Spirit of a Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Arch Through Time Book 7)

by Katy Baker

  What the hell? It had been morning a moment ago!

  Thea pressed her hands to her temples. Did I fall and hit my head? Or am I going crazy?

  “Irene?” she shouted, turning in a slow circle and looking around. “Where are you? What the hell is going on?”

  There was no answer but the pounding of the waves. Maybe she was getting a fever. Maybe she’d hallucinated the whole episode with the stones and Irene MacAskill. That must be it. She’d be fine once she’d had a bit of rest. Time to get back to the hotel.

  She took a step but halted as she noticed something lying in the grass. It was a small, leather-bound book. Puzzled, Thea stooped and picked it up. The pages crackled as she opened it. It seemed to be a book of folk stories although she could find neither a title nor an author’s name. On the inside cover she found a note scrawled in spidery writing.

  This may help you find what you’re looking for. I.

  Shit. So she hadn’t dreamt it all. Irene really had been here. Oh hell, what was going on?

  Just get back to the hotel. Everything will make more sense once you’ve had a bath and something to eat, she told herself.

  Taking a deep breath, Thea tucked the book and her camera into her backpack and looked around for the boots she’d discarded before wading out to the stones. There was no sign of them. Thea cursed loud enough to send a startled seagull flapping into the air. Then, in bare feet, she started walking inland, climbing up the sand dunes in the direction of the car.

  But when she reached the top of the dune, she found no sign of a road and certainly no sign of her car. There was only a narrow trail that wound its way along the coastline, climbing higher as the ground rose into a cliff.

  Thea stopped. The wind was picking up, sending her hair whipping about her face and plucking at her clothes.

  Don’t panic, she told herself. The car can’t be far away. Before you know it, you’ll be back at the hotel eating one of Mrs MacGregor’s lovely lunches.

  She took out her cell phone and switched it on. Scrolling through the apps, she brought up her GPS. The screen flared to life, showing her location as a tiny dot on a map. With a sigh of relief Thea brought it closer to her face and peered at it in the gathering gloom. All she had to do was follow the map, and she’d be back at the hotel in no time.

  Then an error message suddenly flashed onto the screen. A GPS signal cannot be obtained at this time.

  “What? No! You have got to be kidding me!”

  She threw up her hands in exasperation. Just her luck that the damned weather was interfering with the satellite signal! Forcing herself to take a deep, calming breath, Thea considered her options.

  Follow the coastline, she told herself. Glenmorrow is right on the coast so if I just follow the cliffs, I’m bound to reach it eventually or at least come across someone with a phone I can borrow.

  Bolstered by this logic, Thea began walking, keeping the sea to her right, following the winding trail as it hugged the contours of the coast. As she walked the wind picked up, soon becoming a gale that whipped the sea into a swirling maelstrom of white-capped waves. Thea tied her hair back into a loose ponytail to keep it out of her face and pulled her coat tighter about her. At least it wasn’t raining. Yet. But from the look of the sky a downpour could erupt any minute. The sooner she found shelter, the better.

  The trail began to climb. To her right the shore became a sheer cliff with raging white water below. The trail ran closer to the edge than Thea would have liked but she had no choice but to keep to it or fight her way through thick clumps of heather further inland.

  The evening darkened suddenly and a crack of thunder split the sky. A moment later, a hissing torrent of rain came sheeting down, turning the world gray. With an irritated growl, Thea pulled her hood up and hunkered down in her coat, hurrying along the trail as fast as she dared. Her bare feet were filthy and freezing by now and she kept stumbling every few yards.

  A sudden shrill whinny cut through the air and she looked up just in time to see a figure from a nightmare bearing down on her.

  It was a horse, all stamping hooves, flashing eyes, and flying tail, a huge shadowy figure clinging to its back.

  Suddenly lightning lit the sky, so brightly it momentarily blinded Thea. She screamed, threw her arm in front of her face and staggered back, desperately trying to avoid the horse’s path. Her feet tangled and she staggered, slipping on the wet trail. Then suddenly there was nothing beneath her but empty air.

  A strangled scream escaped her as she fell. It lasted only a moment as her stomach tried to rise into her chest before she smacked into the freezing water with enough force to drive all the air from her lungs. Bone-chilling darkness enveloped her and a shot of pure terror exploded through her veins.

  Kick! Kick for the surface.

  She tried, but her heavy coat, so helpful in the storm, now became a millstone around her neck, dragging her down. Little lights began to dance in front of her eyes. Her lungs burned. Her limbs felt as though they were filled with lead.

  She found herself sinking down, down into darkness.

  ***

  Logan yanked Stepper to a halt so fast that the horse skidded in the mud, almost losing her footing. Before she’d even come to a stop, he threw himself from the saddle and pelted to the cliff edge.

  That had been a lass on the road! And she’d gone over the cliff!

  He studied the churning water below but it revealed no sign of her. All he could see were churning white-caps and spray. He tore off his cloak and boots, tossed them onto the grass, then took a running leap over the cliff, tipping into an expert dive. It was his fault the lass had fallen. If he’d not been riding like a mad man, he’d not have startled her so. He had to save her.

  As he hit, the water parted beneath him and he speared down into the cold depths. He clamped his lips shut and forced his eyes open. With powerful strokes he swam downwards, eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of her.

  There! Something pale glimmered in the blackness below. Logan powered towards it, kicking against the current. The pale object revealed itself into a hand and then an arm, and finally the lass herself. Her eyes were closed and her hair floated around her head like shimmering fronds of seaweed.

  Logan wrapped his arms around her waist and kicked upwards, fighting the swell of the water. The lass was a dead weight. She wore a heavy garment that tried to drag both of them down but Logan didn’t have time to try to remove it. The lass had already been in the water too long. He didn’t even know if she was still alive.

  Gritting his teeth and summoning all his reserves of strength, Logan forced his screaming muscles to fire, to propel them upwards. At last, his head broke the surface and he sucked in a great, heaving breath. Flipping the lass onto her back and doing his best to keep her head above the roiling water, he made for shore. It was difficult to keep his sense of direction. Towering black cliffs kept bobbing in and out of his view.

  Fighting the current, he trod water whilst he searched for somewhere safe they could go ashore, somewhere they wouldn’t be dashed to pieces on jagged rocks. He spotted a narrow strip of sand and a small inlet between two soaring cliffs where the water was calmer, sheltered from the worst of the gale. Logan made for it, dragging the lass behind him.

  It seemed to take an age but he finally felt solid ground beneath his feet and half-stumbled, half-crawled onto the beach, hauling the lass with him.

  He shoved her onto her side on the wet sand and thumped his palm into the space between her shoulder blades. She flopped like a landed fish but didn’t respond. He did it again, harder this time, and on the third attempt her eyes flew open, she sucked in a huge breath, and broke into a fit of coughing, water exploding from her mouth.

  Logan knelt beside her as she doubled over, retching into the sand. “Easy, lass,” he muttered. “Get it all out.”

  She hacked and gagged, coughing until her throat must be raw. Finally the coughing fit passed and she looked up at him. Her eye
s were round and huge, her hair plastered to her face, her skin as pale as bone.

  "I...I...I...” Then her eyes went to the cliff top. "My camera!" she gasped. “Where is it?”

  She had a funny way of speaking and her clothing was strange too. Under the coat she appeared to be wearing trews like a man but her feet were bare. An outlander, then, unless Logan missed his guess.

  "I dinna ken what ye mean by the word 'camera' but ye are safe now,” he said. “Do ye think ye could stand?"

  She stared at him, unblinking. "It was you!" she gasped suddenly. “You rode me down! You scared me half to death!"

  "Aye," Logan nodded, shame running through him. "Ye have my apologies, lass. I didnae expect anyone to be on the path tonight. Not in this. Where are yer kin? I should get ye back to them so they can take ye home."

  "My kin? A long way from here. But I'm staying in a hotel just down the coast. Could I borrow your phone? I could call a cab. Or, failing that, I reckon Mr MacGregor would come get me if he knew I was out here."

  Her stream of words left Logan baffled. Hotel? Phone? Cab? What on Earth was she going on about? "Listen, lass, I will take ye back to the trail. From there we'll see if we can find yer folks. Let's start by getting to the top of the cliff. Can ye stand?"

  She nodded, pushed herself into a kneeling position, then up to standing. Logan took hold of her forearm and she gripped his arm fiercely in return, her legs splayed like a newborn deer as she fought for balance.

  "Thanks," she muttered. "For saving my life. Even if it was your fault in the first place." She looked up, met his gaze, and Logan was suddenly struck by her beauty. She had high cheekbones, a scattering of freckles across her nose and striking green eyes the color of spring leaves. Hair as dark as a raven’s wing fell down her back.

  "Ye are welcome," he said gravely.

  She nodded but then stumbled. Logan caught her. Her eyes fluttered closed and her head lolled on her neck. Pressing his palm against her forehead, Logan realized her skin felt like ice. Ah, curse it all. The lass needed shelter and warmth— and quickly. He bent his knees and lifted her, clasping her to his chest as he hurried to a narrow trail that led up the cliff.

  It was a difficult climb on the rocky trail and Logan had to stop and regain his balance several times for fear he might stumble and drop the lass, but he drove himself onward, fear for her adding urgency to his climb.

  Finally he stepped over the brink and found Stepper waiting at the top, watching Logan with ears pricked. By Stepper's feet was a black bag with shoulder straps. Was this the 'camera' she’d asked about? He carried the lass over to Stepper’s saddle then bent to pick up the bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He turned in a circle, eyes scanning the storm-lashed landscape, searching for any sign of her folks or for any clue of where she might have come from.

  He saw not another soul but he could pass within ten feet of someone and not see them in this driving rain. He hesitated. He had to get her indoors and properly dry and warm but the only dwelling nearby was his own. Dare he take her there?

  What choice do ye have? he asked himself. Ye canna leave her here.

  With one last glance at the churning ocean, he swung up behind her and then levered her into a sitting position in the saddle. She slumped against him, semi-conscious, as Logan reached around her to take the reins. He only hoped he could keep her in the saddle and guide the horse at the same time. He nudged Stepper into motion, man and beast forging a path through the howling gale.

  His cottage lay only a few miles distant but the journey seemed to take forever. Finally he spotted the croft in the distance, half-obscured by the gray curtains of rain. The tiny, a one-roomed stone cottage with a thatched roof and a low stone wall encircling the yard, was a welcome sight. His smithy and a stable completed the simple croft. It was a humble home, a blacksmith's home, so far removed from what he'd once known. Nevertheless, he was mighty grateful to be back.

  He rode Stepper through the yard and right up to the door of the cottage where he dismounted and carefully lifted the lass down from the saddle. She didn't stir as he kicked the door open and carried her inside. He'd banked the fire before he left and the coals were still glowing, sending a delicious warmth through the room that felt wonderful after the freezing rain. He laid her down on the hearth rug and then threw in chunks of wood until the fire was blazing merrily.

  He shook her gently. "Wake up, lass. Ye must get out of those wet clothes before ye catch a chill."

  She stirred and her eyes flickered open. “Wassup?”

  “Yer clothes, lass. Ye must take them off. Here, put this on instead.” He handed her one of his old plaids.

  She took it. “Yeah. Clothes. Gotcha.”

  He turned his back whilst she undressed. When she’d finished, he turned around to find her clothes in a pile, and the lass wrapped in his plaid, already asleep on the rug. He dragged the pillow and blanket from his bed, wedged the pillow under her head and laid the blanket carefully over her, tucking it in so that no cold air could get underneath.

  Then he stood. The shutters on the windows rattled and wind howled down the chimney. He didn't relish the thought of going out into that maelstrom but he had to see to Stepper and besides, he'd tarried near the lass too long. Being this close to her put her in grave danger. His curse would see to that. He had to get away from her. For both their sakes.

  Wrapping his cloak tight around him, he yanked open the rickety door of his cottage and stepped out into the storm. It was raging now. The rain was so thick he could barely see his hand in front of his face and the wind howled like a tormented spirit, full of rage and spite. There was no sign of Stepper and Logan knew she would have taken herself to the stable where it was safe and warn. Gritting his teeth, he pulled in a breath and dashed across the yard.

  Sure enough, he found Stepper, still saddled and bridled, in the stable, munching hay from the manger. She turned to look at him as he entered, giving a snort of greeting.

  "Ye are warmer and drier than me by the looks of ye," Logan muttered as he removed her saddle and hung it on a peg.

  He brushed out her coat before adding some oats to a wooden bucket. The warrior in him would always see to his horse before himself just as his father had taught him all those years ago. When Stepper was settled, he ducked back out into the storm and crossed the yard to his smithy.

  The lean-to building, open on all sides for ventilation and to reduce the risk of fire, was drafty and cold but at least the thick roof kept off the rain. The forge sat cold and dark in the center of the building but he quickly stoked it to life. When he had a spark going he went to work with the bellows until the coals began to glow white-hot, sending out a blessed blanket of heat that slowly began to thaw out his freezing muscles.

  Gingerly he stripped off his sodden clothing and dropped it in a heap in the corner then pulled on the rough smock he used when working the forge. The material was thin and patched in a dozen places but at least it was dry.

  He banked the forge so that its coals would hold their heat through the night then hunkered down next to it, his back to the warm stones. Outside the storm raged, the wind sounding like cruel laughter. It had been a most unsettling day. First meeting Irene MacAskill on the road then saving a strange lass from the sea. Who was she? Where had she come from? And were the two connected somehow?

  Yer choice is still to be made, lad, and it is coming. If ye have the courage to seize it, things may yet be different. There is always hope. The old woman’s words echoed in his head.

  Dinna be stupid, he told himself. Just meaningless ramblings. The lass is just a lost traveler, naught more. Go to sleep.

  He screwed his eyes closed and tried to shut out the scream of the wind. Soon he fell into a fitful sleep where he saw dark waters, a standing stone, and a beautiful woman with green eyes watching him.

  Chapter 4

  Thea opened her eyes slowly. They were gummy with sleep and as she reached up to wipe them she realized she was tangle
d in a thick blanket. She fought her arm free, wiped her eyes, and then propped herself up on her elbows. It took a moment for her sleep-addled brain to take in her surroundings. She was lying by a hearth with a fire died down to embers. There was nobody else in the room.

  Looking around slowly, she spotted her coat hanging on a peg on the back of the door. She frowned, trying to figure out the significance of that. How the hell had she ended up undressed?

  She threw back the blanket in a panic then paused as she saw she was actually wearing some kind of long tartan wrap and had leather moccasins on her feet.

  What the hell?

  She frowned, trying to piece together her fractured memories. She’d been walking, hadn’t she? Walking along a cliff because she’d gotten lost and couldn’t find the car. Then a storm had swept in, a horse had been bearing down on her and...

  “Oh, my god!” she gasped. “I fell over the cliff!”

  A dark memory of freezing, grasping water filled her mind. She remembered sinking, her lungs burning, her limbs flailing, so certain she was going to die...

  And then strong hands grabbing her, pulling her back towards the light. Someone’s body heat warming her as she was carried gently. And then...waking up here by the fire.

  Carefully, Thea climbed to her feet. A wave of dizziness washed through her and she staggered before catching herself on the mantelpiece. Reaching up, she placed a hand on the back of her head and felt a large lump there. So. She’d hit her head. No wonder, with the ground so slippery and all those rain-slick rocks lashed by the storm.

  The storm. Yes, there had been a storm. A wild one.

  She paused, listening. There was no howl of the wind, no patter of rain on the roof. All appeared still and by the light coming in through the shutters, she guessed it was early morning.