Highland Games Through Time

by Nancy Lee Badger

“Yer wanted in the great hall.”

  Growling, he followed the guard down the tower stairs. With Iona’s wrist caught in his hand, she skipped down the stairway behind him. A giggle or two echoed off the stones until he stopped, turned, and said, “Quiet, lass.”

  As if the others will not guess what we were up to.

  They sat beside Marcus and Fia. He groaned when candlelight clearly showed Iona’s flushed cheeks.

  “ ‘Tis cold on top of the tower,” Cameron answered the unspoken question.

  “Aye, and I suspect I know how he kept ye warm,” Marcus said to Iona, then winked at Cameron.

  * * *

  Smiling servants passed around drinks and everyone gathered around the tables in the great hall. Iona had stifled a responding laugh when she had witnessed Cameron’s reaction to Marcus’ statement. She gave Cameron some room and he strode over to Dorcas who was near the fire.

  Dorcas leaned into him and said something she couldn’t quite catch. Whatever she had said made Cameron freeze, his tankard of ale halfway to his mouth. His jaw muscles clenched, and he slammed it down on the nearest tabletop.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  Dorcas cackled and the eerie sound grated on Iona’s nerves. She had suffered through enough today. She had almost lost Cameron, then had calmed his jealous streak. A sudden thought about who started the entire mess made her turn to Dorcas.

  “What are we going to do about the sorcerer. What’s his name?”

  “Andreas Borthwick. Even thought he had left by the time we got to his lair, I fear the coward shall return. Without his precious amulet, his revenge upon the Gunns and Keiths is hindered. We shall meet him again, but not for a month or two. I have foreseen this, so calm yerself. Worry ‘tis not good for the bairn.”

  Cameron glanced from Dorcas to Iona. A shiver raced down Iona’s spine. She turned to find Haven, but she and Kirk were still upstairs. When she turned back to Cameron, his face softened and a smile filled his face with sunlight. When he flashed his wide grin her way, he was the most handsome man she had ever met She wished he’d smile more often.

  Why is he smiling now?

  “Lass, do ye understand what Dorcas said?”

  “About the sorcerer? Sure. You’ll have to be careful, since you belong—or, belonged—to the Gunn clan. Haven is staying with Kirk, I assume. I’ve never seen two people more in love, so I guess I’ll return ho—”

  Cameron pressed his fingers to her lips, effectively shutting her up. His handsome smile flipped upside down. His frown surprised her. Sure, he said he loved her when he was on the verge of death. He’d sent Haven back with words meant to mollify her. Yes, he’d shown passion for her up on the battlements, but what if he hadn’t meant any of it?

  Dorcas cackled and Skye sighed. What was going on? They knew something she didn’t, but before she could ask, the room spun. A wave of dizziness hit her and everything went dark.

  “Lass?” Cameron’s voice faded to a whisper as other voices rang out. Her name, spoken louder and louder, brought her to her senses.

  “Stop yelling in my ear.” Her head was in Cameron’s lap, and Skye pressed a damp piece of muslin on her forehead. “What happened?”

  “Ye fainted. ‘Tis the bairn making his presence known, me thinks,” Dorcas said. “I leave her in yer good hands, Cammie. Take care of them both.”

  Iona sat up as Dorcas disappeared in a puff of white smoke. Skye sat beside her on the wooden bench while Cameron stood, then stepped away. He acted funny.

  Everyone is acting funny.

  “How do ye feel, Iona? Are ye still feeling a wee bit faint?”

  “Did I really pass out?”

  Skye nodded, and Iona clutched her stomach. What little she had eaten was threatening to come back up which, in itself, did not concern her as much as Dorcas’ cryptic statement.

  “Bairn?” she said, looking at her friends, “Isn’t that the Gaelic term for baby?”

  Sky and Fia nodded, then glanced at the hands on her stomach. Could it be true? Was she pregnant?

  “How?”

  “Me thinks ye know how, lass,” Cameron whispered by her ear, his voice soft, low, and sexy. He swept her up into his arms. His tawny muscles bulged and his warmth penetrated every nerve ending beneath her skin. Touching him brought back the vision of them beneath the sheets, but this time a golden-haired little boy joined them, squealing and bouncing amid laughter.

  And love.

  “We’re having a baby?”

  “Aye, lass. We are blessed.” Cameron feathered the gentlest of kisses on her mouth. She tasted Scottish ale and smelled the manly musk she’d come to know as Cameron. This was Heaven on earth and she would never leave his side.

  “You said earlier that you want to marry me.” Her statement hung in the air. She wasn’t questioning him, just stating facts. “Where will we live? What about my father?”

  “I am sure Jake will explain yer absence to yer father. Maybe, should Dorcas decide ‘tis prudent, we can send for him. The man should meet his first grandchild, aye?”

  “Okay, but how will we live? Not much use for an antique dealer in this century.”

  “Kirk has returned my estate to me, but there is much to do. Reid returned to me my grandsire’s sword.”

  The ornate bronzed hilt of a large sword peeked from a leather scabbard on the table. She looked from it to the man she loved.

  “It suits you.”

  Cameron smiled, lighting up the room with happiness. “I have no funds to speak of, but we shall earn our way, together. Honestly.”

  Cameron looked over at Kirk and Marcus who nodded. Something was up between the three men, but she didn’t care. Not right now. At this particular moment in time, she was in love with a man who had given her a child. Their continued happiness was a future she could see plain as the handsome nose on his face.

  “I thought you broke your nose.”

  Skye coughed

  Cameron laughed then feathered a kiss across her lips. Iona pulled back when the room erupted in more laughter.

  “Stay with me, love, and together we shall make our own history.”

  “I found the man of my dreams and I’m holding on tight. I can’t wait.”

  The End

  MY RELUCTANT

  HIGHLANDER

  A Time Travel romance

  Book #3 in the

  Highland Games Through Time

  Series

  by Nancy Lee Badger

  The Story

  My Reluctant Highlander

  Skye Gunn could not prevent her husband’s death, and will risk everything to defeat the sorcerer she blames. When he attacks her nephew, she intervenes and takes her instead. She escapes by plunging into the North Sea, and uses a spell to flee to the future…and find Jake.

  The last person Jake wants to see is Skye from ancient Scotland, the woman who haunted his dreams since she blackmailed him into traveling back in time. Until he met Skye, his life was quiet and uncomplicated. When Skye falls into his bed, beaten and bloody, he must trust the only woman he has loved across time. To survive, he and Skye must dare to love in the time they have.

  CHAPTER 1

  Wick, North Sea

  Scotland 1603

  Skye Gunn could not breathe. She had barely sucked in one deep breath before water covered her head, and the strong current pulled her down into the icy depths of the ocean. Since she had escaped the battlements high above with her life, her current situation was ironic in a sick sort of way.

  Fleeing one danger, only to tumble into another lethal situation, is not to be borne!

  With her dress wrapped around her ankles, and rope binding her wrists, death was the obvious outcome.

  Too bad I always do the least obvious.

  The first surprise was that she had managed to escape from the dungeon. When her spell tore the hinges from the door of her cage, the joy that spread through her body lasted but a heartbeat. Angry shouts made her run through th
e castle prison and up the stone stairway.

  When the guards gave chase, she ran faster. The sorcerer’s displeasure, evident in his raging curses, followed her as she climbed the steps to the highest level. Guards circled her. Cornered, she glared at the hooded form.

  “Helen, ye must stay and join with me,” the sorcerer said, the wind and crashing waves nearly drowning out his voice.

  “Who be Helen?” she had answered.

  When the sorcerer raised his magical blackthorn staff, she did not wait for an answer. Her only foreseeable option was to jump from the tower.

  The sorcerer and his minions gave me no choice.

  After all, she was familiar with the castle the sorcerer had overthrown and claimed as his own. Castle Barrowmann belonged to HER!

  Skye expected to die on the boulder-strewn beach below. She inhaled the salty tang of the ocean on the breeze, and prayed for a quick death. The crash of the waves prompted her decision. There was a chance they would sweep her broken body away, out of the sorcerer’s control.

  I believe in second chances.

  As she considered plummeting toward her death on the rocks at the base of the castle, and leapt to meet it, a huge foamy wave broke, cushioning her landing. She was euphoric for a moment, but happiness evaporated as the icy water swept over her, and dragged her out to sea.

  Was she up? Or down? She opened her eyes, but the swirling water gave no sense of direction.

  Her left foot hit something slimy and immovable. A rock wall? A wrecked fishing boat? The bottom of the ocean? Pushing away, she prayed she headed upward, but not back toward the castle. As her head broke the surface, relief washed over her along with salty spray. Sucking in much-needed air, she kicked her feet and rode the swells further from shore. She hoped she could make safe haven out of reach of the sorcerer’s archers.

  Ping! The feathers of an arrow’s fletching disappeared beneath the surface, so close that water splashed her cheek. She had to escape, but if she followed the currents, she would end up alone in the middle of the North Sea. A gray sky dotted with wisps of orange-tinted clouds heralded the approach of night. She would soon be alone. In the dark. Not a good fit for someone like her.

  “You’re a social butterfly,” Haven had joked with her at a recent festival. She recalled looking around at the faces that stared at her as they walked by. Dozens of the Highland’s best warriors, draped in colorful plaids, had come to the valleys surrounding Keldurach to turn the caber, throw the hammer, and down as many pints of ale as their stomachs could handle. Their scandalous smiles and slobbering wolf calls were disgusting.

  Even so, Skye lived up to her title as the laird’s sister and mingled with their guests. She teased the more demanding ones, but she knew her future…her brother planned to marry her off.

  Again.

  Since it had happened before, Skye had no need to read his thoughts. Besides, she could not read people’s thoughts as clearly as her friend, Iona Mackenzie. Skye read auras, not a very helpful ability. Iona was her cousin by marriage, having wed her favorite cousin, Cameron Robeson.

  Iona was the reason Cameron was so happy. He had forgiven Kirk for his decree of banishment, earned forgiveness for his sins, and was now a devoted husband and proud father of a beautiful daughter, who had her mother’s flaming red hair and Cameron’s amber eyes.

  Skye’s heart clenched…her empty womb was the result of a short marriage and an early widowhood. Nothing would convince her to try marriage again anytime soon.

  Recently, she had reason to worry that Kirk would offer her to another, such as an overly amorous warrior of the Sutherland clan. When the man paid her too much attention, she removed herself from his odorous proximity. With her mind on hiding until his party departed, she had failed to notice the trap the sorcerer had laid.

  A day later, she found herself adrift in the North Sea, where her situation had worsened. As she sucked in another breath, a wave crashed over her head. Sputtering, she kicked against the force of the water to stay upright. Shaking wet strands of her loose black hair from her face, she gasped for air.

  The icy water made it harder to keep afloat. Muscles screamed. Her legs grew tired and heavy as stone. The drenched fabric of her gown clung to her skin, and tangled with each kick.

  If only I had use of my hands.

  Skye mumbled some words, and pulled against the bindings. Since her physical power usually flowed from her hands, she hoped that a spell might at least have loosened her bonds.

  The rope bit into her flesh, and salt water stung the bloody scratches. She cried out at the pain before concentrating on another spell.

  A shadow flew between the waning sun and her face, stopping her attempts at witchery. The dark shape momentarily diverted her mind from the white capped waves that pummeled her from all sides.

  “A dragon?”

  Talking to thin air made no sense, but it was comforting to hear her own voice. Dragons were mythical, or so she thought. Recalling the stories passed down through her kin, she remembered how some talked of wingless creatures in far-off Loch Ness. Others explained supposed sightings as mythical kelpies, the supernatural water horse, believed to haunt the lochs and rivers of Scotland.

  Her mother’s mother spoke often of the playful selkies. The creatures plied the seas off the coasts of Scotland and Ireland as seals, but walked in human form on land. Skye had scoffed at tales of winged dragons.

  As if hearing her thoughts, the ominous shadow changed direction.

  Skye searched for a place to hide, but the towers and walls of her former prison blotted the coastline.

  No help there.

  Her only escape from both the sorcerer, and the dragon, was to travel forward in time. Dorcas had told her many times that Skye had the unusual ability to travel with nothing but her moonstone necklace. The amulet offered a calming, reflective energy. She normally hid it beneath her chemise.

  Is it still there?

  She could not search, not with her hands still tangled in the rope the sorcerer had assumed would control her, and her powers. He had nearly been proven correct.

  Kicking her feet to keep herself afloat, a memory bubbled up along with the salty spray of the blue-green sea.

  Jake.

  The last time she traveled through time, she had arrived at the Highland games, and gazed upon Jake as he worked. Crouching by the coals of his furnace, ringed by stones, how could she keep her gaze from drifting to his muscled arse.

  She had flicked her attention back to what he was doing and away from how his clothing clung to his form. When flames darted from his open mouth and charred the piled wood, she had clasped her hand over her mouth in shock.

  Questions filled her, but there was no one she could ask. Firebreathers were legend in her time. Were they common among present day folk? Why had she not asked Dorcas? Why had the old witch kept such a secret? Did she even know about Jake?

  The old crone lived between two worlds and had taken cousin Cameron back and forth. He had worked for her for a short time, then returned home to help save Haven.

  Surely the loose-lipped Cameron would have spoken of Jake’s special abilities. She shook away the memories, but failed to release a specific fear; a fear that mushroomed into a nightmare. The attack by the sorcerer’s dragon reminded her of Jake’s strange power.

  Five years ago, Dorcas Swann had snuck up on her as she stared at the man’s naked back, and muscles glistening with sweat, but she was too shocked to ask her about the blacksmith. Embarrassed, Skye had followed her to her tent.

  Old Dorcas was a powerful witch who spent time in both worlds, but shared with Skye how she enjoyed the modern times. She sold potions and herbs, but also took pleasure in the music and fine food of the modern games.

  Together, we had made plans that turned out to include Jake.

  She had returned to the area of the modern festival to what Dorcas called the historical village.

  I had laughed.

  Historical? What s
he had seen was her life. One woman, dressed in a simple cotton dress, spun wool. Another older woman knitted with iron spikes. Several talked with men adorned with colorful plaids while they sat on tree stumps around a cook fire. Simple tents ringed the village.

  When she had drawn closer, the man Dorcas called Jake Jamison had paused at hammering a large piece of iron. He slipped what looked like a crude sword from his anvil into a barrel of water. The hiss drew her eyes to his gloved hands, then they slowly slid up to meet his gaze.

  “I made those,” Jake had told her, when she drew near. Horseshoes, small knives, nails, and nails hammered into tiny black rings covered the flat top of a wooden barrel.

  Pride filled his voice, and he puffed out his chest like a male pheasant strutting before its mate.

  Skye had stared at him a moment too long. His interest, evident when he immediately returned her smile, was what had her stare back. Had he noticed her earlier? Had he waited for her return from Dorcas’ tent? She was sure she had felt his gaze burrowing into her shoulder blades as she walked from the village, and she had nearly lost her footing.

  She thought the man handsome, yet not as brawny as the men of her clan; not as tall as her brother or cousin, Cameron, either. Instead, his muscular arms, wide shoulders, and powerful thighs were indicative of a simple blacksmith. Or, so she thought.

  Until I witnessed him start the morning campfire with his breath.

  After luring him to the past, garnering his help to fight the evil sorcerer, she had returned Jake to the future with a wave of her hand. Her current emergency required more. She opened her mouth to chant, and hoped to finish before the next wave struck.

  Out of time, escape the sea.

  Send me forward, make me free.

  I dare to live, so mote it—

  A roar overhead interrupted her spell-casting. It was louder than the wind-swept waves of the raging North Sea. Too close.

  Skye gulped a huge breath, and dove beneath the surface. She pointed toward the bottom with her bound hands, kicked, and swam as deep as she could stand. Pressure squeezed her head, and she fought an increased urge to take a gulp of air.