Tempting the Highlander

by Janet Chapman

  Robbie was also totally, beautifully naked and was wrapping a plaid around himself that was the same color as the one Ian was wearing. Both men secured the cloths with wide leather belts, and Catherine saw Ian tuck a small dagger—similar to the one Robbie had shown her—into a sheath on his belt.

  Robbie reached down to one of his discarded boots, pulled his own dagger out, and tucked it in his belt, then picked up his sword and the second, different-colored plaid she’d washed and mended over a week ago.

  What in heck were they doing? Was this some sort of ritual that Scotsmen did at sunset in the spring? Was it something for Ian, maybe, relating to his age?

  What in heck was going on?

  Father Daar looked at the sun, which was already halfway hidden behind the horizon now, and turned and pointed his cane at Robbie and Ian. “Ya must go,” he said.

  Catherine inched forward to the edge of the cliff just as Robbie settled his sheathed sword over his shoulders. He then wrapped his arms around Ian and curtly nod to the priest.

  Father Daar held his cane up, and the wood appeared to glow as the last rays of sunlight touched it. A harsh wind suddenly rose with a howling scream, and dark, boiling clouds swept down from the summit.

  “Lend me yar own power, MacBain!” Daar shouted, lowering his cane to point at Robbie and Ian. “Godspeed to the two of ya!”

  Catherine used one hand to protect her face from the wind and blinding light, leaning further over the ledge to see a storm of crackling, sparking clouds tighten around Robbie and Ian.

  A loud, piercing shriek came from above her, and Catherine rolled over, holding up her stick to ward off Mary’s sharp talons. The owl dove toward her, snatching at Catherine’s coat sleeve just as Robbie shouted.

  No, not shouted. The man roared!

  Catherine twisted and clawed at the moss-covered ledge, but the wind and Mary and her momentum made it impossible for her to hold on. She suddenly felt nothing but air beneath her, then hit the ground so hard, it knocked the breath—and a startled scream right out of her.

  Hard, powerful hands picked her up, and Robbie again roared over the howl of the roiling tempest. “Dammit, Cat!” he shouted, pulling her tightly against his chest, squishing her against Ian, and wrapping his arms around them both. “Hold on to my belt!”

  She struggled against him, only wanting to get away from the violently raging storm and these crazy men as fast as she could. The air sizzled and popped and crackled around them, and the ground pitched and rolled with rumbling shudders.

  Robbie’s arms tightened until it felt as if her bones were being crushed. “Too late!” he growled next to her ear, covering her head as the fierce wind sucked the air from her lungs. “You’re coming with us!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Robbie couldn’t remember ever being so scared. He held Ian and Catherine to his chest, straining against the sizzling light crackling through the roiling clouds. Mary dug her talons into his plaid and spread her wings over the three of them, adding her own guardian powers to help him fight their way through the chaos.

  If he lost his grip, Catherine and Ian could end up anywhere—or in any time, for that matter.

  Robbie felt the energy he was disturbing pull at Catherine’s modern clothes, and her scream of terror pierced his soul. She clung to him, trembling, her screams buried in his chest as the violent storm raged on.

  Ian shouted the MacKeage war cry and slapped at the forking tendrils with the courage of a warrior determined to get home.

  Time churned and twisted with the roar of a wounded beast, until finally the maelstrom stopped with the suddenness of a train slamming into a mountain. The ground they fell upon rumbled in protest as the vortex exploded in one final, brilliant flash before disappearing.

  The silence was more deafening than the storm had been, and Robbie sat hunched over his charges, every muscle in his body quivering with exhaustion and his heart pounding so hard he feared it might explode.

  Neither Catherine nor Ian stirred, and Robbie forced himself to release them. Catherine took a deep, shuddering breath, opened her eyes, and screamed at the top of her lungs. She scurried away from him, her face washed with terror, only to scream again at the realization that she was naked.

  She scrambled to her feet and bolted into the forest.

  Robbie lowered Ian to the ground and ran after her. “Cat, no!” he yelled, ducking through the trees. “You mustn’t run. I need to explain what happened. Catherine!”

  He heard her shout of surprise, and Robbie came to a halt just in time to see her tumble down a steep bank. He scrambled after her and took hold of her shoulders.

  She came up swinging. He pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms around hers to capture her wild, panic-driven punches.

  “Ssshhh,” he crooned as she dug her nails into him and pushed to break free. “Easy, little Cat. You’re okay. Nothing and no one is going to hurt you. Easy, Catherine.”

  But she continued to struggle mindlessly, her terror-filled whimpers piercing his heart like a rusted dagger.

  “We have to go back to Ian,” he said, thinking to refocus her fear. “He could die. Please, help me with Ian.”

  She suddenly stilled and tried to cover her naked breasts.

  “I have the other plaid for you to put on,” he whispered, slowly easing his grip. “Come back with me to Ian.”

  “Wh-what happened?” she asked so softly he barely heard her. “Wh-where are my clothes?”

  “I’ll explain everything as soon as we see to Ian,” he promised, taking hold of her wrist to pull her up the steep hill.

  She twisted her arm, trying to break free. “I-I’ll come. Let me go.”

  “Nay. I’ll never catch you if you run. And Ian needs us.”

  She fell silent and moved with him, but Robbie could feel the tension humming through her. It was dusk, and the forest was growing dark with looming shadows. They walked back to where Ian lay and found Mary standing next to him. Robbie picked up the MacBain plaid and held it out to Cat without looking at her, his attention on his uncle.

  He cupped Ian’s face, using his thumb to feel for a pulse on his neck. “He’s alive but weak from fighting the storm.”

  “Wh-where are we?” Cat whispered, moving to the other side of Ian. “Th-this isn’t TarStone Mountain.”

  Robbie looked up and nearly smiled. She had the MacBain plaid wrapped around her a dozen times, like a sari. “Nay, it’s not. We’re in Scotland.”

  “Scotland? That’s impossible.”

  Robbie slid his arm under his uncle’s shoulders and gently lifted him into a sitting position. “You think so?” he asked, running a hand over Ian’s brow and head, feeling for bumps. He looked at Cat. “Then it’s also impossible we’re in thirteenth-century Scotland, I guess.”

  She gasped, clutching her plaid, her eyes wide with horror around her stark white face. “Thir-thirteen…”

  Ian groaned. Cat set aside her fright long enough to cup Ian’s face and turn him toward her. “Ian,” she said firmly. “Wake up now. Open your eyes.” His eyelids fluttered, he groaned again, and tried to roll away. “Ian!” she snapped. “Wake up!”

  Robbie leaned near his ear and whispered to him in Gaelic, adding Gwyneth’s name to his petition.

  “What did you say to him? What language was that?”

  “Gaelic,” Robbie said, prodding Ian’s shoulder. “Come on, Uncle,” he repeated in Gaelic again, louder this time. “The men are lined up at Gwyneth’s door, wanting to court her.”

  Ian opened his eyes and struck out with his fist. Robbie caught it before it could connect with anything other than air and smiled at his scowling uncle.

  “Who’s Gwyneth?” Cat asked, looking from Ian to Robbie.

  “She’s my wife,” Ian growled in English.

  “Your wife? You have a wife? But I thought…Cody said something about you and…and Kate,” she ended on a whisper, looking back at Robbie.

  “Gwyneth is my
wife,” Ian repeated, reclaiming his fist so he could scrub his face. He finally looked at Robbie, his beard twisting into a grin. “I survived, MacBain.” He pounded Robbie’s shoulder, though his attention was turned to the landscape around them, his grin widening even more. “I survived,” he repeated. “I’m home!” He looked back at Robbie. “Ya brought me home.” He suddenly stiffened and looked at Catherine, then back at Robbie. “Ya brung yar housekeeper?”

  “Not by choice,” Robbie said, glaring at Mary, who had sidled over to perch on a rock. He looked at Catherine, lifting one brow. “It seems she has a curious streak.”

  Her pale cheeks darkened with two flags of red. “I was just following you to…I wanted to…I only…darn it, I didn’t want you to get beat up again!”

  “Aye. So you nearly got us blown to oblivion instead,” he muttered, standing up and lifting Ian to his feet, not letting him go until he was sure his uncle wouldn’t fall. Robbie looked around the small clearing. “I think we should camp here for the night and go to the village in the morning.”

  “Aye,” Ian agreed, rolling his shoulders to shed the last kinks from his journey. “I’ve a wish to clean up before I see my Gwyneth.”

  “And we have to come up with a new story.” Robbie nodded toward Catherine. “We’re going to have to explain her.”

  Ian snorted. “And why she’s wearing the MacBain plaid.”

  “What village?” Cat asked, inching away and looking down at herself. She fingered the cloth tucked around her breasts. “Why do you have to explain this plaid?”

  “You’re wearing MacBain colors,” Ian said. “And they’re our enemy.”

  “Robbie’s your enemy?” she whispered, taking another step back. “But he’s your nephew.”

  Ian sighed. “It’s a long story, Catherine, but I suppose it’s one ya should hear before we go to the village.”

  “Don’t run,” Robbie said when she took another step back. “There’s no place to go.”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m going home. This is crazy. You’re all crazy. We can’t be standing on a mountain in Maine one minute and in Scotland the next. And certainly not in the thirteenth century.”

  “Aye, but we are,” Ian said. “The storm brung us here, with the priest’s help.”

  “Th-the priest?”

  Robbie pounced the moment her attention turned to Ian and captured Cat before she could bolt. She lashed out with a yelp of surprise, pummeling him with her tiny fists as she twisted to get free. He used his weight to drop them both to the ground and stilled her legs by throwing his thigh over hers, grabbing her fists and pinning her hands beside her head.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I can’t let you run. Give me your promise to stay with us, or I’ll be forced to hobble you.”

  “I just want to go home,” she whispered, her face as pale as new-fallen snow. “Please, just let me go home,” she ended in a sob, her eyes tearing and her chin quivering.

  Robbie leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Nay, little Cat, I can’t. Not for several days yet.”

  “Days!” she cried, twisting beneath him again. “No! I have to get back to Nathan and Nora. I can’t be gone for days!”

  “You won’t,” he assured her, lowering his weight to stop her struggles. “Catherine,” he softly entreated. “You’ll be back by sunrise, I promise.”

  She stilled and stared up at him. “But you said…you said days.”

  “Aye. The last time I left, I was here a week, but when I came back, I’d only been gone from sunset to sunrise. That’s how it works.” He let go of her wrists, waited to see if she lashed out again, then brushed the hair off her pale cheek. “Even if we stay here a month, you’d be back before Nathan and Nora woke up.”

  She used her freed hands to swipe at her eyes. “H-How’s that possible? People can’t travel through time.”

  “Aye, we can,” Ian said, crouching beside her and touching her shoulder. “Thirty-five years ago, the priest caused a storm exactly like the one we just went through and brought ten of us warriors, including Robbie’s father,” he added, nodding toward Robbie, “forward to your time.”

  Catherine snapped her gaze to Robbie. “Your father comes from here, too?”

  “Aye. And Winter’s father, Greylen MacKeage. And my uncles Morgan and Callum. They were all born in twelfth-century Scotland.”

  “That’s not possible,” she repeated. “It isn’t!”

  “Nevertheless, it happened. The priest is really a drùidh. A wizard,” Robbie clarified. “He has the power to manipulate time.” He cupped his hand over her cheek, using his thumb to still her trembling chin. “Catherine, you won’t believe any of this until you see it for yourself. Tomorrow morning, we’ll take you to the MacKeage village, and you’ll finally understand.”

  She tried to get up, but Robbie wouldn’t let her. “Your promise first,” he said. “That you won’t run.”

  “I—I won’t run,” she whispered.

  He hesitated, then slowly lifted off her, standing up and reaching out his hand for her to take.

  She stared at him, then put her hand in his and stood up. “Wh-what happened to my clothes?” she asked, tucking her plaid back into place. “Why did they disappear and yours didn’t?”

  “Your clothes were made from modern materials,” Robbie explained, guiding her over to beside Mary and urging her to sit down. “Nothing that wasn’t invented by the thirteenth century could come back with us.” He smiled down at her. “Which includes spandex and elastic and nylon. Uncle,” he said, turning to Ian, “do you think you can build us a fire?”

  “Is that wise?” Ian asked, looking around them. “I’m guessing we’re on Crag Mountain, and that’s not far from the MacBain border.”

  “We’re safe here,” Robbie said, reaching down and picking up Catherine’s stick that had come through the storm. He handed it to her but was unable to read her expression now that night had finally settled over the forest. “Here, this should make you feel a bit safer.”

  She clutched the stick to her chest and tugged the hem of her plaid down over her bare knees. Ian headed out of their tiny clearing in search of firewood, and Robbie took off his sword, set it on the ground beside Cat, and looked at Mary.

  “We could use something for breakfast,” he told the owl. “A plump rabbit would be nice.”

  Mary silently opened her wings and lifted off her rock toward the night sky.

  “Y-you talk to Mary?” Cat asked. “And she understands?”

  “Aye. She even talks back, though not out loud,” he said, sitting down beside her. “Remember the magic I spoke of? And my duty?” She nodded, and Robbie shifted to face her more fully. “I truly am a guardian, Catherine, charged with the duty of watching over my family. And I, too, have powers that allow me to manipulate not only time but other things as well.”

  “You mean that wasn’t only an expression? You don’t just consider yourself a guardian angel and only feel that you need to take care of everyone?”

  “Nay. It’s my calling, ordained by providence.”

  “Robbie,” she said, leaning toward him and placing her hand on his arm. “Magic isn’t real,” she whispered, as if trying to break the news to him gently. “It’s what we tell children when we can’t explain something, like how Santa Claus can go to every house in one night and how tooth fairies can take a tooth from under their pillow without waking them up.”

  Robbie decided he would give up his sword to have Libby or Aunt Grace here with him now. How in hell was he supposed to explain to Catherine what he was just beginning to understand himself?

  “Cat,” he said, covering her hand on his arm. “It’s as real as the sunrise. The magic is everywhere and in everything; it’s the miracle of life itself, the air we breathe, the blood that pumps through our veins. It’s been with us since the beginning of time, and it’s only been in the last few centuries that man has thought to explain it with science.” He reached up and gently ran his knuckles o
ver her cheek. “But magic is the foundation of that science, Cat. That some of us can manipulate it only proves how real it is.”

  “Are you a…are you saying you’re a wizard or something?”

  “Nay. I’m only a man who’s been given the duty of protecting my loved ones.”

  “Protecting them from what?”

  “From the magic itself, should it be used improperly. And from those who would change destiny to suit themselves. From drùidhs like Father Daar, who have the power to bend the laws of nature.”

  “Father Daar is bad, then?”

  “Nay. He’s merely an ancient who can’t see beyond his own wants. He brought Greylen MacKeage to our time thirty-five years ago to sire his heir. That my own father and Ian and the others got sucked into the storm with Grey is proof that Daar needs watching over. He’s selfish and often manipulative, but his intentions are not evil.”

  “But why do you keep coming back here? Did Ian come with you each time?”

  “Nay. My father and the others don’t know anything about my journeys here, and that’s why I couldn’t tell them. They can’t know because they would want to help me, and that would only upset their wives and families.”

  “Help you what?”

  Robbie sighed and pulled Catherine into his lap, pleased that she didn’t shrink away but leaned into him instead. “The spell that brought the Highlanders to modern time will reverse itself on this summer’s solstice, and they’ll be sent back to their original time. I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen. And to do that, I have to find a tree of spells for Daar, so that he can stop it.”

  “You mean that on the summer solstice, your father and uncles will just disappear?”

  “Aye. Their lives will be uprooted again.” He lifted her chin to look up at him, wishing he could read her expression. “Are you starting to believe me now, little Cat?”

  “No.”

  “No? Then how do you explain what’s just happened?”