Song of a Highlander (Arch Through Time, #11)

by Baker, Katy

  JESS WALKED IN SILENCE. The forest was so quiet that to speak seemed like it would be breaking some unwritten law. And besides, Dunbarr would no doubt be listening to every word she said. So she had no choice but to follow the aging bowman and trust that Ramsay knew what he was doing.

  And what is that? she asked herself. What is going on here? Why did Iain call Ramsay ‘chief’?

  Was this another one of Ramsay’s secrets? Something else he was keeping from her? He’d cut her off earlier when she’d tried to ask him about what Artair had said. Why would he not answer her questions?

  They trekked for a long time through the woods, but eventually the trees began to thin and Jess made out daylight through the trunks ahead. They reached the forest’s edge and Jess stopped abruptly.

  Ahead lay a shallow valley with a wide, sluggish river meandering along its base. At the far end of the valley a sprawling village surrounded a fortified manor house. The house’s lower story was made of stone but its upper was timber-built with a thatched roof. A tall stone tower stood at one corner of the site.

  The settlement looked peaceful with sheep dotted on the high sides of the valley and fields of crops growing lower down. It would have been a bucolic sight if not for the armed camp that covered one side of the valley, rows and rows of tents, corrals of horses and racks of weapons that glinted in the sunlight. The camp was situated well away from the village and manor house, with a swathe of clear ground between them.

  But none of this was what made her stop and stare.

  She had a sudden, overwhelming sense of deja vu. This valley was familiar, as if she’d seen it before somewhere but had only forgotten.

  “Jess?” Ramsay asked, turning to her. “Is something wrong?”

  “I...no,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m fine.”

  The sound of drumming hooves drew her attention. A group of riders thundered up the hill towards them. Jess counted at least six, one out in the lead, galloping full-speed. She backed off with a cry of alarm, but Ramsay caught her arm.

  “Steady, lass.”

  His eyes were fixed on the lead rider and he was so tense that the tendons in his neck stood out. A vein throbbed in his temple.

  The riders didn’t slow and for one horrifying moment, Jess thought they would be trampled, but at the last moment the lead rider yelled and yanked on the reins, bringing his mount up so hard that it whinnied in protest and skidded, sending mud flying. The men reined up and fanned out into a semi-circle around her and Ramsay. Dunbarr tucked his thumbs into his belt but said nothing.

  The men were obviously warriors. Most had hoods up so she couldn’t see their faces and they carried an array of weapons. To Jess’s surprise, she realized one of them was a woman. She’d pulled down her hood and sat on her horse to the leader’s left. She wore a tunic and trews rather than a dress and carried as many weapons as the men. She had dark hair and the whole of one side of her face was covered in a livid burn mark. The woman glanced at Jess who looked away quickly, ashamed to be found staring.

  The leader nudged his horse forward. From the hood a deep voice demanded, “Who are ye?”

  Ramsay stood his ground, looking up at the man. “Ye know who I am. This is Jessica Maxwell, a visitor to the Highlands.”

  The man’s eyes flashed in the depths of the hood. He said nothing for a moment. Then he raised a hand to his men.

  “Arrest them.”

  The riders dismounted and grabbed her and Ramsay. He didn’t protest as they bound his hands in front of him, but Jess squirmed and fought.

  “Get your paws off me!”

  “Dinna resist,” Ramsay said. “Do as they say.”

  She glared at him. What the hell was this all about?

  The woman approached her. She had a hawk’s gaze. “I suggest ye do what he says.”

  Jess stilled. She allowed the woman to tie her wrists—firmly but not so tightly that it hurt. Then they were led off down the hill towards the camp. Jess tried to get Ramsay’s attention as they walked, but he refused to look at her. Instead, he stared straight ahead at the leader who rode into the camp ahead of them. She couldn’t read the expression on his face.

  They were escorted to a large tent in the center of the camp. The woman held the door flap open and nodded to indicate they should go in. Jess ducked under it to find herself in a space large enough to fit eight or nine people. Benches lined a table covered with maps and other documents. A sleeping pallet lay in one corner with blankets strewn haphazardly across it.

  The leader was standing on the far side of the tent with his back to them. He took a deep swig from a goblet then placed both hands on a table, leaning on it heavily.

  “Iain claims ye are MacGregor spies,” he said, without turning.

  “We are no spies,” Ramsay replied.

  “Are ye not,” the man said hoarsely. “Then what are ye? Is this some kind of trick? Were ye trying to sneak into camp and assassinate me? Were ye thinking to take my place? I wouldnae put such a scheme past MacGregor.”

  “Ye dinna believe that,” Ramsay said.

  The man hunched over. He took another swig from the goblet. “I dinna know what to believe. Speak quickly. Explain who ye are or I will kill ye both right here and now.”

  “I am Ramsay MacAuley,” Ramsay said, stepping forward. “Son of Laird Logan MacAuley and Lady Thea MacAuley. When I was a child I had a favorite hound called Rufus. I had a horse called Socks and a hawk called Titan. I could often be found in my father’s library, trying to avoid council meetings. I once got a beating for sneaking into the armory and stealing a sword when I was seven years old.”

  The man hissed sharply. “Nay,” he whispered and his voice was even more hoarse than before. “It canna be. It canna.”

  He turned and yanked down the hood hiding his face. Jess gasped.

  The man was Ramsay’s double.

  He had the same red-brown hair, the same smooth, handsome features, the same broad-shouldered physique. She stared, wondering what the hell was going on.

  “Jess,” Ramsay said, his voice low and throbbing with emotion. “I’d like ye to meet Ross. My twin brother.”

  Jess staggered as though she’d been punched in the stomach. His twin brother? Ramsay had a twin?

  It all started to fit into place. It would explain why the refugee on the road to Arndale had mistaken Ramsay for the leader of the Woodsmen and why Iain had thought he was his chief. Hadn’t Benneit MacGregor mentioned that Ramsay had a brother? And hadn’t he said that his brother had killed him?

  Dear God, what the hell was going on here?

  Ross stared at them both. He had a hard expression and the look of a man who was near the end of his patience.

  “How is this possible?” he demanded. “The Fae took ye. Irene MacAskill took ye.”

  “And she brought me back again,” Ramsay replied. He blew out a breath. “It is so good to see ye again, my brother.”

  For an instant, Ross’s gaze softened. For an instant. And then the hard mask was back.

  “I am commander of an army,” he said hoarsely. “Many lives depend on my decisions. I will hear the whole of yer story before I decide if ye are telling the truth. I warn ye: if I judge ye are an imposter. If I think for one second that this is some MacGregor trick, neither of ye will leave this camp alive.”

  Ramsay nodded once. “I would expect nothing less.” He gestured with his bound hands. “May we at least sit?”

  Ross indicated a bench. Ramsay seated himself and Jess sank down next to him gratefully. It felt as though the ground was shifting beneath her feet.

  Ross remained standing, staring down at them. “Speak.”

  Ramsay leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “It wasnae my intention to return. But I met Irene MacAskill. She accosted me in the twenty-first century, sent me to an ancient site and from there everything spiraled out of control.”

  He glanced at Jess and she wondered if he was remembering that night. The darkness. A
rtair and Adaira Campbell chanting before the arch. Gunshots. A desperate dive. Falling, falling...

  “I had been tracking two criminals who knew about the Fae and the power of time. Jess was there to stop them too. She is from the future, Ross. From the same time as our mother—and yer wife.”

  Ross looked at Jess sharply and she forced herself to meet his hard, penetrating gaze. Ramsay’s mother and Ross’s wife were from the future?

  “We ran into trouble,” Ramsay continued. “They had guns, and we had no choice but to flee through the archway. It was a desperate gamble, designed only to save our lives. I never thought it would bring us back here, back to my home.”

  Ross crossed his arms. Jess could see him wavering, that Ramsay’s words were penetrating that hard shell of distrust. “Ye are a long way from home,” he said at last. “Dun Ringill is many miles from here. If Irene meant to send ye home, why would she send ye here, to MacSual land?”

  “Because I failed,” he said bitterly. “I didnae stop those I meant to stop and now I must put it right. One of them—a man called Artair Campbell—followed us through the arch and now he is allied with Benneit MacGregor. There is far more going on here than a war between the MacSual and the MacGregor, Ross. Campbell means to open a portal to the Unseelie. That’s why I’m here. We need yer help to stop him.”

  He fell silent. Ross said nothing. He rubbed his chin, digesting his brother’s words and Jess couldn’t tell whether he believed a word of their story.

  Suddenly, he drew a dagger from a sheath at his hip. Its blade gleamed wickedly in the lamplight. He hefted it and strode towards Ramsay. Jess gasped, but Ramsay did not flinch as the blade bore down on him. Ross set the blade against the ropes that bound Ramsay’s hands and cut through them. Then he did the same for Jess. With relief she massaged her wrists.

  “It seems we are once again ensnared with the Fae,” Ross said. “I wonder if we’ll ever be free of them?” He shook his head. “No matter. What matters is that ye are here. Ye are home. Lord save me, brother, ye dinna know how much I’ve dreamed of this moment.”

  He enveloped Ramsay in a bear hug. Ramsay returned the embrace, holding his brother tightly and Jess saw tears in his eyes. When they were this close, it was tricky to tell them apart although Jess spotted tiny differences in the way they held themselves and the color of their eyes.

  Finally, Ross stepped back. “We would fight MacGregor anyway, regardless of what ye told us but yer story only makes it more urgent.” He clapped Ramsay on the shoulder. “Rest assured brother, my forces are at yer disposal. Do ye have a plan?”

  Ramsay turned to Jess. “Show him,” he said softly.

  Jess dug into the pocket sewn into her dress and pulled out the keystone. She held it in her palm for Ross to see. In the lamplight it seemed nothing special, just an ordinary lump of limestone. How could so small a thing cause so many problems?

  Ross frowned. “What is it?”

  “I call it a keystone,” Jess replied. “It’s what activated the arch that brought us here. I think it will help us stop Artair.”

  “How?”

  And that was the question, wasn’t it? The Unseelie gateway was different to the arch that had brought Jess and Ross here. It had no slot for the keystone.

  “I...um...I’m not quite sure yet,” Jess finished lamely.

  Ross nodded. “I’m sure ye will figure it out. Otherwise, why would Irene choose ye?”

  “Choose me?” Jess said, surprised. “What do you mean?”

  “Irene doesnae do aught without a reason. If she sent ye here, then ye must have a part to play.”

  “Ross,” Ramsay said, diverting his brother’s attention. “Why are ye here, on MacSual land, fighting MacGregor forces?”

  “Somebody has to stop the bastard since MacSual seems disinclined to do so.” There was an undercurrent of frustration in Ross’s tone. “We canna let MacGregor continue to plunder and burn and take whatever he wants. It started with him cutting down the forest and driving out the people living there—people I counted as my friends. That alone made him my enemy. Then, when his father died, he turned his attention to MacSual lands. How long before he tries to get his greedy hands on MacAuley lands?”

  “So father sanctioned ye coming up here?”

  Ross grimaced. “Not exactly. But here we are.” He raised his hands to indicate the surrounding area. “We’ve been camped here for weeks, riding out on patrols to keep MacGregor’s forces at bay. Refugees come trickling in, despite our efforts to protect their villages. And all the while Laird MacSual does naught!” There was anger in his voice now.

  “You don’t camp near the village,” Jess observed. “Or go anywhere near the manor house.”

  “Due to our agreement with Laird MacSual,” Ross confirmed, nodding. “The only way he would give us leave to set up camp here. Lord above! Ye would think we were a threat rather than the ones trying to save his sagging arse!”

  “Laird MacSual doesnae support ye?” Ramsay asked, puzzled. “But it’s his lands and people that are under threat. What does he propose to do to protect them?”

  “Negotiate,” Ross said in a tone of voice that suggested exactly what he thought of that plan. “Offer MacGregor lands on MacSual borders in the hope this will mollify Benneit. MacSual is old and tired and scared for his people. He doesnae understand that ye canna negotiate with someone whilst their hand is around yer throat! MacGregor will take whatever he wants—and that willnae just be some useless tracts of borderland! One of my men is up at the manor house now, talking to MacSual.”

  Ramsay looked surprised. “Ye didnae go yerself?”

  “Nay. Let’s just say the last time I spoke to MacSual it got a little...heated. Far better to let my man go—he’s a silver-tongued bastard. If anyone can talk MacSual round, it’s him. Once we hear what MacSual has to say then we’ll make our plans.” He turned his head. “Archer! Maggie! Get in here!”

  The scarred woman and a middle-aged man with shrewd eyes entered the tent.

  “You bellowed, Chief?” the man said sardonically. He had an English accent.

  “I’d like ye to meet my lieutenants,” Ross said. “John Archer and Maggie Grant.”

  Ramsay’s eyebrows shot up. “John Archer? The John Archer? The notorious outlaw?”

  “Ex notorious outlaw,” Ross amended. “I owe these people my life. They gave me shelter in the forest for many years when I was an outcast from our clan. John and Maggie have been adopted into Clan MacAuley.”

  “So it’s bloody true,” Archer said, staring at Ramsay. “Lia told us he wasn’t dead like everyone thought. Bugger me, I never believed her. I think I owe yer wife an apology when we get home, Ross.”

  Jess felt suddenly woozy. This was too much. She’d had so much information flung at her in the last twenty four hours that her head was spinning. She put a hand to her forehead where a headache was forming.

  “Jess?” Ramsay asked, concerned.

  “I’m fine. Just...just...tired,” she muttered.

  “Maggie,” Ross said. “Escort Jess to a tent and see that she has everything she needs.”

  Jess rose a little unsteadily. Ramsay took her elbow to steady her.

  “Go and rest,” he said softly.

  She pulled her arm from his grip and an expression of anguish crossed his face. What did he expect? That she would be okay with everything she’d learned today? Everything he’d kept from her? She followed Maggie to the door but paused at the entrance and glanced back. Ramsay was watching her. She opened her mouth to speak, to say something, anything, but she couldn’t think of a damned word to say to him. She turned away and followed Maggie outside.

  The woman had a quick stride and Jess found herself trotting to keep up with her. They wove through the camp, past people cooking, men cleaning their weapons, warriors crouched on the grass playing games of dice. Maggie said not a word but Jess felt the stares of the men following her as they walked. She wondered what they were thinking. Were
they as bewildered by this strange turn of events as she was?

  They finally reached a tent only a little smaller than Ross’s own. Maggie led the way inside.

  “The latrines are over that way,” Maggie said, pointing north. “If ye wish to wash there’s a stream at the bottom of the valley. Let me know and I’ll take ye down there. If ye go alone, ye’ll likely have an audience. The men in this army have a lot to learn about a woman’s privacy.”

  Her frown suggested she’d learned this from experience. Maggie was tall and thin, with the wiry look of somebody who is used to hard work. Her age was indeterminate, maybe a decade older than Jess herself, and she carried herself with an easy confidence that suggested she knew her own worth and was happy with it.

  “Are you the only female warrior?” Jess asked.

  “I am,” Maggie replied, with a hint of pride in her voice. She pursed her lips. “Ye remind me of my friend, Lia. She’s Ross’s wife. Ye speak like her.”

  “You know Ramsay’s family?”

  Maggie shrugged. “Hard to live in Dun Ringill and not get to know them. When Ross pardoned us all we were given places at Dun Ringill and during that time I’ve heard plenty of mentions of Ross’s twin brother. The one who everybody thinks is dead.”

  You know more than I do, Jess thought. Dear God, do I really know anything about him?

  What news was already winging its way to Dun Ringill? Jess wondered. If they managed to stop Artair Campbell and Benneit MacGregor, Ramsay would return there, return to his family. Jess would go back to the twenty-first century alone.

  That thought sent a shot of anguish right through her and she hated herself for it. Why should she feel that way about a man who’d lied to her?

  “Jess?” Maggie said. “What is it?”

  “Hmm?” Jess looked up, realizing she’d been staring into a corner of the tent without really seeing anything. “Sorry, I was miles away.”

  “Aye,” Maggie said with a smile. “I could see that. What’s bothering ye?”