Reckoning (Book 4 of Lost Highlander series)

by Cassidy Cayman

  Tavish merely laughed at him and continued his verbal lashing of his daughter. “Ye’ve been nothing but a disappointment to me, refusing to marry respectable men who would have brought honor to our name. Running off to your whore of an aunt, who probably taught ye all her wicked ways.”

  Tavish’s voice rose with every word. He paced and slammed his desk, getting winded as he grew angrier. She put her face in her hands and sobbed while he yelled, flecks of spit flying out of his mouth.

  “Shut your foul mouth,” Lachlan said above his tirade, but the crazed laird ignored him.

  “How can ye defend the little slut, when ye’ll get nothing from me for her?”

  Lachlan thought Pietro’s teeth would crack from clenching his jaw so hard. He was mad to strike and Lachlan wondered if he ought to knock him out to keep him from attacking Tavish, or just knock Tavish out to stop his rambling.

  He heard the old man’s last words though, and clutched at them. Perhaps there was still a way out of here with no one getting hit.

  “I wish for no dowry, just that ye let us leave here. I only want to take my wife home,” he said.

  He shot a meaningful look at Pietro, who realized what he’d said and settled down a little. Bella looked up hopefully.

  “A reasonable request,” Gordon said.

  Tavish stood there bug-eyed and fuming. “Aye, ‘twould be a reasonable request,” Tavish said. “If she were his wife.”

  “I dinna understand, milaird. I myself was a witness to their marriage, as were ye.”

  “My patience is at it’s breaking point,” Lachlan said.

  “Too right,” Pietro agreed.

  “It doesna matter,” Tavish said, his voice back to its mocking tone. “Not one wee bit. For the used up little cow does still belong to me, and if ye think ye shall take her by force, ye may as well think again. Your brother and your men will be dead before ye leave this room. Or, I should clarify myself. I do beg your pardon. Before your corpse is taken from this room.”

  Bella sank to the floor and Lachlan gripped her elbow to help keep her upright. “I willna leave without ye, lass,” he said in an undertone, never taking his eyes off Tavish.

  “I shall sell ye to the highest bidder. Ye’re still fair of face, and there’s probably a man or two with a bit of clout who wouldn’t mind ye having some experience.” With unnerving speed, he yanked Bella away from Lachlan and slapped her across the cheek. “Ye just need to learn your place, and ye might still gain my favor, child.”

  He shoved her hard away from the others and began to throttle her. Her pale face turned purple alarmingly fast as her airway was choked off. A terrified squeak escaped her lips.

  “Get him off of her,” Pietro yelled, ducking under Lachlan’s arm and flinging himself at the vicious old man.

  Lachlan pulled Bella away from them and made sure she was all right, turning around to see Pietro punch Tavish square in the gut while Gordon stood by helplessly. Lachlan was grateful he hadn’t already called for the guards outside. The men were clearly well trained to only come in when called or they would have crashed through the door by now with all the commotion in the room.

  With a bellow of rage, Tavish pulled a knife from his belt and charged Pietro, a mere two feet away from him. Lachlan clapped his hand over Bella’s mouth just in time to stifle her scream, and they both watched in horror as Tavish’s hand came down, the blade aimed at Pietro’s heart.

  But instead of meeting its target, the knife seemed to freeze in mid air, Tavish’s hand slowly opened, and the knife clattered to the floor.

  Tavish made a wet gurgling sound and fell next to it, a circle of blood staining the back of his shirt and pooling on the smooth stones beneath him. All eyes flew to Gordon, who stood holding a bloodied sword, shaking violently, tears running down his face. He dropped the sword and clutched his chest.

  “Did I kill him?” he asked.

  Lachlan leaned over Tavish to check. “I pray ye didna kill us all,” he said.

  Chapter 2

  “I don’t understand,” Piper said, hearing the lost sound in her voice.

  She leaned over the small, smudged script of the old piece of paper Evie shoved under her nose a minute before.

  Evie scrambled over the bench and hurried around to Piper’s side of the plank table. “It looks like there was a battle in the spring of 1729. Is that when you were, do you know? See, he was a real hero, saved some people from a fire that started in the woods.” Her voice had a quality of holding back, like she was trying not to cry.

  Piper read the words on the page for the third time. Lachlan Ferguson, laird of clan Glen, husband of Isobel Glen Ferguson, died in battle 1729. Beloved and missed.

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” she said. Beloved and missed. Those particular words jumped out at her from the parchment page, larger and bolder than the rest. Tears burned behind her eyes but she knew if she let one fall, she’d never stop crying. “He wasn’t laird of this clan. I mean, that clan.”

  Evie sighed and pulled the paper closer to look it over again. “Maybe because he was still married to Bella?” she asked. “Her family didn’t know it was a fake marriage.” Evie stopped and pinched the bridge of her nose.

  Piper kept her eyes studiously forward, letting them lose focus. She heard Evie sniffle. As much as she loved her best friend, she wanted to punch her. Right in the side of the head. She wanted to scream at her to stop crying over Lachlan.

  Beloved and missed. Except, it didn’t seem right. Her brain understood what her eyes showed it, but her heart said no. Hell no.

  She remembered when Lachlan came back to her with the terrible knife wound. He’d been stabbed in a battle right here on the property, that had never been referenced in any history book, report or ledger about Castle Glen. It simply hadn’t happened. But then they’d screwed everything up. She realized she was digging what was left of her fingernails into her palms and forced her hands to relax.

  It hadn’t been all their fault. Her wicked witch ancestor had helped a lot. Now, due to their fiddling about with things, they’d caused the battle Lachlan would be injured in.

  It was some sort of demented time loop, and he’d stumble out of the secret passage again, with another injury, and she’d make him well again like she’d done the first time.

  “It’s not right,” she said, pushing away from the table with enough force to almost shake Evie off the bench.

  “I know. He was wonderful,” Evie said sympathetically.

  Piper couldn’t help but laugh, though it was short-lived and with no hint of humor. “No, I mean it’s inaccurate,” she said.

  She quickly explained her theory, actually quite pleased with herself for thinking of it. It was usually Evie who came up with the whacky time travel stuff. When she saw the poorly disguised look of pity on Evie’s face, she clamped her mouth shut and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

  “What?” she asked. “It makes perfect sense.”

  Damn it. Was that desperation in her voice? Was she clinging to some impossible false hope? She brushed off her doubts and sat back down.

  Evie tipped her head sideways and wrinkled up her forehead. “It does make sense,” she said slowly. “It’s a good theory, really cool actually. But it doesn’t explain—” she stopped.

  Piper rolled her eyes. “We can’t believe the nonsense we read in these stupid journals and account books. These were probably like the National Enquirer of their day.”

  To her dismay, instead of agreeing with her, Evie put her face in her hands and started to cry. Not just a few tears, but real, grieving sobs. Piper started to shake, digging her fingers into the edge of the table. It wasn’t possible that Lachlan was dead.

  She looked at the top of Evie’s head and felt the salty burn once again behind her eyes. She stared at Evie until she stopped her squalling and looked up at her, her pretty hazel eyes puffy and red, her skin blotchy and streaked with tears. If Evie reached out to her it was going to be her
undoing.

  “Why are you crying?” she asked harshly, her throat almost completely closed up.

  Big, fresh tears rolled over Evie’s lower lashes and she made a sound like a rusty spigot being turned for the the first time after a long winter.

  “I’m sad,” she said, wiping futilely at the steady stream of tears. “I just wanted you to be happy. This isn’t—” she wrung her hands and shook her head. “It isn’t the right ending.” Her voice broke and she dropped her chin to her chest. “I’m so sorry, Pipes.”

  “I can’t,” she said, gripping Evie’s shoulders. “So you can’t either.” She brushed away the few rogue tears that managed to escape and tried to steady her shaking limbs.

  Evie looked up at her with dismay written all over her glamour girl face. Her eyes were as red as her hair and wide with worry. Piper rolled her head around to try to ease the stress in her neck, then waved her hand at all the books that were on the table.

  “We have a lot of work to do, remember?”

  They had set out to learn everything they could about Daria, her evil-spirited ancestor who was now a literal evil spirit and was probably possessing Piper. That train wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

  “But shouldn’t we …” Evie started and swallowed hard.

  Piper expelled a long shuddering breath. “Yes,” she said, her voice a tiny squeak. “We’ll take something to the crypt—” she stopped short.

  Oh no, this was it. A stark, cold pain began to splinter outward from the center of her chest, squeezing at her vocal chords and wrapping around her midsection so she couldn’t take a full breath. She stood there gaping, at war with the sadness, sure that if she gave in, it would kill her.

  “Come on,” Evie said, taking her under the elbow and steering her toward the stairs. “You can get some sleep while I read some more. We can stuff you full of Benadryl. Good lord, why don’t you install an elevator in this heap of rubble?”

  Evie kept up a steady drone of meaningless babble as she helped her into her bed. She crammed some pills in her mouth and made her drink some water to get them down. “You need to sleep,” she said. “It’s been days.”

  That was true enough. She’d been so distraught over being mysteriously sent back to her own time without Lachlan, had missed him so much, and then been plagued with bizarre nightmares when she was able to drift off, she’d mostly just stopped trying to sleep.

  Instead, she stared out at the star riddled Highland sky each night, memorizing the outline of the mountains and convincing herself that any moment she’d see her big kilted man appear from behind the stable, or hear him crashing around on the fifth floor.

  Whatever Evie gave her must have done the trick, because she didn’t hear her leave the room. She vaguely felt Hoover, the sheepdog pup she had grown to love, jump on the bed beside her. She flopped her hand into his soft fur and fell into a fitful slumber.

  Once again she found herself walking with determination through the halls of her castle. She recognized everything, every candle sconce and faded wallpaper design, though none of it was the same as it was now. It was old-fashioned, yet modern at the same time.

  She passed what was now her study and heard the sounds of a staticky radio. No matter how hard she tried, she never deviated from her path in this particular dream. Each one led her to a room lined with books, where she removed some from the shelf to reveal a safe built into a cubby behind it. She looked at the combination dial and knew exactly which way to turn it. Reaching out, she felt the cool metal of the dial beneath her fingers.

  And sat straight up in bed, drenched in sweat, jaw aching from grinding her teeth. Her curtains were half open and it was nearly dusk. She must have been out for several hours. Hoover yelped, but quickly settled down when she petted him.

  She looked down at her hand, still feeling the smooth metal of the safe. There was a beat while she recovered from the dream and shook off her sleeping pill haze before she remembered what they’d learned earlier that day.

  Desperately, she dug around under her pillow to find the little square box she kept there. Snapping it open, she took out the ruby ring and slid it on her finger, holding out her hand so the exquisite gold filigree glinted in the last bit of light. The ruby’s sparkle was muted by the tears that welled up in her eyes.

  “Do you think he’s gone, Hoover?” she asked quietly, in case Evie was staking out her door. The dog thumped his tail at hearing his name and she nodded. “I hope you’re right.”

  She gave the dog a long look, wondering how much he understood. It was bad enough that Evie was on pins and needles around her, probably afraid she’d go full-witch at any moment and conjure a hurricane inside the house or something. She couldn’t bear it if Hoover was scared of her, too.

  For the most part, she pushed down any sense she got of whatever it was that happened when Lachlan killed Daria. If that cow had truly possessed her somehow, she wasn’t going to make it easy for her to take over her soul. She certainly didn’t want to use any of the powers she felt stirring around beneath the surface.

  But the longing she felt for Lachlan made her remember something Daria had said about seeing her lover Brian. After all, they were time traveling witches, for God’s sake. A little thing like being dead in one time shouldn’t make a difference to such a person. Well, unless that person wanted to stay sane.

  Evie pushed the door open and peeked around it, bringing the smell of cooking with her. Hoover stood up and wagged so forcefully his whole body shook. When Evie saw she was awake, she came into the room, loaded down with a huge silver serving platter.

  “Were you staking out my room?” Piper said, quickly taking off her ring, stuffing it back in its box, and shoving it under her pillow. She didn’t know why she wanted to keep it a secret, but she only wore it when she was alone. Maybe it was because Lachlan hadn’t actually been able to give it to her.

  “Not a full stake out, just occasional passes. Look what Mellie made us.”

  She set the tray on the bed and whipped off the cover with a flourish. A perfectly golden roast chicken surrounded by tender carrots and potatoes sat in the middle of the tray. Off to the side was wild rice with saffron and almonds and a dainty looking salad of field greens with marinated button mushrooms.

  With a flick of her wrist and a dramatically raised eyebrow, Evie lifted a cloth to reveal a sinful looking bread pudding just oozing with caramel. “I don’t know why that girl wants to be a nurse,” Evie sighed.

  “Where’s Magnus?” Piper asked. She loved her godson. His little serious face always put a smile on hers.

  Evie closed her eyes before answering. “Sam’s bringing him home in a little bit,” she said in her closed off tone. “I have a new theory,” she said. “Actually, I’ve been tossing it around in my mind for a while now.”

  Piper was grateful enough to Evie for not making her have feelings earlier, that she decided to ignore the abrupt change of subject and not nag her about getting back with Sam.

  She pushed her food around on the plate, taking a few bites because it was so scrumptious, but she hadn’t actually felt anything close to hunger in weeks. She knew Evie noticed, but she didn’t mention it, and once again Piper was grateful.

  After Evie gobbled up the heavenly chicken dinner, she ran out of the room, returning several minutes later with a stack of books up to her nose. She dropped them on the bed and plopped down next to them.

  “All these have to do with your new theory? What were you looking for?” Piper groaned at the sight of them.

  “Mentions of Daria, mentions of Lachlan.” She paused and rifled through the piles. “Mentions of your grandmother,” Evie finished excitedly. “Look here.”

  “Why were you looking for mentions of my grandma?” she asked.

  Piper’s grandmother Rose ran away from the estate when she was only sixteen, never to return, never to speak of the estate to her only daughter. She died when Piper was a toddler, and except for listening to the occasional gripe
from her mother about how secretive she’d been, Piper never gave her much thought.

  Evie was silent for so long she was about to repeat the question. She looked up to find her holding out a ragged piece of parchment, a look of triumph in her eyes.

  “Because I found something that mentioned her,” she said. “It’s in Gaelic, but that’s her name for sure.”

  “You keep acting like she’s important, but it’s not the right era.”

  Evie sighed and rubbed her eyes. “I think she is important. Listen, I had dinner with Herb one night during the eight months you were gone, and he told me Fenella was set to donate everything to a conservation foundation. Everything. Then she all of a sudden left it all to you.”

  Piper wanted to back up and discuss Evie having dinner with Herb, but knew she would get a serious smackdown. Instead she focused on what Evie seemed to think was the issue at hand. “Why’d she do that?”

  Evie shrugged. “Dunno. Neither does Herb. She just changed everything at the last minute. And I mean last minute. Like a few days before she died.”

  Piper looked around, wondering what her life would be like if she never found out about her amazing Scottish heritage, if she hadn’t inherited the castle and was still living her free spirited nomadic life. If she hadn’t met Lachlan. She sucked in her breath at the anguish that hit her.

  She shook her head. “Still don’t see what any of that has to do with Grandma Rose.”

  Evie poked the old parchment. “Maybe this will tell us. Damn Gaelic. We’ll need to get Mellie to read it for us.”

  Piper grabbed her phone to call Sam. “Sam’s better. Mellie can’t read anything, you know that.”

  Evie made a distressed face but didn’t argue, a mark of how badly she wanted the paper translated. “So here’s the theory I have regarding time travel. I think you can either be a victim of it or be able to do it. Sam and I were victims, but you actually have some control over it, so you have the magic, so to speak.”

  Piper rolled her eyes and tried to object, but Evie barreled forward. “I think the magic skips a generation. You have it. Your mom obviously doesn’t. I mean, I love your mom, but there couldn’t be a less magical woman. Fenella most certainly didn’t because she seemed to live a fairly average, though abundant, life.” They stopped to share a giggle. Fenella had not only been filthy rich her whole life, she’d had two extremely hot husbands. “So, do you think your grammy Rose might have had the magic, and that’s why she ran away?”