The Elusive Highlander

by Ju Ephraime

“Enough with this nonsense, Tris. I need to get to the bottom of this. I never thought for a minute magic was involved in her appearance here; I should have known. Nothing is as it seems when Mither is involved. So, the lass is nae a spy. Does she know this thing about the geas?”

  “I dinna think so. The lass had nae say in the matter. Should ye be successful in returning her to her time, it may result in yer death.”

  “Ye hear what ye are saying, Tris? The lass traveled through time to present me with this temptation, and if I resist and return her to her time, which I know I cannae dae, I’m damned. So my only option is to persuade her to marry me. What a quagmire. Do ye realize the lass dinna like me?”

  “Indeed.”

  “This is the messiest thing Mither had ever done. Do ye know the origin of the geas that was spoken, Tris?”

  “Why? I dinna think it matters. The deed is done.”

  “It matters to me.”

  “Ye do know our late Mither was a Ben-abbee. She was distraught when ye passed, and she brought ye back with the geas. Have ye nae felt like ye didn’t belong in yer years of living?”

  “Aye and nay. I need some time to think on this. Ye go on back in before the others come looking for us. Have ye discussed this with Garvin?”

  “Nay. I expect ye to do that. I do believe he knows something is nae right.”

  “I’ll be in shortly.”

  Alasdair strode across the courtyard and made his way to the stable where his feistiest stallion, Black Knight, was housed. After saddling the horse, he swung himself onto its back and took off galloping across the moor.

  He had always been able to enjoy the beautiful landscape, harsh though it might appear to some. He found it relaxing. Alasdair rode like a man possessed, aggrieved at the thought of his Mither subjecting him to life through a geas.

  Things were beginning to make sense to him now. He had those vague shadowy images of another life, another place; they were nothing definite that he could hold on to. It was more like a dream he had. He believed that was the effect of the geas. He went from place to place, never staying in any one place for too long. He was beginning to wonder now if it were all real. Was it an illusion of his Mither? Did he really interacted with the people he’d thought were part of his life? And his memories of war and fighting… always fighting, was the one thing that was real?

  It was who he was. What he identified with. Now he knew why. He had been stuck in the past, so he had to return to continue with his life before he could move on.

  He knew which time period he would like to be in, if the choice was left to him. It would be the one where Coira came from. He did not think he had the power to shift time. Then again, perhaps he did; he had just never tried. Through his mither, he had now become a Davine fo gheasabh, a man who was spellbound and enchanted. So when the lass said she had followed him through his office door in Manhattan, in the twenty-first century, she was speaking the truth. The unfortunate thing was he couldn’t recall any of it. And to find out that he was not supposed to be alive, and was only alive through magic, upset him.

  He was now responsible for returning the lass back to her time, which he had no idea how to do. If the MacDougall’s got wind of her, the feuding would begin all over again. Also, if Tristan was to be believed, he had to marry the lass to stay alive. If they had been betrothed before he died, he would have to take up from where they left off. The lass does not remember him, so how would he go about taking up from where he left off, when he can’t remember clearly himself. He did not take kindly to being manipulated. He loved his Mither. She should have left well enough alone.

  It was not that he did not find the lass quite fetching. It was that he did not think she could adjust to life in the Highlands. She was not Coira and this was a harsh country. Also, the lass had no sense of propriety. She went about in various state of undressed. This would create problems at the keep, and the fact that she was very strong minded was another matter testing him. He had tried to keep her out of the way of the Knights when they were training, to avoid having to explain her to them. He did not need the headache. He was preparing for war.

  In this environment, there was no room for a wife. Although he did not think a wife would have to worry about him getting killed at war. Before he’d been poisoned, there was a great deal of berserker in him. And on his mither’s side, he had inherited the magic of the fae and on his faither’s side he was a descendant of the Norse jarl of the western isles. As things now stood, he did not know if his mither’s geas had weakened his berserker strength. He would not know until and unless he tapped into it in battle. He needed a plan.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Alasdair narrowed his eyes as he heard the warning call from his watching guard alerting him that men on horseback were approaching. His body tensed, eager for battle, as he turned his mount around to intercept whoever was causing the cloud of dust in the distance. He was itching for a fight, his emotions all over the place. One wrong move and he’d be on them like an úlfheðnar.

  As the riders crested the hill, Alasdair was able to see it was two of the neighboring clans, the MacDougalls and the Lamonts. In the time it took him to ride up to the group, his men had surrounded him. Alasdair’s gaze swept over the two groups. There were no less than two hundred men. Instinctively, he assumed the úlfheðnar pose, his chin dropped, his body going on full alert. No welcoming greeting warmed his face. In warrior’s language, he was issuing a challenge.

  Alasdair had wanted to find out if he still had berserker strength, and he got his answer. His blood responded to the two chiefs at the head of the group. It was the timeless instinct of the wolf when confronted by another mighty predator stalking the same territory. He had to assert his masculine superiority.

  The two men were massive, both wearing the pelt of the bear, with eyes of preternatural blue, marking them as Berserkers. There were two strains of Berserkers. One had extraordinary bear-like tendencies, and one had wolf-like tendencies, called úlfheðnar. He was úlfheðnar, with the preternatural tendencies of the wolf. He wore his pelts only when going into battle, so he was not so clad. The úlfheðnar was naturally leaner than the bear, but what he lacked in bulk, he made up for in cunning. In combat, the úlfheðnar always bested the bear, who attacked without thinking.

  The feud between the Campbells and the MacDougalls had begun decades before his time, first in the Battle of Red Ford in 1294, which took place on the borders of Loch Awe and Lorne between Clan Campbell and Clan MacDougall. The battle was fought over disputed lands and ended in the defeat of the Clan Campbell of Lochawe. It was reported that the ford ran red with blood when the battle was over. Then, in 1296, when the MacDougalls’ chief killed the Campbells’ chief, Colin Campbell, the bad blood was further exacerbated.

  It continued unabated for almost half a century until his da came up with the brilliant idea to join the clans in marriage. Alasdair fought it tooth and nail until he gave in to please his mither, who was worrying unnecessarily over the matter. Being a dutiful son, and loving his mither unconditionally, Alasdair had agreed to the betrothal. He’d known the MacDougalls were deceitful, but to have him murdered just to prevent the joining and stymie peace between the clans was something neither he nor anyone in his clan had foreseen.

  He did not totally blame his mither for doing what she had done to save him. But now, he was here and she wasn’t, and haven’t if she took her own life, she wouldn’t be able to return. She may have forfeited her life for his. That could explain her absence, while he was stuck with a woman of a different period, with strange customs and a strange way of speaking. She did not listen to him, no matter what he told her. She was very argumentative, opinionated, and self-assured, and even though he found himself obsessed with her, he was not prepared to marry her. He would have gladly married his original betrothed had she not died of a broken heart within days of his death, or so he had been told by Tris. He had feelings for his betrothed, but he did not believe she had felt enough for
him to die on account of his death. Maybe this was his mither’s doing again.

  * * * *

  Alasdair greeted them in the manner of the clan. “Welcome, brethren. I hope ye have come bearing good news.” Alasdair's gaze moved over the two men, smiling in anticipation of a fight. One wrong move from either of them and they would taste his steel before they knew what hit them. Admittedly, it might prove to be difficult, with two against one. That did not change his reaction, every time he saw these two men.

  They were some of the strongest warriors he’d ever fought against, and fighting them was as exhilarating. Of course that was when they fought one-on-one. Alasdair had no doubt that if ever both of them combined forces he’d have a difficult time bringing them down, even with the magic of the geas, which pretty much rendered him immortal.

  “Alasdair,” MacDougall said with a nod.

  Alasdair returned his nod and offered his hand. It was taken first by MacDougall then by Lamont. “What brings ye to my keep?” he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

  “We were trying to be neighborly,” MacDougall said.

  “Come now, MacDougall. Dinna tell me ye rode all the way over here just to be neighborly. Why are ye really here?” Alasdair asked again.

  “Some of us heard ye had a strange visitor. Seeing how tenuous our position is right now, what with England trying to confiscate our lands, I thought it best to check if ye need any help.”

  “Why would I be needing any help from ye?”

  “We thought to be neighborly. If ye dinna need our help, we are happy to take ourselves off,” MacDougall said. He said it, but he made no move to leave. Alasdair knew he could not let them go without offering them some refreshment, which was expected of him. Should he not be hospitable, it would spread throughout Argyll like wildfire.

  Centuries before, the Campbells had been under the domination of the Lords of Lorne, chiefs of Clan MacDougall. This all changed in the beginning of the thirteenth century, when the Campbells emerged as one of the most powerful families in Scotland. They were dominant in Argyll and capable of wielding a wider influence and authority from Edinburgh to the Hebrides and western Highlands.

  Alasdair signaled his men to come forward. When Tris, who was his second-in-command, was within hearing distance, he instructed him to accompany the group to the keep for refreshment. He had to be alone to figure a way out of this.

  “I dinna need to tell ye to keep an eye on our guest. Set a guard at her door because, as ye and I have seen, she had tried to escape a couple of times. Had I not been outside her room, God knows where she would have ended up.”

  “Aye, I have seen. I turned her back when she was trying to enter the courtyard where the men were practicing. The lass is quite resourceful.”

  “Tris, ye are only supposed to post a man. Not ye. I need ye by my side. Stay away from the lass.”

  “I see how ye feel about the lass, Dair. I will keep my roving eyes away from her, much as ’tis difficult.”

  “Aye,” was all the response he made.

  Alasdair turned his horse toward the loch, breathing deeply of the salt-laden air. The waves were crashing against the rocks, sending plumes of spray into the air. He loved this place. It was not the friendliest of places. There was raw energy here that could not be found at Inveraray Castle, which was why he always felt at peace being here, especially now that peace was being threatened on two fronts, first by his mysterious visitor and now by the neighboring clans.

  He had to find a way to get Coira out of his keep. He hoped MacDougall and Lamont did not overstay their welcome. He had come up with a plan to take her away from Campbell Castle under cover of darkness. He did not want MacDougall catching a glimpse of a woman in his home. Especially, not one who is as uncontrollable as Coira. She could take it into her head to seek help from MacDougall, and that would be a disaster.

  He planned on leaving and taking her with him, as soon as he saw the tail end of his unwelcome visitors. He was not comfortable with them being in the same space with Coira. The MacDougalls were known to be enemies of the Bruce. They were supporters of William Wallace in the cause of Scottish independence, prior to his capture and death. The death of Red Comyn was the cause of the break between the MacDougalls and the Bruce. This break extended to those who supported the Bruce, of which the Campbells were amongst the strongest. The more the MacDougalls fought what was inevitable, the further they estranged themselves from the ruling power of Robert the Bruce.

  When Red Comyn was stabbed to death by Robert the Bruce, in the church of Greyfriars in Dumfries in 1306, Clan MacDougall wanted the Bruce dead. They had supported the Comyn faction, which exacerbated matters, fueling the bad blood that had existed all along between the two sides. As a result, the Campbells became embroiled in it because they favored the Bruce.

  He wanted them gone from his keep before word got back to the Bruce that he was fraternizing with the enemy. He dare not leave them to wander the grounds, so he had to stay put until Tristan returned to relieve him. He had other good men, but no one as capable in all areas of battle as Tris was. Even Garvin, who was older than Tris, was no match for him on the field.

  Tris was the youngest of his brothers. His nonchalant attitude hid a formidable warrior, with an astute mind. At almost seven feet, he was a giant of a man, ruggedly handsome with a mane of hair so black it looked almost blue. He always looked untidy. It didn’t deter the lasses one bit. They practically threw themselves at him, and to Alasdair’s knowledge, Tristan never turned one of them away.

  He wore his plaid half on, half off. When he wasn’t challenging the men in the court, he was busy wenching. He never seemed to tire of the sport. He approached everything in the same blasé manner. He’d be tupping a wench until the last minute before going into battle. However, the minute he engaged, he became a tough adversary.

  There was none other Alasdair would like at his back than Tris. He was every bit an accomplished soldier. Some were trained, some were made, and some were born. Tristan fell into the last category. Alasdair believed his lackadaisical attitude was his way of hiding a shrewd mind. He suspected he used the same shrewd approach to wenching that he did in battle. Thinking of it, by tupping so many different lasses, he was not committed to any one and was, therefore, not in danger of falling in love, getting married, and creating a family that he might not live to provide for. So, he went around presenting the world with the side of him that he wanted others to see, but Tris couldn’t fool him.

  Alasdair heard the rumbling of the horses’ hooves, which alerted him that Tris was on his way back to him. He must have been able to convince the MacDougalls to cut short their visit. He turned his horse around and went to join his men. The men had been waiting for him to make up his mind about leaving. He rode on ahead; this allowed the men to follow at a slower pace. He did not ride at a slow pace, his horse was a thorough-bred, and it loved to race. So, Alasdair loosen the rein and gave him his head, as they galloped at break-neck speed back to the keep.

  He had to convince the lass to leave with him. He was going to his other keep, which was smaller and much more easily defended, if it came to that. It was also several days ride from Clan MacDougall. If she was not cooperative, he was prepared to tie her down. He did not want to deal with the talk of marriage again. If the outcome of his first attempt at marriage was any indication of what could take place, it was not a good idea for him to attempt to get married. It just would not work, not with him being here through magic.

  * * * *

  Coira moved a chair toward the one window in the room giving her a view of the courtyard. She was able to see the men assembling down below. She was so engrossed watching the activities and the physical fitness of the men, particularly the one with the blue-black hair, that, for a moment, she was able to forget her troubles. He was massive. His muscular arms were brown and bare. He had the musculature of a Viking warrior. There wasn’t one ounce of fat on his body. He wore his hair long, like some of
the men she’d seen. His was especially long, longer than Alasdair’s, almost to his waist, and held back with a leather tie.

  As if he felt her gaze, he looked up to the window, and flashed her a mischievous grin, his sensual mouth curving appreciatively. He turned his horse to his opponent and made a lunge at him. They were going at it furiously when he was interrupted by another man, who had just ridden up on the back of a massive gray stallion. Whatever he told the giant of a man caused him to turn his horse around and gallop away in a cloud of dust.

  Coira was sad to see him go; he was interesting to watch. The men continued training, but she was no longer interested in watching them. She shifted her gaze to the afternoon sky. It was late afternoon because the sun had begun its slow descent toward the ocean. The place was quiet, everything so still, as if waiting. She could so easily fall in love with the place if she did not know the conveniences of the twenty-first century. There was no discounting the peacefulness of her surroundings; it had her thinking about life in this period.

  It would soon be dark, and she imagined the darkness would be intense. Thinking of darkness brought her dad to mind again. How was he handling not seeing her? She had never missed a visit since he had fallen sick. This was causing her some stress. She dare not think about her job because she didn’t think she would be able to control herself.

  She was about to move away from the window because the light was fading fast, and it was almost getting difficult to see, when she saw the stranger with the blue-black hair and gorgeous body came galloping into the courtyard. He leaped off his horse well before it had come to a complete stop. She saw him give a brief glance at the window before he entered the keep.

  Coira wondered where he was going in such an almighty hurry. She didn’t have to wonder long because a sharp knock at her door had her hurrying to answer it before she remembered she didn’t have any means of doing so; she didn’t have the keys. There was a rattling of keys, and the door was flung open and the stranger from the courtyard was framed in the doorway. He was wearing the same mischievous grin she’d glimpsed in the courtyard.