Highlander's Love: A Scottish Historical Time Travel Romance (Called by a Highlander Book 4)

by Mariah Stone

  Amber shook her head. “Someone set you up.”

  She believed him… Relief flooded him. “Aye. Alasdair blamed me for stealing the gold.”

  She shook her head. “Why did the MacDougalls betray your clan?”

  “King Balliol gave a part of their lands to our clan for good service. They wanted us to fall out of his good graces and take their lands back. But what they did started a feud. ’Twas the beginning of the end. ’Twas a trap, and I fell for it.”

  “Not just you, your family, too. Did they believe Alasdair, or did they believe you?”

  “Alasdair.”

  “See, they fell into the MacDougalls’s trap, too.”

  “It wasna their fault, though. Given my reputation, it wasna surprising. I was a troublemaker. Unpredictable. The black sheep.”

  “Yes, but couldn’t your father see you were incapable of stealing no matter how unpredictable you were?”

  Anger rang in her voice, and her beautiful eyes threw daggers. His own clan hadn’t believed him, and yet this lass, a stranger from another time, did. Elation radiated through his whole body. He couldn’t be more thankful to the faeries or destiny or whoever sent Amber here to him.

  “Nae. My da couldna. But it doesna matter anymore. My brother Craig and my cousin Ian came to believe me; although, Domhnall and Da still dinna completely trust me. Rightly so. I’ve done other shite I’m nae proud of.”

  He meant Inverlochy, of course. Getting Lachlan killed. Losing the siege to the English. Getting caught. Getting Amber tortured. That was all on him.

  “But now that I ken where the MacDougalls and the English are going to attack, I can help the clan. I just hope they take my words seriously this time.”

  He hoped that when they saw a beautiful woman at his side, they wouldn’t assume he’d been duped again. He had to keep his mind and hands off Amber long enough to do the responsible thing and warn his king.

  Chapter 17

  Two days later…

  * * *

  “What now, lass?” Owen said.

  They sat on their horses on top of a small hill. Amber stared at Glenkeld, the small castle on the shore of the loch. The loch was still, and the castle, hills, and mountains were reflected on its smooth surface. Tiny compared to Stirling, it had one large, square tower and four curtain walls, more or less like Inverlochy. Smoke rose from somewhere behind those walls. Sheep and cows grazed around the castle walls, and the air smelled like manure, grass, and flowers.

  This was Owen’s home.

  Not hers.

  Amber bit her lip. Where was her home, anyway? Ever since her mom and dad died, and Jonathan sold the house to divide the profits between them, she’d had no place to come home to. She’d let go of her apartment before she went to serve in Afghanistan. In a way, the army was her home.

  Until that home had betrayed her.

  So what now?

  What she really wanted was to go back to her time, get the murdering, drug-smuggling bastard behind bars, and clear her name. A life in hiding, of looking over her shoulder, of anger at the injustice, would eat at her soul. If she were brave enough, she would make her way back to Inverlochy and go through the stone back to the twenty-first century. She’d go to Jonathan. She’d hire an attorney, and she’d work relentlessly on gathering evidence against Jackson.

  But those were only dreams. The reality was Jackson would crush her. She wasn’t strong enough to take on a giant like him. She’d never confronted her brothers in the past, and she hated that she was a helpless coward.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I definitely can’t go back to my time. They’ll get me there.”

  Owen presented a magnificent view—a medieval warrior sitting proudly on a horse. A strand of his blond hair fell across his forehead. The bruises on his face added roughness to his handsome features, and his bristle was turning into a short beard the color of wheat, white gold, and a little bit of amber. She could sink into his green eyes and be lost there forever. That would be a wonderful home for her.

  “So if ye canna go back”—he swallowed—“what will ye do?”

  He was perfectly still, waiting for her to reply, and yet she could see his chest rising and falling faster, and the vein in his neck pulsing quicker.

  What would she do? She could stay here in this time.

  Was she actually crazy enough to consider that? The brawny Highlander in front of her had nothing to do with it. It was safer here…for the most part. When she wasn’t being chased and tortured by the English.

  “I suppose I could stay here. Your family won’t want to put me in a dungeon, will they?”

  He laughed. “Nae. Ye’re safe with us. And I promise de Bourgh wilna touch a hair on yer head if I have any say in that. So will ye be a guest of our clan?”

  “A guest? Sure. And thank you for the kind invitation. But what could I do here? How could I earn money? I don’t think I can do anything that’s useful here.”

  “Usually, women get marrit, and their husbands provide for them. I could ask the clan chief, my uncle Neil, or my da to find ye a husband.” His jaw tightened as he said that.

  Amber laughed. “I’m not going to get married in medieval Scotland!”

  “If ye plan to stay here, ye’ll need someone to protect ye. Even a strong lass like ye needs either a father, or a brother, or a husband.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine on my own. Maybe you can teach me some of that sword-fighting so that I can protect myself.”

  “Aye. I can. But first, let’s go home.”

  For the last two days, on their way from Stirling, they’d been careful to avoid the roads as much as possible. Dressed as English, danger lay from both the Highlanders who could kill them on sight, and from the English who might find out they weren’t English at all. Not to mention de Bourgh’s men were no doubt still looking for them.

  Owen fascinated her. Not only was he eye-candy, but ever since he’d shared the story about the gold, she couldn’t help but feel a connection to him, like a miracle had happened and she’d scored a winning lottery ticket.

  She loved riding next to him, and he told her more stories about his clan, explained about the war, and told her about Craig and Ian. She’d slept by his side, but he hadn’t tried to kiss her or made any move. He’d lain next to her as stiff as a statue.

  She was puzzled by the sudden physical distance he kept after how close they’d been earlier, and she was also a little hurt by it. Why was she so unattractive to him all of a sudden? He’d wanted her before. She’d seen his very impressive erection in the inn. She’d felt it in his kisses and in the simple touch of his hand. In his hug. Was he so appalled after her confession that he couldn’t stand to touch her now?

  Not that it should bother her at all. Caring for him would complicate everything. It was something she couldn’t afford.

  They rode towards the castle and stopped in front of the gates. Archers stood on the wall, arrows pointing at them.

  “Who goes there?” a male voice rumbled.

  “I thank ye for nae shooting us, Malcolm,” Owen said. “Do ye nae recognize me?”

  A man with white hair down to his shoulders and a white beard appeared from behind the rampart.

  “Owen?” he said.

  “Aye.”

  The man sighed and shook his head. “Only ye can come in bright daylight dressed like a Sassenach bastart. Let them in!”

  Owen threw an amused glance at Amber. The gates opened, and they rode in.

  Malcolm descended the stairs from the top of the wall.

  “I was this close to giving the command to shoot ye,” he said, pinching his thumb and index fingers together. “Come here, ye rascal.”

  He took Owen in a bear hug, and the men clapped each other on the back.

  “What’s going on?” someone said.

  Dougal Cambel’s angry voice made Owen’s gut tighten. He released Malcolm and turned to face his father. Da marched towards them together with Craig, D
omhnall, and several other men. Behind them, the northern wall with the crumbled part had short, sharp spikes installed into it. Owen’s stomach churned as he imagined Marjorie having to fight off the MacDougalls. Craig had told Owen in confidence that the spikes had been suggested by a warrior from the future who’d helped Marjorie protect Colin and the castle. The gates were made of new wood—were they part of the defenses? His brave, strong, sister… He wished he could’ve been here to protect their home. He’d miss her. With a bittersweet ache in his heart, Owen wondered how Marjorie’s and Colin’s lives were in the twenty-first century, and he hoped that man made his half sister very happy.

  “Owen, son,” Dougal said, “ye’re alive.”

  Owen’s father gripped his shoulder and squeezed it. The affection was unexpected, and Owen hugged him back but was ready for the questions he knew would come.

  “What happened?” Craig asked. “Why are ye in Sassenach clothing? And who’s the”—he frowned, eyeing Amber—“lass?”

  “Yes, I’m a lass,” Amber said, and Craig cocked his eyebrow. “Thank you very much.”

  Craig exchanged a look with Owen. No doubt, his half brother had recognized the accent. Everyone turned to study Amber.

  Owen cleared his throat. “’Tis Amber. We were kidnapped together by Sir de Bourgh during the siege of Inverlochy. He took us to Stirling. We managed to escape but had to disguise ourselves as the English.”

  “We feared ye were dead,” Craig said. “When we took back the castle, ye were unaccounted for. No one saw ye fall, and there was nae body. ’Twas like ye’d disappeared…”

  It occurred to Owen that his brother might have suspected he’d gone through time. The thought seemed funny at first, but he realized it was a real possibility.

  “I kenned ye were nae dead,” Da said. “Ye’re too cunning to let death take ye so soon.”

  “Didna feel that way at times,” Owen said.

  His father paled, and Owen’s Adam’s apple jumped as he struggled to swallow. This situation was too similar to what had happened to Ian. Many years ago, in a battle with the MacDougalls, everyone had thought Ian was killed and the MacDougalls had taken his body. The Cambels had assumed he was dead, but he’d been sold into slavery and had only returned home from the caliphate this year.

  Owen knew very well that his family didn’t want to relive the horror of that.

  “And who are ye, lass?” Craig asked.

  Amber exchanged a glance with Owen, and he nodded, encouraging her to share the story they’d both agreed on.

  “I’m from the caliphate. I was hired by Kenneth Mackenzie.”

  Craig frowned as he studied Amber. His da and the rest eyed her dubiously.

  “And how exactly did ye end up being kidnapped together?” the older Cambel asked as he looked between them.

  “Owen helped me,” Amber said, her voice ringing with gratitude. “He saved my life from the English.”

  Owen clenched his teeth. He’d rather they didn’t know that.

  “Ye helped a woman,” his father said. “And ye lost the castle to de Bourgh. And got yerself kidnapped.”

  His upper lip rose in the same kind of disgust Owen had seen countless times. It had only resulted in a younger Owen wanting to rebel even more against him, to show his father that he didn’t need his approval, that he couldn’t care less.

  But he couldn’t afford to indulge in such behavior now. He had an important mission, a message he needed to deliver.

  “No, you don’t understand,” Amber said. “He saved us. He was tortured and didn’t say a word about the Bruce. He—”

  Owen cared about the lass and was grateful she was defending him, but she was only making matters worse. The appalled expression on his father’s face deepened. No doubt, he thought Owen was hiding behind a woman, letting her fight his battles.

  “Amber.” Owen interrupted her. “Let me explain, aye?”

  She closed her mouth, nodded, and stepped back.

  Owen fixed his gaze on his father. “Aye. I did get myself kidnapped. And I didna succeed in keeping Inverlochy when Kenneth Mackenzie fell. But I saw John MacDougall in Stirling.”

  Dougal crossed his arms on his chest. “Aye? And what did the man say?”

  “They plan to ambush the Bruce when he moves to Lorne to attack them.”

  Dougal sighed. “Did he say that?”

  “Aye.”

  Dougal threw a heavy gaze at Amber. “Did ye hear that, too, lass?”

  “No. I wasn’t there. But—”

  Dougal shook his head once, interrupting her. “Do ye have any other proof, son?”

  Helplessness weighed at Owen’s shoulders as well as the sinking feeling of loneliness, of being a stranger in his own clan. Craig wore a deep frown, and doubt was written all over his face. Owen had let him down at Inverlochy last year, so he couldn’t blame Craig for doubting him. Domhnall eyed him like every word out of his mouth were made of shite.

  “I dinna have any proof other than my word, Da,” Owen said.

  “Aye. Well, yer word isna the most reliable source. And knowing how ye like to impress lasses… Ye having this information now seems too convenient.”

  “Ye think I’m lying?”

  “Nae. I dinna ken if ye’re lying. But I ken that where John MacDougall is concerned, one needs to be verra careful of trickery. Ye and John have that in common.”

  “Dinna put me on the same category as that bastart.”

  Dougal sighed. “Aye. That was too much. Let us forget the matter. Come, let us eat and drink to yer return and hear stories from the caliphate and from Stirling. Now that yer back, there’ll be entertainment enough.”

  He hugged Owen’s shoulder and led him towards the great hall. Owen gave Amber an I-told-you-so glance, and she eyed him with a worried look on her face.

  No matter how much he tried to help his clan, they all had this image of him in their minds. He knew they wouldn’t trust him. But even if they didn’t believe him, he needed to get word to the Bruce. That was his mission, and he wouldn’t fail this time.

  Chapter 18

  They settled at the table, the tension weighing on Owen’s shoulders. Even knowing he needed to explain himself and try to convince his family what he’d said about de Bourgh was true, he didn’t let Amber from his side for a moment.

  He felt protective of her. Not that anyone would harm her here. Still. She was part of him. She made him feel better about himself. She’d defended him back in the courtyard like an angry mother lynx. No one had ever defended him like that.

  Not that he needed someone to defend him.

  Still. Knowing that a woman had his back was new and fresh.

  And he loved it. Too much.

  He studied Amber’s golden-brown profile for a moment as she chewed a piece of bread, her full lips moving seductively. They had tasted so sweet. So sweet he never wanted to stop kissing her.

  People noticed and stared at her, he saw that. The color of her skin was unusual, but they also stared at her beauty. How could they not? How could anyone not be mesmerized by those eyes, and lips, the kind of femininity wrapped in strength and power. She possessed the grace and confidence of a predator, and yet she could be as sweet as a domestic cat.

  “Owen.” His father interrupted his thoughts, and he turned to face him. “Drooling over another female, I see.”

  Heat rushed to Owen’s face. He supposed he deserved that, but he wished his father would see the warrior in him for once, and not a jester.

  Father cocked his brow and poured uisge into their cups. “I dinna blame ye, though, son. She is a bonnie lass. Never seen anyone quite like her. A dark beauty, eh?”

  Owen glanced at Amber to make sure she couldn’t hear this conversation.

  “She’s much more than that,” Owen said, feeling protectiveness rising in him. “She’s a good warrior with skills that ye havna dreamed of. And she’s brave and strong.” His fist clenched around the cup with uisge. “De Bourgh tortu
red her—a dozen lashes—and she didna say anything.”

  Dougal cocked one eyebrow. “Havna heard ye talk about anyone like ye talk about her. This one got right in ye heart.”

  Did he hear sympathy in his father’s voice?

  “Nae.” The lie scraped Owen’s throat as he said it. She was not only in his heart, but she was also in his blood. “’Tis only I admire bravery and strength—especially in a woman. Dinna see that often.”

  “Hmm.” Dougal looked deeply into his cup of uisge and then threw back the liquid. “So tell me about John MacDougall. How exactly did he tell ye about their plan to ambush the Bruce?”

  Owen’s pulse galloped. This was his chance to convince his father he wasn’t wrong. That he wasn’t trying to impress Amber and really had information that could lead to a victory over the MacDougalls and the English.

  “They thought I was unconscious,” Owen said. “MacDougall discussed their plans with de Bourgh and didna ken I was listening.”

  “And how exactly do ye ken he wasna tricking ye? He’s sly enough to set that up.”

  Owen’s gut tightened till it hurt. “I just ken, Da. He had knocked me out. I lay there senseless—”

  Dougal shook his head. “Son, I ken ye’re nae lying, but it doesna mean he didna see ye were awake.”

  Acid rose in Owen’s stomach. He remembered the terrible night he’d stood before his da, Craig, Domhnall, Uncle Neil, and his cousins, ashamed and helpless, repeating that he was innocent, that it was all MacDougall’s ploy, that the gold had been stolen by a woman and someone had planted it in his room. Nothing had helped.

  “He tricked me with the gold,” Owen said. “But nae this time. They ken the Bruce is coming for them, and they’ll set up an ambush at the Pass of Brander. They want to repeat the Battle of Dalrigh.”

  “The gold—”

  “Right,” Owen spat. The taste of the word bitter on his tongue. “Yer son stole the king’s gold. ’Tis what ye think, aye?”