Highland Games Through Time

by Nancy Lee Badger

“Wake up, witch.”

  Iona jumped to her feet and knocked the wool blankets to the floor. Inhaling a deep breath to calm her rapid-fire heartbeat, she gathered them on the bed, then turned her attention to the man on the other side of the door. No one was there.

  She walked to the door and peeked out the cell window and saw her jailer yelling into Dorcas Swann’s cell. He got no response. He fumbled with the keys opened the door, then cursed under his breath.

  Had Dorcas really vanished from a locked cell? If she had, why hadn't she helped Iona? Where did she go?

  “Where did she go?” The jailer was at her door now and he didn't look pleased. What had Dorcas told her to do?

  Right. Plead ignorance.

  “Why are you asking me? I've been asleep since you locked me in here.”

  Iona heard the key turn in the lock and stepped back. The jailer looked furious. She fingered the sgian dubh nestled in her pocket, but he grabbed her arm and shoved her out the door. Pushed up the stairs ahead of him, she entered the large hall. It was no longer empty.

  A lovely young woman paced in front of the massive fireplace. Flames licked at a tiered pile of wood. Smoke curled up through the chimney, and the smell reminded her of the condo she shared with her father. She always loved winters in New England, but the jailer at her back and Cameron’s absence only made her shiver in fear.

  I'm stronger than this. I can handle anything they throw at me.

  The woman turned then ran toward her. When she grabbed her hands, a smile lit up her face. She was barely a girl of nineteen or twenty. Her pale hair was piled high on her head and she wore a beautiful overdress of fine, light-blue muslin.

  Iona opened her mouth to protest her treatment, pulled her hands free, and pointed at the woman’s sash. It crossed over one shoulder to her waist where she attached it to her dress.

  “You're wearing the Mackenzie plaid.”

  “Aye. I be a Mackenzie by marriage. My uncle is laird of the Keith holdings. Welcome to Castle Ruadh, my lady.”

  Iona crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot on the stone floor. “You call this a welcome? Wasn't it your uncle who threw me in the dungeon?”

  The woman had the good sense to go red in the face. Maybe she wasn't as hardheaded as her uncle. Besides, maybe she'd help her find out what happened to Cameron.

  “Let me apologize for my uncle’s bad temper.”

  “And you are?”

  “Lady Fia Mackenzie. These be dangerous times. You understand.”

  “No. I don't. Why don't you explain it to me and then tell me how my…companion is. Last time I saw him he was bloody and unconscious.” Iona's voice was rising but she didn't care. If Cameron died and she couldn't find Haven she'd be stuck in the past. Alone.

  “My uncle told me about yer friend. He really is sorry he got hurt. He tried to protect ye, I hear. Is he yer man?”

  “Irrelevant. No one has the right to grab me, force me to march in the cold to a place I didn't want to go, and throw me in a cell. Not what I call neighborly.”

  “Again, I apologize. Will ye tell me who ye are?”

  Iona hesitated. Would sharing her name harm or help their campaign? She had nothing to prove her identity, except her knowledge of the Mackenzie family tree. She made a decision, lowered her arms, and straightened. She towered over the young woman, which made her bold.

  “I am Iona Mackenzie.”

  The young woman blanched, and a small squeak escaped. “Dear me, this is awful. Please, sit with me at the high table. ‘Tis time to break our fast.”

  Iona hesitated, then looked down at her muddy clothes. “You’ll have to excuse my attire.”

  Fia waved her comment off, and Iona followed her to the center table that stood on a large stone dais. Several rustic, wood chairs ran the length of one side. She hadn't noticed any of the tables or benches last night, but tears of pain and concern for Cameron might have blinded her.

  Iona sat down in the chair Fia pulled out for her, then clasped her hands together in her lap. She could feel the knife, but hoped she wouldn't have to use it.

  Fia clapped her hands. Several young women appeared with hollowed-out wood that looked more like tiny canoes. Trenchers, she recalled from the history books she frequently researched at their antique shop. Another girl strode in carrying tankards of hammered metal and another girl appeared with a pitcher.

  More ale?

  A familiar aroma surprised her as the young lady with the pitcher poured the beverage into her cup. The scent of cinnamon and apples made her salivate, and she prayed the beverage was sweeter than the bitter fruit she forced down earlier. Fia lifted her tankard to her in a kindly gesture, then took a sip. Iona followed suit.

  “ ‘Tis the cider to yer liking?”

  “It's actually very good. I didn't realize how thirsty I was,” Iona said, her thoughts returning to the dark, lonely dungeon. She wished they had put Cameron in the cell with her. “Are you going to tell me where he is?”

  Fia set her tankard on the rough table’s surface, then smoothed a loose lock of hair back behind her ear. She looked nervous, and very, very young. She might not be able to help her find Cameron.

  “My uncle is a verra powerful man. We have had a century of war battling other clans. Things had quieted down these last few weeks now that my husband and his men guard the holdings. The men who brought ye here did as they were told.”

  Angry voices drove Iona to glance toward the stairway to the dungeon. Men's voices. “I think that's my friend.”

  Half a dozen men streamed from behind the door, with Cameron bound between them. Someone had wiped the blood from his face, but his chest and clothing were damp with it. He struggled with his bonds, but stopped when he saw Iona. The men dragged him closer to the high table and Iona jumped from her chair.

  “Be ye well, lass?” The soldier closest to his right arm shoved him to his knees. He grit his teeth, then glared at the man.

  Iona's cried out, “Stop hurting him. We are guests here.”

  Fia gasped behind her, but Iona ignored everyone but the guard.

  The soldier stared at her like she was speaking a foreign language. Iona stood straighter then walked around the table and knelt beside Cameron. “I am fine. Keep quiet.”

  He nodded.

  One of the armed guards came toward her as if to pull her up right. If looks could kill, Iona gave him a death glare. He stopped, and she got to her feet. When she straightened she was taller than him.

  This wasn't a laughing matter, but the tension was so thick she thought she’d burst. How were they going to get out of this mess and find Haven?

  The man Fia referred to as her uncle strode in from another doorway, followed by a taller man with thick black hair, beard, and matching leathers. A sword hung from his belt and a sheathed dirk on the other side. His high black boots were scuffed and muddied as if he'd just come in from a long walk or ride. Could this be a long lost relative?

  The handsome man reminded her of someone. He crossed the room quickly and headed straight for Fia.

  “Marcus, my love, we have guests,” Fia said. She nodded at Iona and Cameron. Marcus brushed his lips across her smiling face then turned to look at the newcomers.

  “Cal Murchie?” Iona couldn't believe her eyes. Except for hair without the gray, and about thirty pounds lighter, he looked just like Haven’s ex-boyfriend.

  “Strange, I've heard that name before. Fia, will ye introduce me to this lovely lady and to her companion…” His voice faltered, and Iona looked to where he stared at Cameron.

  “Dragon’s teeth,” Cameron muttered.

  The sound of a sword sliding from its scabbard echoed through the room. “What in blazes is Cameron Robeson doing here?”

  CHAPTER 18

  Cameron groaned. Luck was not with him. He hurt all over, and the only comfort was the warmth of Iona's fingers as they squeezed his shoulder. Marcus Mackenzie had drawn his blade, which caused all the guards surroundin
g them to do the same.

  I am not much help to Iona with my wrists bound.

  He snuck a quick glance up at her, then trained his eyes on Marcus. The man advanced, sword held high, and crossed the room in the time it took to inhale two breaths.

  Hopefully not my last.

  “Good to see ye as well, Mackenzie. I must say, yer wife is quite beautiful.”

  The Mackenzie glared at Cameron, then switched his attention to Iona. “As is yers.”

  “Oh, we're not married. I’m Iona Mackenzie. Pleased to meet you. Untie my friend, if it's not too much trouble.” She turned on her heel and resumed her seat beside Lady Fia.

  Cameron wanted to laugh at her bold words, yet he stayed quiet. Time to play nice and get on their way. When The Mackenzie gestured to one of the guards, Cameron’s bonds were cut away and he was helped to his feet.

  Much to his surprise, he teetered. Even more surprising, The Mackenzie supported his forearm and led him to the chair beside Iona. Stifling a groan, he fell onto the hard seat.

  Iona’s hand feathered across his forehead, pushing aside his filthy hair. Concern furrowed her pale brow. Though a tankard of ale was set before him, her fragrance was all he required. She was safe, and that was all that mattered.

  “I should apologize for my Laird’s behavior, but ye know the Keith history. Obviously, ye dinna share yer identity or ye would have earned a guest bed instead of a cell.”

  “I have been away. I had no knowledge of yer current feelings toward members of the Gunn clan,” Cameron answered. The Mackenzie smiled, his lips pressed tight together. Unreassuringly, the man stared at him then spouted words Cameron had hoped to keep secret from Iona.

  “Then again, ye are no longer a member of that clan, are ye? Word is that Cameron Robeson was…banished.”

  Gasps echoed off the high ceiling, but no one spoke. A log spit in the fireplace, and Iona’s fingers clutched his shoulder. Once soothing, he now felt her silent question in her touch. He had failed to share the story of his banishment with her, and would now pay the price.

  “You’re banished? How exactly did you plan to get us into Keldurunach?” she asked, loud enough to capture Fia’s attention.

  “Ye certainly cannot be headed to Keldurunach, because that is what ye will be forfeiting. Yer head!”

  “What?” Iona squeezed his shoulder.

  Cameron groaned again. “Careful, lass. ‘Tis where the arrow hit me.”

  “Arrow? What arrow?” she said, pulling her hand away.

  “ ‘Twas before I met ye.” When he thought about it, he had known her no more than a few days. Somehow, Iona Mackenzie had gotten under his skin. If he thought back to a time when she was not part of his life, all he remembered was pain, gloom, and heartache.

  “Ye appear in Wick without food, clothes, or horses, and claim to be on yer way to Keldurunach. ‘Tis many days ride, remember.”

  “Aye, I remember. We would like nothing more than to leave here and arrive there. Will ye help us?” Cameron closed his eyes, drew in several deep breaths, and waited for his former cohort-in-crime to answer. Under The Mackenzie’s orders, his men had attacked Kirk, kidnapped Haven, killed Balfour, and shot Cameron in the back. It was more than time to right a few wrongs.

  “We can give ye food, and clothes. I suppose I could lend ye horses. Not my best, of course.”

  “Of course. Beggars can't be choosers.” Iona’s terse response made Cameron smile, and he wanted nothing more than to request a private room for the two of them.

  “Eat, drink, then ye and I shall talk in private.” The Mackenzie nodded toward Cameron, his gaze filled with the promise of a violent exchange.

  As tired and pained as Cameron felt, his thoughts swept back to the woman at his side. That he had worried all night about her, and had missed her warmth and delicate touch, meant he was getting too close to the wench.

  When she returned all her attention to Lady Fia and resumed their conversation, Cameron ate, drank, then joined The Mackenzie in his solar. Iona never glanced at him as he left the room, and he missed her attention.

  Dragon’s teeth, I am falling for her.

  When, exactly, had Haven MacKay lost his heart? Was his mission flawed? Thoughts of revenge had pushed him to return to the past. His past. His goal was simple; return to Haven, make her his, kill his cousin, and regain his life. Now that the rage had dissipated, possibly due to his attraction to Iona, his goal was less clear.

  Kirkwall Gunn deserved punishment for banishing him. Winning Haven away from him had seemed the right course. Hurt him, then kill the bastard. If he had a chance to win Iona’s heart, he'd have no need for Haven. If that happened, the only way to hurt Kirk was to kill him.

  “Robeson. Did ye hear what I said?”

  The Mackenzie had spoken to him and he hadn't heard a word.”My pardon sir. What was it ye said?”

  “Such formality? I was Marcus to ye when you stole that treasure trunk for me.”

  “Fine. What do ye want from me, Marcus?”

  “What do ye plan to find at Keldurunach? I foresee pain and possibly death, for ye and yer lady.”

  “She is not my lady.” He strode to the window overlooking the bailey. He straightened and leaned forward. Iona’s brilliant red hair, piled high upon her head, displayed her swan-like throat to his view as she walked beside Lady Fia. Their laughter was loud enough for him to hear. Even the sound of her voice made him harden like the stone walls that caged him.

  “Then I shall offer ye separate accommodations.” Marcus chuckled.

  Cameron suspected Marcus said it to irritate him. Little did he know, he would not stay away from Iona, not with the passion growing inside him for the wench.

  “Whatever ye feel is necessary, Marcus. Ye are acting the Laird, though the man be still alive. How goes that?” Irritating his host was not the best plan, but Cameron’s foul mood affected everything and everyone around him.

  “I married his only heir. I shall be laird upon his death. The men listen to me. The villagers, part of the holdings of Castle Ruadh, happen to adore me.”

  “Aye, ye shared your spoils with them.” Cameron couldn't fault the man for that. Marcus's father had disowned him. He had no home, no clan. Did he truly love Lady Fia? Or, had he married her for power? Cameron would have.

  * * *

  “Tell me more about yer travels,” Fia asked Iona, “Ye were set upon by outlaws? I would have fainted.”

  Iona laughed and hugged the young woman. “I nearly did, but wouldn't give them the satisfaction. Besides, I had to protect Cameron.”

  Their laughter echoed off the walls of the huge open area inside the castle ground. A horse whinnied, and a dog barked. The laughter of children chasing a fat, brown hen made her giggle. Laughing had a calming effect on her, as she tried hard not to worry about Cameron.

  Through the open castle gate, Iona spied a village. Yearning for a new dress and replacement footwear, she turned away. Without money or something to barter with, she was forced to wait until she saw Haven.

  “What do you suppose the men are talking about?” She'd seen the look Marcus Mackenzie had thrown Cameron. The two men had a history. Maybe Marcus could help them. He had already offered them food and horses…and clothes. “Your husband mentioned clothing.”

  “Aye, he did. I would share with ye my things, but ye are so much taller. Let us visit my friend Joan. With her height and build, similar to yers, she should have a frock ye might borrow.”

  “The problem is, I don't know if we will ever come back this way. I have no money, nor anything valuable to barter with.”

  Fia blushed and pointed to Iona's upswept hair. “Joan would love those spikes. She has the most unruly head of curls, and those spikes might be just the trick.”

  Iona’s steps faltered. Would Jake approve of her giving away his gifts? He had offered to help her and Cameron in any way, and she would hold him to his word. Exhaling a deep breath, Iona nodded.

  “Wonderf
ul,” Fia clapped her hands with childish joy. “Let us speak of other more intimate matters. How do ye know Cameron?”

  Iona swallowed and worried about what to say. She was in Cameron's world now. The truth would sound like a fable or magic, neither of which were true. Maybe mentioning Dorcas would help. Dorcas traveled through time.

  “Dorcas Swann introduced us.”

  “The witch,” Fia whispered, then pulled Iona into a darkened corner of the bailey. “She be the one who took Cameron when he was banished from Keldurunach.”

  “That’s the story I’m still waiting for Cameron to explain. I like Dorcas. She sells the best powders this side of the Mississippi.” Iona laughed at Fia’s wide-eyed expression.

  “Are ye a witch as well?” Fia paled, and Iona felt her shiver where she clutched Iona's hand.

  What she’d told her young friend wasn’t what Fia had expected to hear. “I use powders and potions for healing, same as Haven MacKay. There's no law against it, is there?”

  “Aye. Witchery is punishable by death throughout the Highlands.”

  Iona collapsed against the damp wall and gasped for breath, her rubbery legs barely holding her upright. In Scotland, in the years surrounding the end of the 16th century, they burned those suspected of witchcraft.

  How could I forget?

  She had considered discussing time travel and potions with a person from a long ago time. Iona decided right then to keep quiet about her travel plans.

  Unfortunately, Fia stared at her, then said, “Ye know Lady Haven? She lives with Kirkwall Gunn at Keldurunach. Rumor has it she is a powerful healer, but since she is to wed the Gunn Chieftain, she is safe from persecution.”

  “I'm glad to hear she's safe, but I'm not sure she should marry that man.”

  “Why not? Kirkwall is handsome, powerful and a great warrior. ‘Tis a love match I hear.”

  Fia’s words worried her. Had she got it all wrong. Was Haven happy?

  Could I have read too much into her letter?

  Too late for that. The only person that would justify Iona returning to her own time without Haven, was Haven. “I received a letter from Haven. She didn’t sound particularly happy. She also thinks she's pregnant.”