Evander (Immortal Highlander Book 3): A Scottish Time Travel Romance

by Hazel Hunter

  He leaned over to kiss her. “I like ‘my love.’”

  As they rode across the glen Rachel was able to get a better view of the village, which was as small as Evander had said. Houses and cottages had been built along either side of a wide coastal road, with a center cluster of smaller structures that must have served as shops and storage buildings. She saw pens of pigs and goats, and a few crudely-fenced pastures dotted with cows and sheep.

  To the east of the village dozens of tents and stalls occupied a large open area. Groups of people milled around jugglers, musicians and other performers. On one end wagons piled high with grain sacks, vegetables and fruits surrounded a long table of farmers taking coins in exchange for their crops. Dozens of children ran around the tents, chased by barking dogs and a few harassed-looking women.

  When they reached the fair, some older boys hurried over, and Evander dismounted, giving them each a coin before he helped Rachel down. She watched the pair lead their horses into a pasture beside the tents, where another dozen mounts were grazing. The boys released the horses and climbed up on a stack of hay bales to keep watch over the entire herd.

  “Can those two kids really keep someone from stealing the horses?” Rachel asked. “I mean, what are they, twelve?”

  “No one shall try to steal them,” he told her as he took her hand, and laced his fingers through hers. “The villagers are honest, and outsiders ken ’tis no’ wise to take anything from these people. The blood of Viking raiders runs in their veins. Their punishments were so brutal that the Romans they captured would kill themselves at the first chance.”

  “Okay,” Rachel said and concealed a shudder as she smiled up at him. “I mean, aye, my love. I’ll no’ anger the village folk.”

  “Spoken like a wise highland lass,” he said and kissed her brow. “I’ll look in on the boys later.”

  They walked from the horse pasture into the center of the fair, where the delicious smells of roasted meats, spiced fruits and tangy ales engulfed them. Rosy-cheeked women tended the food cooking on stone-ringed fires behind the stalls, while their smiling daughters served it on sticks or plates fashioned from birch bark. In between the food stalls stood smaller carts piled with cloth-wrapped cheeses, wine jugs and sacked nuts. Rachel inhaled the wonderful scents, which made her empty stomach rumble.

  “Did I mention that I’m starving?”

  “Famished,” he corrected sternly. “You need much feeding for such a wee wisp of a wench. Very well, what will you have?”

  She glanced around them. “Would one of everything be too much to ask?”

  Evander chuckled. “You’ll no’ be a wisp on the morrow.”

  He helped her choose from the fair’s bounty, selecting the best of the cheeses, breads, sausages and spiced pears, as well as a jug of sweet cider. The villagers had set up tables and benches in one of the larger tents, where they sat down to eat. Rachel noticed a few curious glances, but no one stared outright. Yet she felt as if someone was.

  “Dinnae look so uneasy,” he said as he uncorked the cider jug. “I come to the village every few weeks. The people have grown accustomed to me.”

  Rachel nodded, but she couldn’t shake the sense of being watched.

  Evander took pleasure in feeding her bites of the food, until she borrowed his dagger and showed him how to make a sandwich. Once they had finished and returned the empty jug to the orcharder’s stall, they walked over to listen to a red-haired woman with a handheld harp. She had a low, almost husky voice and, as she sang, Rachel tucked herself against Evander’s side.

  “In a wee cottage, she’s waiting for thee

  where the highlands come down and kiss the sea

  and the heather blooms sweet and wild and free

  there you shall find your bonnie beauty.

  She dreams of thee as she watches the bay

  and plucks at the harp that you gave her to play

  in her heart is the hope born again every day

  that you’ll come back to her safe from away.”

  “I’m going to cry if I keep listening to this,” Rachel said and felt a tug on her skirt. She looked down into a small, grinning face. “Well, hello there.”

  “Fair day to ye, Mistress,” the tow-headed little boy said, showing her the gap in his baby teeth. “Will ye come to play the thimble game?”

  She glanced at Evander, who nodded, and let the child lead her over to a white-bearded man sitting behind a rickety crate. On the box were three rusty-looking thimbles, and a small nugget of what appeared to be gold.

  “Find the gold, and ’tis yers,” the elderly man rasped as he placed the nugget under the center thimble.

  Evander handed him a coin. “You’ll no’ pocket it.”

  “I dinnae run a thimblerig,” the old man snapped as he began moving the thimbles around, switching their places so fast Rachel couldn’t keep track of them. His grandson also leaned close to watch. At last he lined the three in a row and peered up at her.

  “Now choose, Mistress.”

  She pretended to study the thimbles, but when she reached out to the old man’s mind she couldn’t read him at all. Just her luck. As in her own time he was one of those people she couldn’t read. Then she picked up the eager thoughts from another mind close by, and smiled.

  “It’s…’tis in the lad’s right hand.”

  The little boy gaped at her, and then turned as if to run, but Evander caught him by the back of his tunic and lifted him off his feet.

  “Tris, what are ye about?” the old man demanded before he gave Rachel a pleading look. “He didnae mean it, Mistress. ’Twas only mischief. He’s a good lad.”

  “And a better thimblerig,” Evander said and handed the boy over to his grandfather. “Give it over now.”

  Tris’s bottom lip pushed out as he dropped the nugget onto the crate.

  Rachel caught it before it bounced off and handed it to the grandfather.

  “I’m sure he won’t…willnae do that again.”

  “I’ll be sure of it,” the elderly man said and peered at her face. “Thank ye, Mistress, Master.”

  Once they walked away Evander said, “You saw the lad palm it?”

  With all the villagers around them Rachel couldn’t come clean about reading Tris’s mind.

  “I just guessed he had.”

  “I should have thought as much when the lad came to you,” Evander said and nodded at the stalls ahead of them. “We’ll have at the honest games now.”

  The next game Rachel tried was the sheaf toss, which required her to throw a heavy bundle of straw over rows of standing pitchforks. Her sheaf dropped a yard short, making her laugh. But when Evander took a turn with a much heavier man’s sheaf, his cleared all the tines and thumped down beyond the last row.

  “Ye throw like a spearman, no’ a farmer,” the big man running the game said as he gave Evander a small purse of coins. “Well done, Master Hunter.”

  At the next stall, an old woman ran something like a dice game. Seven small, carved stones were shaken in a cup before one was removed at random. Evander told her the stones were numbered from one to seven, and that to win she had to guess which one was in the old woman’s hand.

  “I will go see to the horses,” he said. “’Twill no’ take long. Stay here until I return.”

  “Sure,” Rachel said smiling and joined the line waiting to play the game.

  When her turn came she had every intention of guessing. Yet when the old woman felt the stone against her palm she thought of the number, and something made Rachel echo it.

  “Seven.”

  “Aye,” the old woman said. The thin hand opened to show the stone, marked with an X. “See ye the seventh as ken by the Viking, Mistress? ’Tis Gyfu, the rune of gifts, of love, of sacrifice. Will ye have a prize, or ken what I see for ye?”

  Something about the old woman’s eyes mesmerized Rachel. When she reached out to her mind, she saw a long tunnel, lined by trees that went on forever. The scent of
the grove washed over her, cool and crisp, and for a moment it felt as if the sunlight had disappeared, and they were bathed in shadows and moonlight.

  Evander came to stand beside her. “Have you won again, lass?”

  Rachel felt the woman’s thoughts suddenly cut off, as if a psychic door had slammed shut. Was she like her? Did she know that she’d looked into her thoughts? Or was it Evander?

  “Ah, what do you see?” Rachel finally asked.

  “Dinnae fear to speak of love, or to ask for mercy. Only ken ye must offer the same. Take it, so ye remember.” She held the rune out to Rachel, but her cloudy eyes shifted to Evander’s face. “’Twill need be squared by ye, lad.”

  Rachel tucked the rune in her skirt pocket as they walked away, and tried to joke about it.

  “What do you think all that meant? No gift of love goes unsacrificed?”

  “It meant she didnae have to give you a prize,” he told her, sounding amused now. “’Tis an old Norse superstition, naught more.”

  “Well, at least I got a carved rock out of it.” Another game where people were throwing iron circles at short wooden stakes in the ground caught her eye. “Hey, is that a ring toss?”

  He followed the direction of her gaze. “’Tis called quoits. You must pitch the rings onto the spikes.”

  Rachel went over to watch the players, who kept missing or knocking over the spikes rather than ringing them. Once the players had all lost, the two women running the game hurried out to collect the rings.

  That raven-haired wench has herself a fine-looking man, the younger of the two women thought as she eyed Evander. Mayhap he’d like a lass with grander tits.

  Beka is pushing the pegs in too deep, her companion brooded as she surreptitiously tugged the wooden stakes higher. She glanced at Beka, and then continued loosening the pegs, unaware that she had skipped one. Ogling the lads she’ll never have, the stupit cow.

  Rachel picked up three rings and handed them to Evander, pointing to the stake that had been skipped.

  “Do you think you can ring that one with all three?”

  He gave the stake a measuring glance as he hefted the rings. “Aye.”

  Beka came over to collect Evander’s money, and leaned over enough to display most of what her laced bodice could barely contain.

  “Peg the three and you’ll have your pick, Master.”

  Her coy tone made an icy heat bloom over Rachel’s left breast, but before she could do anything Evander stepped between them. He tossed the three rings together with a jerk of his wrist, and they landed on the peg, circling it before they fell to the base.

  Beka gaped, and everyone watching the game laughed or cheered.

  “How did you do that?” Beka blurted out.

  “My lady brings me luck,” Evander said and surveyed the stand of prizes. He pointed to a small wreath made of intricately-woven ribbons and seashells. “That one she’ll have.”

  Rachel didn’t know what it was until he crowned her with it, and wove the trailing ribbons through her hair. She didn’t smirk at the now-scowling Beka, but she did stand on her toes to give Evander a soft kiss.

  “I feel like a fairy queen now.”

  “I saw the other one fixing the pegs to fall,” he murmured as they walked on. “You chose the one she missed, but you couldnae have seen that. Her skirts were in the way.”

  “They were,” she said and looked at the people around them. She couldn’t talk about it here. “I’ll tell you later how I knew it.”

  “And what will you tell me? That you guessed it again, like the gold in the boy’s hand, and the number on the old woman’s rune?” Evander saw her expression and pulled her to a stop. “Rachel?”

  “I heard her thoughts, and I saw what she was doing through her eyes. I read her mind, and the old woman’s, and the boy’s.” She took his hands in hers. “I can read your mind, too. I’ve been doing it since I came here.”

  Evander guided her past the gaming stalls and tents and out into the glen, until they were well out of earshot of the fair-goers. Then he walked away from her, stood staring out at the sea for a few minutes, and came back. He looked at her as if she’d turned into a complete stranger.

  “Since the night in the grove? Everything I’ve thought?”

  Rachel nodded slowly. He had every right to be angry with her, but the thought of his temper exploding made her insides shrivel.

  “Fack me,” Evander said and dragged a hand through his hair. “Everything.”

  “I should have told you long before now,” she said quickly, “but at first I didn’t trust you. When I did, then I thought you wouldn’t believe me, or it would ruin things between us. I tried to block your thoughts, too, but sometimes I couldn’t help myself.”

  He studied her face. “Why no’?”

  She took a cautious step toward him. “With you, I can do more than just read your mind. I can feel what you feel.”

  “And what do I feel now, lass?” he asked softly.

  “Tense. You’re trying to remember your thoughts since I came here.” When he didn’t say anything she plunged on. “In the beginning you felt annoyed, and impatient with me. You were still mourning Fiona, so you felt guilty for giving me her clothes and things. You were worried about how vulnerable I was, and you wanted to protect me. Most of all you really, really wanted to have sex with me.” She saw his mouth curve and felt relief untying the knot of fear in her chest. “I knew I had to tell you, which I planned to do after we got home from the fair.”

  “I suspected you were some manner of seer,” he said and tugged her up against him. “I never told you how to make morning brew strong, as I like it. That I needed the buckets for wash water when the rains came. How you ken where to touch me, where it most pleases me. Even that I wanted you this morning.”

  Rachel linked her hands behind his waist. “Oh, no. That last one isn’t mind reading. You want me every morning.” She peered up at him. “Why aren’t you angry with me?”

  “I should have guessed it. You’re druid kind.” He kissed her brow. “’Tis a powerful gift. You must be careful who learns of it.”

  “I was just worried about being around all these people. I thought I’d be smothered in all their internal voices. But so far in the crowd I seem to only catch a few stray thoughts.” She glanced back at the stalls. “Except with that rune lady. I had a bit of a grove moment with her. I think she might be like me, too.”

  “Then we’ll stay clear of her game,” he said and hesitated for a moment. “If you’ve ken what I’ve been thinking, then I dinnae have to tell you what I am.”

  “An immortal Pritani warrior who’s lived for twelve hundred years fighting with your clan against the undead. I didn’t really believe it until this morning, when we were making love.” Her eyes stung. “Then I saw everything.”

  “’Twas no’ as bad as that,” he chided gently. “I’ve no’ been a wise man, or a kind one, but I’ve fought worse. I didnae save Fiona. She saved me from my own dark heart. And now you, Rachel.” He touched his mouth to hers. “I love you.”

  “Ho, Master Sheaf Tosser,” a burly, grinning man shouted as he trotted toward them. “We’ve a spear throw setting up by the trees. Will ye test that great arm against us?”

  Evander glanced down at her. “Shall I show the village lads how ’tis done?”

  Rachel glimpsed a fragment of memory, when he had put down his spears by the shore of a serene lake. A moment later it was gone, but the sadness that came with it felt so intense she had to blink back tears.

  Thank God he doesn’t have to be alone anymore.

  “I’d love to see that.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  DIANA REINED IN her horse as Laird Gordon came out of his stronghold with a small entourage of guards to greet Lachlan and Kinley. Beside her Raen inspected the surrounding area before he dismounted and helped her down.

  “We’ll take them,” she told the grooms who came out for the horses, and with Raen’s help led
the four mounts off to the huge barn. “Something is going on with Lady Gordon,” she said, very casually. “Cap’s all stressed out about it.”

  “The lady has a new bairn and a happy marriage,” her husband said as he picked up a water bucket and emptied it into a trough so the horses could drink. “Why should our lady be upset?”

  “Cailean’s involved, apparently. Lady Gordon wants him to come over, and Druid Boy won’t. Also, Laird Gordon has been doing a lot of riding around at night, remember? We’ve run into him at least four times on patrol this month.” She removed the saddles and parked them on a drying beam before she rubbed the sweat from the horses’ backs. “But it’s no big deal.”

  “’Twas enough of a deal that she asked you to mention it to me.” He eyed her as he hefted a sack of grain and went into the stalls to fill the feed buckets. “I dinnae ken anything about it, Wife. I dinnae think there is anything amiss.”

  “Uh-huh,” Diana muttered. She led the horses one by one into their stalls, and then washed up before glancing out at the big house. “Cap thought I should have a word with the laird’s bodyguard. Apparently he goes out with the laird every time he rides at night.”

  Raen pursed his lips. “It shouldnae be difficult. Eamus is inside the house now with the laird.” He grinned. “To be a bodyguard means one must guard the body, lass.”

  “Don’t lass me, okay? I’m working on this.” She dragged a hand through her hair as she looked around the stable. “Maybe we could lure him out here so I could cuff him to something. Only I don’t have cuffs anymore, or a badge.”

  Her husband shook his head. “Wait here, and I’ll bring him to you.”

  Diana frowned. “How are you going to do that?”

  “Ask him to come.” He avoided her swat and headed for the stronghold.

  Five minutes later Raen returned with the laird’s bodyguard, who was a good-looking behemoth of a man with an easy smile but watchful eyes.

  “Great to meet you, Eamus,” Diana said after the introductions were made. “We’ve been seeing the laird out riding at night when we’re on patrol. Quite a bit, in fact. Are you having any problems around here we can help you with, maybe?”