by B. J. Scott
“It willna be easy, but I have faith your love will find a way to triumph,” Beatha said. “Gweneth was headed to MacQuin Castle when last I saw her, but there is no telling what has transpired since her arrival. The only way to know is for you to go there. Time is of the essence, so you must make haste,” Beatha said. “But you may need others to help you with the task of securing her freedom.”
It was bad enough that he had to locate Gwen and figure out a way to get her back safely, but he had no idea where he’d find anyone to help him. “Since I don’t know a soul here, I haven’t got a clue who to ask.”
“Start your search for her where it all began and go from there. But be warned, it is na a good idea to let anyone know your true identity or that you are from the future. Doing so will likely get you thrown in the pit or tried as a witch.”
“That could be a lot easier said than done,” Kyle said.
“Use your wits, lad. You are dressed like a Highlander from this period and must act the part. I have a strong feeling that willna be a problem, given the unfortunate demise of Caol MacKay. The family is expecting him to arrive any day, which is now impossible, given his fate. You however can take his place and elicit the help of your clan to rescue Gweneth.”
“Are you sure I can pull it off? I don’t know much about Highland life in medieval times and my Gaelic is rudimentary at best. If not for my grandparents teaching me some, I wouldn’t understand a word of it.”
“I’ve no doubt you will do just fine. If you hadn’t noticed we have been conversing in Gaelic since you arrived in the fourteenth century. Your words are Gaelic, but you hear them in English.”
“That’s impossible.”
Beatha raised a brow and grinned. “Is it? You must learn to trust me. You can pass for Caol MacKay and no one will know, unless you tell them otherwise.” Beatha again rose and moved in the direction of the destrier that stood at the edge of the clearing, nibbling on shoots of grass. “Ride north and you will come to MacKay Castle. Enter as if you are expected and belong there. You may have to dodge a few questions and make up some answers, but you will do fine,” she reassured him. “You will then need to befriend several of the clan warriors and ask your uncle’s permission to go to MacQuin Castle on urgent business. Once there, you will find out what has happened to Gweneth since her arrival.”
“Will you be there, at either MacKay or MacQuin Castle to tell me what to do next?” Kyle asked, but got no reply. He turned full circle, searching for Beatha, but she was gone. Frustrated and still unsure he could pull this off, he climbed atop the horse and picked up the reins. “Well, big fella, looks like it’s you and me.” He cast an eye over his surroundings and once he had his bearings, dug his heels into the horse’s sides and the beast took off running.
He hadn’t been atop a horse in a while, yet he felt very much at home in the saddle. “Four years on the University polo team has to account for something,” he chuckled. Gwen’s parents owned a horse ranch in the Shenandoah Valley, but in the year they’d dated, they hadn’t gone for a ride. That was something he planned to rectify when they got back to the twenty-first century. He hoped.
Uncertain how far he had to go to reach MacKay Castle, Kyle pushed the horse to its limits. Time was of the essence if he hoped to rescue Gwen, so he raced north over what seemed like miles of rough rocky terrain, heather dotted meadow, and at times up steep inclines. Finally in the distance he spotted what looked like a castle looming on the horizon. He slowed his mount to a walk, giving the animal a chance to breathe, while trying to figure out the odds of it being the MacKay stronghold. But he soon had his answer when two burly warriors on horseback came out of a copse of trees, charging toward him at break-neck speed with swords drawn.
Kyle reined in his horse and swallowed hard against the lump of fear blocking his ability to breathe. He was by no means a coward, but these two barbarians were the largest, most threatening looking men he’d ever seen, and he was no fool. Dressed in their chainmail and medieval attire, their long hair flying wildly in the wind, they raced forward, stopping only a few feet away from him.
“State your business,” the one with red hair growled, then slid from the saddle and lumbered toward Kyle’s horse, with a claymore in hand.
Kyle eyed the man and fingered the hilt of the sword that hung at his side. He’d done some fencing in his day, was actually quite good, but something told him this opponent would not be following the FIE rules of no contact. He gulped as he took in the size and length of the claymore. The thing must have weighed a ton, yet the man wielded it like it was a feather. The weapon was a far cry from the foils he’d used in competition and looked twice as deadly. Rather than confront the man, Kyle slowly raised his hands in the air as a show of non-combatence. “Hold on, man, I pose you no threat.”
The warrior didn’t respond and trudged closer, then, much to Kyle’s surprise, came to an abrupt halt and lowered his blade as a broad grin crossed his face.
“Caol. Is that you cousin? It has been so long since I saw you. If na for the MacKay crest engraved on your saddle, I might na have recognize you.”
Kyle coughed to clear his throat. “I am Caol MacKay.”
Without warning the mountain of a man hauled Kyle from the saddle in one swift move and slammed him against his chest, hugging so tight, Kyle thought he might crush his lungs. He wriggled to get free of the man’s hold, but to no avail, so he decided it best to wait it out and prayed the man would release him before he blacked out from lack of oxygen.
Finally, the warrior released his hold and took a step back. “You have changed since you were a lad.” When Kyle didn’t answer, the man’s brow furrowed. “I’m your cousin Blair, do you na recognize me either?”
Pangs of guilt tugged at Kyle’s gut. He knew he should tell Blair MacKay what happened to his cousin, that he was not who he thought he was, but Beatha told him he needed to befriend the members of clan if he wanted them to help in the rescue.
Blair frowned. “What’s the matter, cousin? Has the cat got your tongue?”
Kyle sucked in a deep breath of air, then answered. “Of course I remember you, but you’ve also changed.” Since he’d never met the man, he really wasn’t lying.
Blair slung his arm across Kyle’s shoulders, then spun him around to face the other man—who was now approaching on horseback at a much slower pace. “It’s Caol, brother. Come say hello.” He then addressed Kyle again. “If you think I’ve changed, wait until you see Rory. He’s no longer the thin, freckle-faced lad he was when we visited your da’s stronghold when we were lads.
Kyle’s eyes widened as the man dismounted and lumbered towards them. He had to stand at least six-foot-five and must have carried close to three hundred pounds of solid muscle. There was nothing scrawny about this man. As he stood beside his brother, the two men towered over Kyle. At six-one, he’d considered himself tall, but now felt dwarfed.
Rory stuck out his hand. “Welcome, cousin. We expected you a few days ago and thought mayhap you’d run into trouble.”
Kyle extended his hand, but was surprised when Rory grasped his wrist instead, gave it a shake, then pulled him into a tight embrace.
Fortunately for Kyle, Rory wasn’t as amorous as his brother, and released him before he felt faint. “It’s great to see you both again. And you are right, Blair, it has been a long time.”
“You never said what kept you,” Rory said, then paused to study Kyle as he waited for an answer.
Sweat beaded on Kyle’s brow and palms as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He had to come up with an answer, but found himself at a loss for words. He got a reprieve when Blair once again snaked his large arm around his shoulders.
“If I were to wager a guess, I’d say he was probably waylaid by a comely lass. Look at the man.” He pinched Kyle’s face between his thumb and forefinger, then turned his chin so he faced Rory. “Have you ever seen a prettier lad? I’ll bet he fights the lassies off with a stick and does
na go to bed alone most nights. I’d even lay odds he doesna have to pay them to lift their skirts.” He released his hold, then slapped Kyle on the back so hard, he almost knocked him off his feet. “Am I right?”
“I’ve been known to bed a willing wench or two,” Kyle said, while doing his best to sound confident.
“Nothing like a warm, wanton woman beneath the plaid,” Blair said laughing.
Rory’s brow furrowed. “He must take after his mam, because he’s certainly doesna look like a MacKay, and still hasna explained what kept him,” Rory remarked, then dragged his fingers through his dishevel locks. “And what happened to your hair cousin?”
Kyle hadn’t thought about his short cropped hair appearing out of place. “Lice.” It was the first thing that came to mind.
“Dinna badger the man with questions, Rory. He’s here now, so best we get back to the castle and let da know he’s arrived. Mount up.” Blair threw his leg over his horse’s back and dragged himself aboard. He stared down at Kyle. “What are you waiting for? Climb on and lets be away.” He waited for his brother and Kyle to mount up, before giving the command, “Let’s ride.”
Relieved that he’d managed to fool the two brothers into thinking he was Caol MacKay, Kyle wondered if their father be as easy to convince. As soon as they entered the bailey of the MacKay stronghold and saw Laird MacKay on the steps of the keep, his doubts increased.
The tall burly man with flaming red hair stood with his thick arms crossed over his broad chest. No introduction was necessary as Kyle knew who it was the minute he saw the imposing man.
“Who is this?” MacKay demanded as he descended the steps.”
Chapter Eleven
Laird MacKay stood at the bottom of the steps, pointing his finger at Kyle. “Blair, Rory, I will ask you lads again, who is this man?”
Blair spoke up first. “Our cousin, Caol, Father. Surely you recognize your brother’s son.”
The laird’s brow furrowed as his scrutiny intensified, but he remained silent.
Unable to stand the uncomfortable silence any longer, Kyle dismounted, stood beside Blair, then bowed. “I was but a lad when we last saw each other, Uncle. I’m not surprised you don’t know me. My cousins and I were just talking about how much we’ve all changed since we were lads. What has it been, twenty summers?” Kyle drew on facts he’d picked up during the conversation he’d had with Blair and Rory when they first met. He hoped the information he’d learned would be enough convince the laird he was who he claimed, but given the man’s scowl, he had his doubts.
“He favors his mam more than his da,” Rory said, then slapped Kyle on the back. “Comelier too.”
“We expected you to arrive days ago. What kept you?” the laird asked.
“I fell prey to a band of thieves,” Kyle said without thinking. “They took my horse, hit me over the head, and left me for dead, but you can see I survived. I laid low for a couple of days, then snuck into their encampment and took back my mount.” The words came so easily, he almost believed he was telling the truth.
“You were fortunate the blow wasna fatal,” the laird said.
“I may look like my mam, but my father has been telling me since I was a lad that I have the hard skull of a MacKay,” Kyle replied.
The laird hesitated for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed. “A true MacKay. Come, ale and fine food await.” He motioned for Kyle to join him, then turned and entered the castle.
Blair pushed by him and raced up the steps with his brother on his heel. “You dinna have to tell me twice,” he declared, then flung open the castle door.
Before joining the laird and his sons, Kyle took a moment to check out his surroundings. Things happened so quickly with Beatha and when the MacKay brothers intercepted him on his way to the stronghold, that he hadn’t taken time to let what was happening to him sink in. He paused to take in the sights, smells and sounds of medieval Scotland. Believe it or not, he was in 1305. Now he had to find Gwen before it was too late.
“Are you coming, cousin? Dinna fash about your mount, one of the squires will see to him,” Rory shouted. “Make haste, we are anxious to hear how the battles are going against the English.”
Kyle hesitated. An avid history buff, he remembered reading that the MacKay Clan supported the efforts of Robert the Bruce after 1306 when he crowned himself king and tried to liberate Scotland from British tyranny during the war for independence. But he wasn’t sure he could hold his own in a conversation where he was supposed to have witnessed the battles firsthand.
“There’ll be plenty of time to catch up on the conflict once Caol has had something to eat and drink,” the laird said. “After that, you can show him to his chamber. He’s had a long journey, so I am sure he will welcome a good night’s sleep.”
“I am tired.” As Kyle brought a hand to his lips and stifled a yawn, his stomach rumbled. It had to be at least twenty-four hours since he’d eaten, so he couldn’t pass up a meal, but he hoped to keep the conversations about the war to a minimum. He wished Beatha had told him more about the MacKays and the reason Caol was visiting, but he’d have to bluff his way through. He’d managed to fool them so far, but wasn’t sure how long his luck would hold out.
“You must be starving,” Blair said. “Cook makes a great leg of mutton.”
“I would fancy something to eat and drink before I retire for the night.” Kyle followed them into the great hall, quickly noticing the dais was already set with pewter mugs, wooden trenchers, jugs of spirits and platters piled high with food—the succulent aroma of roasted meat filling his nostrils.
“Come sit beside me.” The laird took a seat located in the middle of the dais and pointed to the empty one next to him.
As soon as Kyle sat, a wooden trencher was thrust in front of him. “Eat up. I am assuming along with the thick skull you have the MacKay men’s hearty appetite.” He speared a slab of meat and put it on Kyle’s plate, followed by turnips, greens and a chunk of bannock.
“Tell us of the war,” Blair said with his mouth full. “Were you there when the bastards executed William Wallace?” He slammed his balled fist on the table with such force, he knocked over his tankard of ale.
Kyle almost chocked on the food in his mouth, chewed quickly, and swallowed. He wasn’t sure how to answer, since he had no idea if Caol was there or not. He knew from his studies that from 1298 to 1305 Wallace championed the Scottish cause against the English, but was captured following a battle in 1305, then tortured and executed, his body parts sent to the four corners of Scotland and his head displayed on a pike.
“I’ve heard tell Robert the Bruce and some of the other so-called Scottish nobles could have done something to stop it, but instead they kissed Longshanks’ arse, hoping to be named the next king of Scotland,” Rory grumbled, then shoved a piece of bannock into his mouth.
“If you ask me, they should all be stripped of their land and titles, then drawn and quartered for betraying their own.” Blair retrieved his empty tankard and refilled it with ale. “Any Scot who sides with Longshanks doesna deserve to live.”
“It was a sad day when Wallace met his end, not only for him, but for Scotland as well,” Kyle finally said. “But we must have faith, believe that those who currently endorse King Edward will see the error of their ways and support the Scottish cause.”
He knew that in the spring of 1306, Robert the Bruce would be accused of killing, Red Comyn, a descendent of the former King John Balliol, and his strongest opponent for the crown. After declaring himself King, the Bruce would switch sides and eventually be viewed as a Scottish hero and not a traitor. But that wasn’t going to happen until almost a year from now, so Kyle kept the knowledge to himself.
“You have more faith in the nobles than I do, lad, but that is another way you are like your da. My brother has always tried to see the good in the buggers, where I have been able to look right through them and see their greed. They get richer, while the people of Scotland grow poorer
. When Longshanks decided to assimilate our nation, it only took him nine weeks to accomplish the task. Something that would never have happened if our leaders had the courage to fight back from the start.”
“I envy you having been in the thick of battle against the English, cousin,” Blair said. “I told da I planned to join the cause the next time reinforcements are called upon.”
“War is never a good thing,” Kyle said. He could speak from experience, having served in Afghanistan for three years in the medical corps. “I wouldn’t be in a hurry to enlist if I were you.”
“Enlist?” Blair raised a brow.
“Join the cause,” Kyle clarified, upon realizing he’d used a modern term these men would not understand. “Good men die and so do innocent women and children. There is no glory in killing and plundering.” Suddenly losing his appetite, Kyle shoved the trencher across the table and rose. “I am exhausted and would appreciate it if someone could show me where to sleep.”
In truth, he wanted to go straight to MacQuin Castle and find Gwen, but he was no good to her or anyone else if he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Besides, Beatha said he’d need assistance, and he figured Rory and Blair could prove to be of help. He just hoped he could come up with a plausible excuse to go to MacQuin Castle and find Gwen before it was too late.
~ * ~
Gwen shifted in the saddle. After countless hours atop the horse, her back was stiff, her legs and bottom numb, but she’d not admit it to her escorts. An avid horsewoman, she was accustomed to long rides, but this had turned out to be ten hours in the saddle with only one stop to tend to her needs. That was enough to push her to her limit. They even ate and drank—what little they’d consumed—while riding.
As the sun began to set, dread replaced the hunger tugging at her belly. She was in no rush to arrive at Gower Castle, but didn’t want to spend the night alone with these brutes either. Given the way they ogled her, watched her every move, she believed that regardless of Damen’s warning to see she arrived untouched, if they were to make camp, satiating their own carnal needs would take precedence if the opportunity arose.