmother’ voice she knew had been responsible for her transformation, she sensed it had vanished with the sun. Had that been one of Julie’s Guardian Witch ancestors? Somehow she didn't think so. In any case, she could only be grateful.

  Now she would fit in and could go out and explore.

  “I guess it’s off to the ball then.” She frowned at the locked door. “Then again, maybe not.”

  Hmm, what to do? She could wait here until Aidan got back but who knew how long he’d be gone. She might be sitting here all day. She might get thirsty, she reasoned. Or hungry. Then there was the whole courtyard-and-castle-needing-to-be-explored thing.

  That was a biggie.

  She crossed to the door and fiddled with the handle a few times just to be sure, but it was definitely locked. So she studied it, wondering if there was something on it only witches could see. Some clever way to open it that was invisible to normal folk. Perhaps a magical latch? Mystical button? An ensorcelled padlock? She cupped an elbow with one hand and tapped her lips with the other, thinking it over. The kind voice had seemed to think her possessing magic was a possibility. And it had seen her into this lovely gown.