Highland Savior

by Sarah Hoss

  Table of Contents

  HIGHLAND SAVIOR

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  HIGHLAND SAVIOR

  SARAH HOSS

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  HIGHLAND SAVIOR

  Copyright©2015

  SARAH HOSS

  Cover Design by Rae Monet, Inc.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN: 978-1-61935-862-1

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  I would like to dedicate this book to

  Diana Gabaldon who got me hooked on

  Scottish time travel in the first place.

  Thank you.

  Acknowledgements

  There is always a group of people that make my writing easier, better, and fun. I would like to say a hearty THANK YOU to: Lizzie Walker, Melissa Stark, Dawn Marie Hamilton, and Celtic Critters.

  To my editor, Cindy Brannam, for all that it takes to get this book to its final stages.

  To my cover designer, Rae Monet, for another beautiful cover.

  To my beta readers, Elaina Jacot and Sara Hardesty. Thank you both for such honest opinions and for enjoying my stories.

  To Marilyn Wigglesworth for the spell.

  Cherokee Dictionary

  O-si-yo (oh-see-yo) means Hello

  E-do-da (eh-doh-dah) means father

  A-yo-li (ah-yo-lee) means child

  Gvgeyuhi (guh-gay-you-he) means I love you

  Chapter 1

  Olde City, Pennsylvania.

  October 30, 2012

  “Hey there, tiger, slow down.” Gillian put her hands on the drunken man’s shoulders to steady him, then took a step back. After he bumped into her, the man’s crooked smile seemed genuinely sorry. His clothes smelled as if he’d taken a bath in cheap whiskey and his breath reeked of cigarettes. Her stomach turned. Then she watched as his eyes roamed dard and feasted on her breasts. He reached out to fondle her and she swatted his hand away.

  Her best friend’s fiancé, Anthony, approached. “Is everything all right here?” His glaring eyes fastened on the man. The drunk quickly lost his smile and hurried away.

  “Yeah, it’s no big deal.”

  Tara approached, holding out Gillian’s purse and shawl. “Are you sure we can’t have the bartender call you a cab? I don’t like you walking the streets of Olde City at night by yourself. I’d feel much better about it.”

  Gillian smiled and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. “No, really. I’ll be fine. It’s a half-block to the corner. I can wave down a cab from there.”

  Anthony stood behind Tara, wrapped his arms around her waist, and laid his chin on her shoulder. “I should stand with you, then.”

  She gently patted his cheek. “You’re sweet. I love ya. But no!” She appreciated chivalry but she also prided herself in being a strong, self-sufficient woman. Surely, nothing could go wrong in such a short amount of time.

  Anthony’s eyes flared. “You really shouldn’t—”

  Gillian raised her hand and cut him off. “Listen, cabs are up and down this street all the time and you know it. It’s your engagement party and everyone is gone, so go spend some time together alone. I’ll be fine.”

  Kissing them both on the cheek, Gillian pivoted and quickly left the bar before they could protest.

  A slight breeze ruffled the hemline of her short skirt. Tugging the shawl a little tighter, she walked to the curb to hail a cab. After a few minutes, there still wasn’t a single car in sight. The sidewalks were a light gray with a darker gray diamond on the middle of every other square. She was in Olde City, where the streets were smaller and a little darker. All of the houses along the road were sitting side-by-side and made of brick. Across the alley from the bar was a small mom and pop grocery store.

  The Mystic Bar was a small tavern owned by Tara’s uncle, which is why the engagement party was held there instead of downtown Philly. The front was painted a light blue and had five overhead lights shining down to give it a mysterious appearance.

  She decided she might have better luck at the other end of the street and began to stroll to the corner, crossing over the alley, where the red street lamps gave off their brightest light.

  In the middle of October, the days could be warm, but evenings became chillier. The night was pitch black, coupled with a breeze that swirled about, plastering her hair to her cheek. Trash blew down the street as if in a race to see who could get to the corner first. A piece of paper stuck to her leg and she peeled it off, then jogged over to the trash can. Her eyes danced back and forth, keeping a lookout for anything out of the ordinary.

  A Taxi cab stopped at a red light, so she jogged to the corner and crossed the street.

  The driver rolled down his window. “Sorry miss, but I’m full.” She sighed and thanked him. After he pulled away, she crossed back over and waited as she glanced down the street in both directions for another one. Five minutes later, another cab approached. She raised her hand to get his attention. He stopped in the middle of the road and rolled down his window. “Off duty,” he said and pulled away.

  Time dragged by. She was starting to get spooked by the unusual quietness of the cold night and grew increasingly eager to get home and hide away in her bed. Grabbing her cell phone, she dialed and reached a cab service.

  “We’ll have a cab to you in a few minutes. We have one nearby.”

  “Great, I’ll be waiting in front of The Mystic,” she said as her battery died. “Shit.” She shook the p
hone as if that could make it work again. She prayed they had enough information. Placing the dead phone in her purse, she began to walk back toward the bar.

  Loud shouts grabbed her attention. She stared forward, trying to ignore the fighting. A woman’s scream echoed from the alleyway, sending a shiver up her back, making the hair at the nape of her neck stand up.

  A man yelled on the top of his lungs; something about her never doing it again. How he’d trusted her and he was a fool, that all women were the same. The crying woman pleaded.

  Gillian stopped and searched the streets in both directions, praying the cab would come soon. She heard a slap, then another. She would have to cross the alley to get back to the bar and she stopped, not sure what to do. She had no desire to be stuck outside, listening to a man beat his girlfriend. Once inside the bar, she could tell someone and they could come and help her. Rat bastard deserved a little taste of what he was dishing out.

  Her lips puckered and she blew out a long silent breath, trying desperately to steady her nerves. She walked on her tip toes, slowly approaching the alley. Her heart raced. Silently, she said a prayer asking to not be seen. Panic coursed through her veins like ice and she shivered.

  She stood immobile with her toes touching the edge of the alley as she listened to the man’s degrading words. The woman’s sobbing gripped her heart and squeezed. She should do something, but what? She was no match against the brute. She had to get into the bar. The safest route was to cross the street, walk down a block, then cross back over. The fastest, was to cross the alley.

  Staring straight ahead, she made it halfway across when a gunshot pierced the night air and broke her resolve. She stopped, covered her ears and bowed her head. Instinct told her to run but she couldn’t help peeking down the alley. The woman slid to the ground and fell hard on the cement. She didn’t move. Gillian willed her feet to go, but they had a mind of their own. The man stood still as he watched the woman collapse, the gun held tight in his hand at his side. Gillian’s entire body shook and she dropped her purse.

  She screamed, then bit down on her fist to stifle the sound. The man turned toward her. Time seemed to slow down.

  The lighting wasn’t the best and she couldn’t make out a lot of details, but he was tall.

  He stepped toward her as she unconsciously took a step back, kicking her purse, and she bent over to pick it up. She turned to run, then her heel caught in the sewer grate, causing her to fall and lose her shoe. She was vaguely aware of a plastic bag as it blew down the street like tumbleweed. A street lamp flashed on and off at the corner. Faint music played from within the tavern. She was aware of the searing pain that shot through her knee and elbow and the overwhelming desire to get up and run into the bar. She scrambled to her feet, stumbling awkwardly with only one heel.

  Before she’d taken two steps, he reached her and grabbed her arm. “Come here, bitch.” His words came out in a tone just above a whisper. It was creepy and grated against her nerves. He pulled her back into the edge of the alley.

  Gillian was frozen in place. All of his attention stayed focused on her. The gun was still in his hand. She willed her mind to work and tried to slow her breathing before she hyperventilated. She needed to come up with a plan for escape. She turned quickly to look out into the street. People came in and out of the bar all the time, why didn’t someone come now? There were no cars, no nothing. Was the night conspiring against her?

  He grabbed her by the arms, forcefully pulling her against his chest. She struggled but he was too strong.

  “Let me go!” she screamed.

  “You saw, didn’t you, blackbird?” His hot breath stung her ear. It reeked of whiskey. Bile rose in her throat as he fisted his hand into her hair and forced her to stare at him.

  She swallowed. “No, sir. I swear I didn’t.” Tears danced in her lashes, then fell down her cheeks at the pain of her hair being pulled.

  “Bullshit.”

  Spittle flew against her face as he spat his angry words. A car roared around the corner and she stole a glance. Her taxi. Here was her chance to get away before this turned uglier than it already was.

  After sucking in a breath of courage, she yelled, “Go to hell!” then brought her knee up hard against his crotch, dropping him to the ground. His ring caught in her hair as he grabbed his injured manhood, causing her to jerk backward for a second. She spun on her feet, tearing her panty hose and ran for the taxi.

  A gunshot echoed in the night for a second time. The bullet hit the decorative street lamp above her head, making a funny tinging noise. She reached the car just as another shot rang through the air, striking the back window of the car. Glass shattered and she ducked down into the seat.

  “Drive me to Bradford Place Apartments,” she hollered as the driver was already putting the car into gear. As he dialed 911, she clutched her purse to her chest and cried. All she wanted to do was lock herself away in her apartment forever.

  The cab sped away as the words of the man trailed her. “I will find you!”

  Chapter 2

  Newtonmore, Scotland.

  October 31, 1706

  “Doona walk away from me!” Archibald Murdock hollered.

  Hamish Macpherson stopped and slowly turned around. All of his anger pooled in the pit of his stomach. He was done arguing with the Murdock brothers and he’d be damned if he’d let one of them tell him what to do. He stalked toward Archibald with purpose in his steps. Fergus stood ready next to his brother as if he expected an attack.

  “This is finished,” Hamish gritted out. “I willna talk to ye about it again.” He slapped at his thigh in aggravation. “For bride’s sake, it’s been three years.” He turned away for a second and shook his head. Focusing back on the men, he added, “We’ve spoken to the Chief and the land is mine. I didna take it from ye. If ye have anything else to say about the matter, take it up with him. I am finished,” he said, pointing his finger in Archibald’s face.

  As he turned around to leave, Archibald grabbed his arm. The movement jerked him back a little. He whirled about to find a knife in the man’s hand.

  “Ye had better use that thing properly,” Hamish said as he reached into his belt and pulled out his own dagger. “Because I will.” He stood ready against the threat.

  Archibald let go of his arm as his knifed-hand thrust through the air toward his ribs; Hamish scooted to the left, out of the way. The action was repeated, and he dodged a near hit. As another swipe of the knife came in his direction, he caught Archibald’s arm, twisted it behind his back, bringing him forcefully against his chest. He raised his dagger and held it to his attacker’s throat.

  “Not verra smart, are ye?” Hamish breathed deeply, only to cough. The stench of his enemy penetrated his nostrils. He breathed through his mouth.

  Hamish heard a noise off to the side of him and instinct took over when he didn’t see Fergus anywhere in front of him. He swung his knifed hand through the air. He felt the hard thump when he made contact. Pushing Archibald away, he turned to see he’d slit Fergus’s throat. He’d been much closer then he’d thought.

  Archibald growled a mighty sound, his face red and distorted with anguish as he ran toward his brother. Hamish stumbled back a few steps. When he came out to confront these men, he hadn’t meant for it to end this way. Every family rented their land from the Chief. No one owned their own property. His parcel bordered the brother’s and because he was a part of the Chief’s army, he paid less rent then other families. It was a part of his pay. They resented him because of it.

  “We only summoned ye here with the intent to speak to ye, but ye wanted to kill us. Well, ye succeeded.” Archibald sank to the ground with his brother in his arms, rocking back and forth. Tears streamed down his face as he brushed the hair out of Fergus’s eyes and closed them.

  He tried to reach out to Archib
ald. “Nay. Ye have to believe that it wasn’t my intent at all. Fergus would still be alive if he hadna snuck up on me.” His hand was smacked away.

  “He was trying to protect me. Ye were gonna kill me, too.”

  “Ye know that to be a lie.” He stood staring, unable to believe the events that had transpired. He never meant to harm anyone. He should have found a way to control the situation.

  “I’m verra sorry,” he said and walked away. He needed to get out of there and quick. Ride straight for the castle and inform Cluny, his chief, of what had happened. He grabbed the horse’s mane and swung up on his back. One more look at the brothers sitting on the ground made his heart sink. He should never have come here. The brothers were too angry and greedy. There should have been some thought in the back of his mind that something bad could happen.

  He turned Sabastian around and gave him a good kick. The horse took off.

  “Run, ye bastard! Ye had better watch yer back. I’ll get ye when ye least expect it!” Archibald hollered.

  Hamish reined his horse to a halt in front of the stables, followed by two of his men. Swinging his leg over, he jumped down from Sabastian and dust flew from his clothes as he landed. He patted his kilt and shirt but only managed to create a bigger dust cloud. His tired body ached for a warm bath and a stiff drink. They’d been gone for a week, checking each crofter to be sure that everyone fared well.

  The stable boy appeared with a smile on his face as he eagerly reached for the horse’s reins.